The Devil Inside

by Heather Atkinson

  “You can do what you like, can’t you Brodie?” said Malachi. “You’re a grown man. You don’t need someone telling you what to do all the time.”

  Brodie stood before him obediently and shook his head. “No.”

  “Of course not. You’re your own man and you’ve been stifled for so long. It’s time to live up to your full potential.”

  “Aye it is,” said Brodie before slamming his forehead into Malachi’s face, who toppled like a felled tree.

  Everyone was so stunned they all just stared before Pete burst out laughing. “Fucking brilliant pal,” he exclaimed.

  Cass ran to Brodie’s side and he enveloped her in his arms.

  “You scared the shit out of me then,” she told him.

  “Sorry hen.” He gazed coldly down at Malachi flailing on the floor. “That felt fucking good.”

  She kissed him. “I bet it did.”

  Cain and Abel ran to their master’s side, who was bleeding from both nostrils.

  “You can drag your manky arse out of my office before I throw you head first out the fucking window,” Brodie told him, eyes bright amber. “You tried to turn me into one of your fucking drones but it didnae work. I’m back to my old self Malachi and more pissed off than ever. So run back to your wee hidey hole because I’m coming for you.”

  Cain and Abel helped Malachi to his feet, who staggered, a hand pressed to his nose. “You just made a big mistake,” he gasped.

  “Aye you might be right. Perhaps I should just top you right here, right now, save time later on.”

  The three bats backed up to the door when everyone began to advance on them, apart from Gardner, who remained at the back of the room, twitching.

  “I gave you a chance Brodie,” exclaimed Malachi. “Just remember that. Now the gloves are off.”

  “Get out of here before I start ramming things up holes.”

  Cain and Abel assisted their leader out the door, not knowing how to handle this defeat, Malachi’s legendary poise ruined.

  “You’ll come back Brodie,” Malachi called over his shoulder. “They always do.”

  “Piss off ya prick,” he yelled before slamming the door shut.

  While the men burst into applause, Cass threw her arms around Brodie and kissed him.

  “You were magnificent,” she said.

  “Why thank you.”

  “Are you okay?” she said as he seemed to crumple in on himself.

  “Still feeling a wee bit weak hen, nothing to worry about.”

  She assisted him to a chair and he slumped into it. “Do you want anything?” she said.

  “A glass of water would be smashing.”

  “Get one of these bad boys down your neck,” said Pete, thrusting the box of gourmet doughnuts under his face.

  Brodie grimaced and wafted the box away. “No thanks pal.”

  “Bloody hell, I’ve never known you turn down a doughnut before and that’s twice in one day. You okay? You needing a hospital?”

  “I’m just feeling a bit sick. Get them out from under my nose before I throw up all over them.”

  Hastily Pete removed the box from under his face, flipped the lid shut and reverently placed it on Ross’s desk.

  Cass handed Brodie a glass of water and he gulped it down.

  “You punched me,” said Pete.

  “You said you hardly felt it,” replied Brodie.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t.”

  “So why are you whinging?”

  “I’m not,” he pouted.

  “Right,” said Brodie, dumping the glass beside the box of doughnuts. “We need to decide what we’re gonnae do.”

  “Leave that to us,” said Cass. “You need to rest and get better.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “I just stuck the heid on a freak. It cheered me up no end.”

  “You’ve had a nasty cocktail of drugs running through your system. Your body needs time to get over it.”

  “I’ll rest when all this shite is put to bed.”

  “We’ve got it covered. You don’t need to do anything.”

  He took her hand. “Cass, I have to do this. No one has ever done to me what Malachi did.”

  His gaze was earnest, almost pleading. He needed this or he’d never know peace again. “Okay Brodie,” she said, “How do you want to play it?”

  “Malachi won’t send his bats after us, he’s realised it doesn’t work. After my time in his shitey compound I understand more how he operates. Like all inadequate pricks he craves power. Now he’s gonnae gie’ us a wee demonstration of what he can do by using that power. He’ll go to his contacts and get them to do his bidding.”

