The Revelation Room (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 1)

by Mark Tilbury

  He gasped for air in the stifling heat of the room. He always slept with his bedroom window open at home. His father used to complain about letting in moths and bugs at night, but Ben didn’t care. He’d rather be attacked by a moth than die of suffocation.

  He turned his head to one side. He could just about see Bubba silhouetted in the dim light of the moon. Bubba seemed to be looking right back at him. ‘Are you awake?’

  Bubba nodded.

  Ben eased himself over onto his right side. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. ‘Why can’t you talk?’

  Bubba didn’t respond.

  Ben’s mother would have asked Bubba if the cat had got his tongue. They had a cat at home. CJ. No one quite knew why he was called CJ, but CJ didn’t care. He killed things for fun at night and came home for his breakfast in the morning just the same.

  Ben suddenly realised how dumb the question was to a man who couldn’t speak. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’

  Bubba grunted.

  ‘Do you want to try and communicate with me?’

  Bubba nodded again

  ‘I’ll ask you some questions. Just nod your head for “yes” and shake your head for “no”. Okay?’

  Bubba sat up on his bunk and nodded.

  ‘Ebb said you worked for Cyril when he took over the farm. Is that right?’

  Bubba nodded.

  ‘Ebb said Cyril had an accident with a tractor. Is that right?’

  Bubba shook his head.

  ‘What happened to him?’

  No answer.

  ‘Did Ebb do something to Cyril?’

  Yes.

  ‘Did Ebb kill him?’

  Yes.

  The insides of Ben’s things went clammy, like when he was a kid and about to throw up. ‘Did you see him kill Cyril?’

  Bubba nodded and thumped the wooden bed frame.

  Ben forced himself to get up. He hobbled across the room to Bubba’s bunk. ‘Why did Ebb kill him?’

  Bubba shrugged.

  ‘Did Ebb do something to you?’

  Bubba nodded.

  ‘What did he do?’

  Bubba pointed inside his mouth and then rested his forefinger on his lips.

  ‘Sweet Jesus. He cut out your tongue?’

  Bubba nodded.

  Ben reached out and touched the big man’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  The moon cast an eerie glow across Bubba’s face. Tears shimmered in his eyes. He drew his index finger across his throat.

  Ben didn’t need words to understand Bubba’s simple message. They were all going to die.

  Bubba stood up and walked over to the window.

  Ben stood by the bunk and held onto the frame for support. He wanted to tell Bubba that it would be all right if they all stuck together. If they made a plan. Together they could be strong. Ebb had control because individually they were weak. If solidarity could bring down the Iron Curtain, toppling Ebb ought to be a doddle.

  So what are you going to do, smart arse?

  Ben tried to force his mind to conjure an answer, but the simple truth was this: everyone was under Ebb’s control. It would take a team of psychiatrists months, possibly years, to untangle the web of lies which Ebb had spun to gain that control.

  Come on, Stutter-buck, what you going to do?

  Images swirled in his head. Thirteen again. Stuck in the conker tree. Kids standing around the tree like a lynch mob in an old Western movie. Kids throwing sticks at him. Throwing conkers at him. Calling him “Stutter-buck”. Calling him “chickenshit”. Calling him “yellow-belly”.

  Come on, Stutter-buck, whatcha gonna do? Stay up in that tree all night?

  Such a long way down. Fifteen feet, give or take a tall tale, but from where he was standing, at least a hundred. Two hundred, even.

  ‘L-leave me alone.’

  It had been all right climbing the tree. One of the kids, Charlie Cory, had helped him up onto the first branch by lifting him onto his shoulders. They’d all promised to help him down. They’d made him feel important. Like Superman for the day. But worse than that was the awful feeling of being fooled. He’d thought climbing the conker tree would help him to be accepted by them. He’d been dumb enough to believe that the stuttering kid with the mop of frizzy hair could be one of the normal guys. Wrong. He would never be one of the normal guys. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

  Come on, Stutter-buck. Jump. Use your hair as a parachute.

  ‘St-st-st-stop it.’

  He sounds like a helicopter. Time for lift-off, Stutter-buck.

  ‘I c-c-can’t.’

  He needed to pee. His bladder felt like a swollen river about to burst its banks.

  Do you want mummy to come and hold your hand, Stutter-buck?