  “Makes sense,” said Cass. “So what do we do?”

  “We carry on working to prove he murdered his missus.”

  “I’ve no doubt he did but there’s no proof.”

  “Cass is right,” said Pete. “There’s no trace.”

  “Aye there is. We break his alibi.”

  “Two of his friends who alibied him are in his church, so they won’t go against him, one died of cancer and the fourth emigrated to Canada.”

  “Shit. Then we get proof of what he’s up to in that church, especially with the weans.”

  “Did you see any of that when you were in there?” said Cass.

  “I didn’t see it but I heard it, poor wee weans crying for their maws. It was horrible.”

  “I have evidence of that,” announced Gardner.

  They all turned to look at him incredulously.

  “I have footage,” he continued. “From the compound in Dundee.”

  “How the hell did you get that?” demanded Pete.

  “I counselled a man called Mark who escaped the cult. He gave it to me.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” said Pete.

  “I had to know I could trust you. I wouldn’t have put it past Malachi to set up this elaborate charade just to find out what I know, he’s incredibly manipulative and will go to great lengths to get what he wants. When I was counselling Mark, Malachi’s followers local to me stalked me, although I never saw the man himself until today. After seeing Brodie headbutt him I realised you are all indeed genuine.”

  “Do you have the footage on you?”

  “I do, in my briefcase. I’ll fetch it.”

  When Gardner disappeared in the direction of the bedrooms, Cass nodded at Elliott. “Watch him.”

  Elliott nodded back and followed Gardner.

  “If he really does have proof,” said Pete. “Then it could be the answer to our prayers.”

  “Let’s see what he actually has first,” replied Brodie. “Before we get all carried away.”

  “There’s another possibility,” said Cass.

  “What’s that hen?” he said, taking her hand.

  “Malachi’s getting his drugs from somewhere to dope up his followers. If we can find out who and stop his supply then we can put a major dint in his operation.”

  “How do you know it’s no’ your wee Manc pals supplying him?” said Pete.

  “It’s not them.”

  “Told you that, did they?”

  “Yes and I believed them.”

  “What if Toni McVay’s his supplier?” said Christian.

  They all looked at each other, forced to put a halt to the conversation when Gardner returned with Elliott.

  “You don’t need to send a guard with me,” frowned the professor. “I’m not up to anything dodgy.”

  “As you said yourself,” replied Cass. “We had to prove ourselves to you. Well that works both ways.”

  “But you called me in.”

  “What I said still stands. Sorry Professor but that’s how it is.”

  “I understand your reasoning I suppose.” He thought of the hefty fee they were paying him and decided not to press the issue any further. “Anyway, here’s the footage,” he added, holding up a mobile phone.

  They all gat
hered round to watch as he opened a video file and pressed play. The footage was taken at night, torchlight flitting over bed after bed containing children, some of whom were asleep, some of whom sobbed into their pillows. The room was instantly recognisable as one of Malachi’s compounds, the walls and floor grey, the ceiling low, windows small and narrow.

  “Jeezo,” sighed Pete.

  The beds turned into cots containing babies who couldn’t have been older than three months, most of whom were wailing.

  “Mark told me mothers are allowed to stay with their children up to three months old,” said Gardner. “At which age they’re expected to be weaned off the breast and onto the bottle, so anyone can feed them. When they’re handed over to the care of the church they’re only allowed to see their parents for an hour a day if the child is under one, the time gradually reducing the older the child gets. For children over twelve contact is limited to an hour a week.”

  “That’s fucking outrageous,” exclaimed Elliott.

  Brodie was disappointed when the footage ended. “Is that it? There’s nothing to show it’s in any of Malachi’s compounds.”

  “There’s more,” said Gardner, opening another video file. “This footage is from the Glasgow compound.”

  Immediately the sound of shouts and cries filled the air. At first the image was grainy and blurred, until it tilted from side to side, then it came into sharp, hideous focus. A man was strapped to a chair in a room that looked remarkably like a cell in The Breach. He was being repeatedly punched by Abel, the man’s head snapping from side to side, blood dripping from his mouth. Malachi’s voice was audible, spouting one of his typical fire and brimstone speeches about how temptations of the flesh lead to eternal damnation.

  “Is that a recording of Malachi or is he there himself?” said Cass.

  “Mark told me he was there but he was too scared to put the camera on him,” replied Gardner. “He felt sure if he had Malachi would somehow know.”

  Cass glanced at Brodie, who appeared entirely focused on the footage and she wondered if this was bringing back painful memories for him. She didn’t like to ask such a personal question in front of the others, so she brushed his hand with her fingers instead. This snapped him out of it and he gave her a small smile and gripped onto her hand.

  On the screen a man with a thin ferrety face and wearing a white coat stepped forward, his small round glasses making him look like something out of the Third Reich. He brandished a syringe. The man in the chair was so out of it he barely noticed, although he did flinch when the needle was shoved into his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to one side. Then the footage went black.

  “That’s the wee prick who injected me,” said Brodie.

  Cass was relieved by the fire in his voice. He hadn’t been broken.

  “They never beat me like that,” he continued. “But then again, Malachi wanted to use me as a bodyguard. It wouldn’t have done his image much good if I’d been all battered and bruised.”

  “Why have you never taken this to the police?” Cass asked Gardner.

  “Malachi doesn’t appear on that footage. He could just claim someone was playing a recording of his voice. It might be enough to get Abel done for assault but he’d never turn on his master. And also, to be quite honest, I knew the church would come for me if I did. You might think that weak and cowardly but we can’t all be fighters like you lot.” He tilted his chin, ready to take the criticism he felt sure was coming his way but after their experiences with Higher Light none of them said anything derogatory.

  “Aye, we get that pal,” said Brodie. “So Mark took this footage?”

  Gardner nodded.

  “And who’s the man in the chair?”

  “His name’s Sean Cartwright. According to Mark he was planning to leave the church, he’d seen that Malachi was a manipulative, power-hungry control freak with no one’s wellbeing in mind but his own. Unfortunately Malachi caught wind of this. What you’re seeing is how he reprogrammes acolytes wanting to leave, exhausting and beating them, wearing down their resistance while he spouts his claptrap. Then he uses the drugs to totally lower their defences so he can worm his way back into their heads. Sometimes it works, like with your friend Elaine. Sometimes it doesn’t. Mark never saw Sean again, so he thinks he remained defiant to the end. He was convinced he’s buried in the woods at the back of the compound here in Glasgow, along with many others.”

  “How many others?” said Pete.

  “No idea but he knows the number isn’t inconsiderable.”

  “I have to talk to this Mark,” said Brodie. “If he could give a statement it could be what’s needed to finally get a search warrant for that place.”

  “Sorry, he’s dead. The official verdict was suicide but I’m sure he was murdered. He was so determined to bring down the church no way would he have killed himself. Malachi stopped him from talking.”

  “Fuck,” spat Brodie, kicking over a bin.

  “Isn’t it enough what was done to the Bossman?” said Ross. “Surely that’ll get us a search warrant?”

  Brodie and Pete glanced at each other.

  “Wee bit of a problem there,” said Pete. “If we report it then it’ll come out about you lot infiltrating the compound and attacking the guards, not to mention the attack at Rottenrow Gardens.”

  “And I don’t want everyone knowing what happened to me,” added Brodie. “It’ll ruin my reputation in the city and my business will be finished.”

  “We didn’t tell the people who helped us during the assault at Rottenrow what had really happened,” Cass told him. “We told them you were working undercover and needed some help.”

  Brodie smiled and wrapped an arm around her. “Thanks hen.”