  ‘L-l-l-leave me alone.’

  Stutter-buck, Stutter-buck, useless fuck…

  His father would be waiting at home for him. Grumpy old daddy bear waiting to pounce on him if he arrived so much as a minute late. And, boy, was he going to be late. To add to his woes, his new trousers would be all messed up if he jumped out of the tree. God help anyone who broke the eleventh commandment of Geoff Whittle: thou shalt not commit carelessness.

  Ben held onto Bubba’s bunk like it was a giant crutch. He was nothing more than a useless Stutter-buck that was too chicken to jump out of a conker tree. Too chicken to fight back. Too chicken to reclaim his identity from the thieves who’d stolen it.

  The other kids had all gone home for tea around five, leaving Stutter-buck glued to the branch of that conker tree. High above him, birds twittered and poked fun at him long before social media cottoned onto the idea.

  Stutter-buck didn’t jump from that tree. Not on your nelly, as his father was apt to say. No; cowardly custard, Stutter-buck, slipped off the branch after his legs had gone as numb as his brain. He slammed into the ground and fractured his right knee on impact. Pastor Tom had found him lying at the base of that tree an hour later, sobbing his heart out like a little baby.

  Ben looked at Bubba. ‘I never jumped. I s-slipped. I’m a c-c-coward. A useless c-coward.’

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Ebb raised the shovel above his head. ‘You have shamed the shovel.’

  Tweezer writhed on the floor. He looked over his shoulder at the shovel.

  Ebb brought the shovel down in a sideways arc designed to decapitate. He watched Tweezer roll out of the way with the dexterity of a man possessed by Satan. The shovel slammed into the concrete floor inches from Tweezer’s head.

  Ebb’s heart stomped around in his chest like a petulant child. Before he had time to raise the shovel again, Tweezer pounced. He grabbed Ebb’s left ankle and yanked hard enough to spill his assailant on top of him. The shovel slipped out of Ebb’s hands and clattered to the floor beside them.

  ‘Help me,’ Ebb squawked, as Tweezer jabbed him in the eye. One of Tweezer’s rings ploughed a furrow in Ebb’s left cheek, deep enough to draw blood. Ebb clutched his injured eye. Taking advantage of his opponent’s distraction, Tweezer bucked and threw Ebb sideways. He then rolled over and pinned Ebb to the floor with his forearm across his throat. Ebb responded by kicking and thrashing and making noises in his throat that belonged to the mortally wounded. Tweezer pushed down harder, resting all his weight on Ebb’s throat.

  Ebb stared up into those murderous eyes. Those deceitful eyes. The eyes of Brutus. Puke decorated Tweezer’s goatee beard. Ebb wanted to cry out for mercy, but the pressure from Tweezer’s arm shut off his throat.

  Spit bubbled and foamed on Tweezer’s lips, reminding Ebb of Briers lock where the unfortunate lock-keeper, Big Jim Bunyan, had drowned. Snot and blood dribbled out of Tweezer’s nose. Ebb could see every blackhead and blemish on his attacker’s contorted face. The grin on his chops convinced Ebb he was dealing with Satan himself.

  To Ebb’s horror, Tweezer leaned closer. Ebb could smell his foul breath. Snot and sweat dripped onto Ebb’s skin. For one terrible moment, Ebb thought Tweezer was goi
ng to kiss him.

  Tweezer opened his mouth wide. Like a vampire about to strike terror into a neck. But he didn’t bite his neck. No, sir. That callous swine had far worse intentions. He closed his mouth over Ebb’s nose and bit down, right through to the bone. He then chewed his way through sinew and gristle before wrenching a portion of Ebb’s mangled nose from his face.

  The centre of Ebb’s face exploded in a ball of flame. The flames leapt into his brain and set his thoughts on fire. Ebb tried to scream, but his throat was still pinned beneath Tweezer’s weight. His legs kicked out like a dying fly stranded on its back trying to fight the effects of an insecticide spray.

  Ebb didn’t see Max attack. He didn’t even feel the dog’s teeth rip into the bottom of his right leg. His injured nose commanded control of all his senses. But as Max bit deeper and shook Ebb’s leg from side to side, the pain ripped up into his groin and seized him by the balls.

  Ebb tried to scream but only managed to squeak and hiss. His hips gyrated like Elvis on speed as he tried to dislodge his attacker. His bare feet scraped against the concrete floor, tearing the skin and drawing blood.

  A gunshot. Way off on a distant galaxy. Perhaps a shooting star come to save mummy’s little Pixie-pea.

  Tweezer screamed and released his grip on Ebb’s nose as the bullet hit him in the back of his neck. Tweezer stared at him with eyes that seemed to attempt to hatch from their sockets. He panted and dribbled foam like a rabid dog. His lips were stained crimson. A grimace stretched those bloodied lips into a wide clown’s grin.

  Ebb’s throat whistled and wheezed and did its best to scream. Stars danced and popped before his eyes. A loud thudding noise boomed in his ears. All the things he’d done for Tweezer. Saved his miserable life when the outcast had turned up at The Sons and Daughters of Salvation with no crib for a bed.

  Tweezer opened his mouth and yawned blood.

  Another shot echoed around the walls of the Revelation Room. Max released Ebb’s leg as Marcus shot her in the back. Max howled and whined as the bullet smashed through her ribs and punctured her lung.

  Marcus fired again. This time, the bullet hit Tweezer in the base of his spine. It severed the spinal cord and killed him. Tweezer fell forwards and treated Ebb to fifteen stones of dead weight. By the time Marcus hauled Tweezer off him, Edward Ebb was unconscious and drowning in the rabid waters of Briers lock.

  Ebb regained consciousness five minutes later to find Brother Marcus hovering over him like an expectant father trying to figure out how to deliver a child. Most of his hair had escaped his ponytail in wild, sweaty strands.

  ‘Are you all right, Father?’

  Ebb gasped for air and prayed that the Lord would give him the strength to survive this awful unprovoked attack. He could see Tweezer lying face down on the floor a few yards to his left.

  Ebb’s throat was one step short of strangled. ‘Tweezer?’

  ‘He’s dead, Father.’

  Ebb tried to speak; it was like trying to summon words from a bog. The middle of his face felt as if it had been used to launch a rocket into space.

  ‘I shot him,’ Marcus elaborated.

  Ebb wheezed and coughed. ‘Maxine?’

  Marcus looked away. ‘She’s still breathing.’

  Ebb found his voice. ‘What do you mean, “she’s still breathing”? What have you done to her, you idiot?’

  ‘I shot her, Father.’

  Ebb willed his body to rise up and beat Marcus to a pulp. ‘You did what?’

  ‘I had to, Father. She attacked you.’

  This was all the fault of the Infiltrator. Ever since that imposter had shown up, everything had gone wrong. The Infiltrator had somehow orchestrated the whole thing. As soon as he had enough strength in his ravaged body, he would get answers out of him by blood or by stone.

  ‘You’d better pray that Maxine doesn’t die, Brother Marcus.’

  The twitch at the corner of Marcus’s eye started up again. ‘I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t know what else to do. She attacked you. She must have got confused with everything that was going on.’

  Ebb glared at Marcus. ‘That dog means more to me than anything else on this planet. So you’d better start praying.’

  ‘I could take him to a vet, Father.’

  ‘Max is not a “him”,’ Ebb wheezed. ‘He’s a “she”. And you’re not taking her to any vets. The same rule applies to animals as it does to people. We must never interfere with God’s intention. If she is to die because of your gross incompetence, then that is God’s will. Do you oppose God’s will?’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘No. No, of course—’

  ‘Pray, Brother Marcus. Pray with all your heart.’

  Marcus looked as if he’d just been asked to solve mathematical riddles in his head. ‘Now, Father?’

  Ebb ignored him. Either Marcus was trying to bait him, or he was as dumb as a muddy puddle. He pointed at Tweezer’s body. ‘Shoot him.’

  ‘But he’s already dead, Father.’

  ‘Are you a doctor?’

  ‘No, Father.’

  ‘Then what qualifies you to award a death certificate?’

  Marcus picked up the rifle and emptied three more bullets into Tweezer’s corpse. He lowered the rifle. ‘That’s all the bullets gone, Father.’

  Ebb didn’t care. A thousand bullets might not be enough to kill a heinous creature like Tweezer. You could never be certain. Of that he was certain. ‘I need treatment. That swine’s bitten my nose.’

  Marcus peered at Ebb’s wounded face. ‘Can you walk, Father?’