  “Although it might confuse that ned you throttled.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  She noted how tired he looked, how heavy his eyes were. “Right,” she said. “That’s enough for now.”

  “But we need to come up with a plan,” said Pete.

  “And Brodie needs to rest.” She turned her gaze on Brodie when he frowned. “You’ll be no use to us if you end up in hospital, all for the sake of a bit of sleep. Plus it’s getting really late and we could all use some rest.”

  “I’d like to get back to Morgan and Noah,” said Elliott. “With all this going on I need to know they’re safe.”

  “Bring them to my house,” said Pete. “You’re all staying with me until this blows over.”

  “But…”

  “But what?” he frowned when he went silent.

  “Your snoring.”

  “What about it?”

  “When you get going they can hear you in England.”

  “You cheeky wee sod. I make you an offer out of the kindness of my heart and this is the thanks I get.”

  “It’s not that I’m no’ grateful it’s just that…I like my sleep.”

  “Well you don’t need to worry anymore. I’ve got an anti-snoring device that goes on my nose and Janet said it’s worked miracles.”

  “Really?” said Elliott uncertainly.

  “Aye, really.”

  “Well, alright then. Thanks Pete,” he said, shaking his hand.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Anyway, we probably won’t notice your snoring. Noah’s still waking up every couple of hours for a feed.”

  Pete’s face fell. “What?”

  “Enjoy,” grinned Christian as a dejected Pete followed Elliott out the door.

  “The rest of us can bed down at the safe house on Bath Street,” said Cass. “It’s only a few minutes away. We’ll move headquarters there, this place has been compromised. Take the laptops and phones, they’re all we need. Leave the furniture.”

  “What about Pete and the others?” said Ross. “Shouldn’t we all stick together?”

  “Malachi isn’t daft enough to attack a detective inspector’s house. They’ll be safe there and there’s Noah to consider. We can’t
drag a baby into this.”

  While they all went off to pack, Cass texted Jules to tell her where they were moving to, so she’d know where to send the syringe. Then she searched the Higher Light uniform Brodie had been wearing and found a tiny tracking device sewn into the turn-up of the left trouser leg. After tearing it free she ground it into pieces under her boot heel, imagining it was Malachi’s face.

  Christian drove them to the safe house a few streets away, which was another flat but this one was above a solicitor’s office. It was smaller and only had three bedrooms, meaning Christian and Ross had to share, which they weren’t impressed about.

  After finishing off the takeaway Ross ordered in, Brodie and Cass retreated to the bedroom they were going to share.

  Brodie stripped off and climbed into bed, exhausted and body aching.

  “Do you want anything?” Cass asked him as she removed her own clothes.

  He held his arms out to her. “Just you.”

  With a smile she got in beside him and snuggled into him, loving the feel of his bare skin against hers. “How are you feeling?” she said.

  “Fine hen, don’t you worry about me.”

  “If you feel unwell Brodie I want you to tell me. Don’t think you have to hide it.”

  “I’m really okay. Plus Malachi’s bastard voice has stopped ringing in my head. Funnily enough, it stopped after I headbutted him.”

  “That’s a memory I’ll enjoy reliving for a very long time,” she smiled.

  “If felt bloody good. Sit up hen, there’s something I need to do.”

  Cass sat up and watched as he reached down to the floor to retrieve his jacket. Her heart skipped a beat when he produced a small black box from one of the pockets.

  “Right, enough arsing about,” he said. “And Pete’s already spoilt my surprise anyway.”

  He opened the box and a lump formed in Cass’s throat. The ring was rose gold, her favourite with a single solitaire diamond in the centre. It was beautiful and very expensive.

  “For years I pined after you hen,” he began nervously. “And then you said you loved a big dozy lump like me and I couldnae believe it. I’ve never been happier since I’ve been with you. I don’t want anyone else in the world, just you hen.” He took in a deep, steadying breath. This looked promising, she was smiling. “So, will you marry me?”