  The mention of walking made Ebb’s injured leg throb. ‘I don’t know. Help me up.’

  Marcus helped him to his feet and then buzzed about him like a fly wondering whether to offload its eggs. ‘Shall I fetch Sister Alice?’

  Ebb shook his head. A mistake. His brain bounced off the sides of his skull.

  My poor little Pixie-pea, his mother said from beneath the shroud of her pink wig.

  Ebb told her to shut up.

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. ‘Pardon, Father?’

  Ebb regarded Marcus warily. He was more than aware that evil spirits could hop from one body to another like a virus in a Russian winter. It might well transpire that all the bunnies would need to be burned after this sorry episode. It might be prudent to start again with Benjamin and Madeline. Perhaps those two could breed a new generation of The Sons and Daughters of Salvation. At least a new generation could be raised up pure and proper without fear of interference and risk of contamination.

  Has Pixie-pea bitten off his nose to spite his face?

  Ebb gawked at his mother’s skeleton. He was sorely tempted to go over there and dismantle her bone by bone.

  Marcus turned his attention to the Infiltrator. ‘I still don’t understand what a cop would be doing up a tree.’

  Ebb was in no mood to discuss the Infiltrator. ‘Perhaps he was trying to rescue a cat.’

  ‘We don’t have a cat.’

  Ebb snorted. A huge mistake. He ignited the afterburners idling on the spot where his nose used to be. He beat his fists against his sides and panted like a woman in the throes of labour. When the agony had subsided enough to allow the passage of words, Ebb chose them carefully. ‘I don’t know why he was perched up a tree with a long-range camera any more than I know why you seem to persist in babbling nonsense every time you open your mouth. But I’ll tell you this much: if he is a cop, and any cops show up here, that’s the end. Over and out. Roger that?’

  Brother Marcus looked at him with those blank-canvas eyes.

  Ebb tried to summon saliva into his mouth. ‘Everyone is to come to the Revelation Room. We shall pray. And then we shall set the fire.’

  ‘Fire?’ Marcus squawked.

  Ebb was now convinced that Brother Marcus had the leadership qualities of a chimpanzee. He clearly didn’t have a brain capable of independent thought. One thing was for certain in these dangerous times: he was in no mood to let his nose burn w
hilst Brother Marcus fiddled. ‘I want you to help me up to my room. Then go and get Sister Alice. Then get dressed in your overalls and get back up that tower. If any cops show up, I don’t want you to engage them in a shoot-out. This is not the OK Corral. You come and tell me so we can get all the bunnies down the rabbit hole.’

  ‘The rabbit hole?’

  ‘Down here, Pixie-pea.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  What a mess, Ebb thought. What a great big, tub-thumping mess.

  Chapter thirty

  ‘Oh, Father,’ Sister Alice cooed, looking at Ebb and stroking his head with her long slender fingers. ‘What on earth happened?’

  Ebb tried to force a smile. A try to be a brave little soldier whilst you lie to the doctor about how you fell down the stairs kind of smile. ‘Brother Tweezer attacked me.’

  Sister Alice looked as if an invisible hand had slapped her across the face. ‘Attacked you? Whatever for?’

  ‘Did Brother Marcus not tell you?’

  ‘He told me you were hurt, Father. He didn’t say anything else.’

  Ebb gargled blood and swallowed a thick clot. ‘Brother Tweezer had the Devil inside him. Brother Marcus shot him.’

  Alice’s eyes doubled in size. ‘Shot him?’

  ‘I’m afraid he had little choice. Brother Tweezer was out of control.’

  Alice bit her lower lip. ‘I thought Brother Tweezer was pure.’

  Ebb laughed. It sounded like a frog trying to learn to croak. ‘This is the very reason I tell everyone to be on their guard.’

  ‘Where’s Brother Tweezer now?’

  Ebb swallowed another clot and almost gagged. ‘In the Revelation Room. He’s dead.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Maxine, too, I fear.’

  ‘That’s terrible, Father.’

  Blood dribbled onto his top lip. ‘We’ve got a crisis on our hands. A crisis of gigantic proportions.’

  ‘But if Brother Tweezer’s dead, I don’t see—’

  Ebb held up a hand. ‘I fear Brother Marcus was contaminated when he killed Brother Tweezer.’

  ‘Contaminated?’