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

by Mark Tilbury

  Ben ignored her. ‘Why don’t you answer the question instead of hiding behind all this b-bullshit?’

  ‘I’ll pretend I never heard that.’

  Ben’s temples pulsated. ‘So what am I supposed to do? Suffer? Lick my wounds like a dog?’

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’

  ‘What if I was bleeding to death? Would you just stand there and watch me die?’

  ‘It’s not up to me who lives and who dies. It’s up to God and God alone. Your life is in His hands. What makes you think you have the right to challenge God’s will?’

  Ben laughed. ‘I don’t. I’m just wondering why God can’t show any compassion. I’m in agony thanks to your so-called leader.’

  Alice looked Ben up and down. ‘You don’t look as if you’re in much pain to me.’

  ‘No? How do you think it feels to have pins stuck in the soles of your feet? Or acid poured on your hands?’

  Alice crossed herself. ‘That was holy water.’

  ‘Holy water, my arse.’

  ‘The fact that it burned you only reinforces the existence of Satan within you.’

  ‘And you really believe that?’

  ‘I know that.’

  Ben looked for traces of the woman who’d existed before Ebb had filled her head with dangerous nonsense. ‘I wonder what your husband would make of all this rubbish.’

  ‘Don’t you dare speak about my husband.’

  Ben ignored her. ‘What was your husband’s name?’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Do you think he’d be proud of you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Proud of you for denying medical attention to someone in desperate need?’

  ‘He would understand.’

  ‘What about Ebb? Would your husband approve of him?’

  Alice held her hands to her chest. ‘Show some respect.’

  ‘I mean, come on; who’s the evil one here?’

  Alice stepped back towards the door. ‘Forgive him, Lord. He knows not what he says.’

  ‘Religion is nothing more than a made-up load of bullshit used to control people.’

  ‘You’ll go straight to Hell for that.’

  ‘Has Ebb ever told you about Cyril?’

  Alice looked behind her at the door and then back at Ben. ‘You don’t fool me with your filthy lies.’

  Ben ploughed on. ‘Do you want to know what Ebb did to Cyril?’

  Alice didn’t. Her hands fumbled for the door.

  ‘He killed him. And then he cut out Bubba’s tongue to stop him speaking about it. How’s that for compassion?’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  Ben laughed. A dry, humourless laugh that was a close relation to a sob. ‘Why else do you think Bubba can’t talk?’

  ‘Bubba can’t talk because he’s mute.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Bubba can’t talk because Ebb mutilated him.’

  ‘Liar,’ Alice shouted.

  Ben turned to Bubba. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  Bubba nodded.

  Alice pulled the door wide open. ‘He doesn’t talk because God has declared him a dumb mute. It has nothing to do with the Father.’

  ‘Can you hear yourself?’

  ‘The Lord can hear you,’ Alice retorted.

  ‘What has the so-called Father done to qualify for such a grand title? Murdered innocent people? Cut out people’s tongues? Poured acid on people?’

  ‘You can concoct all the fairy stories you like. My ears are deaf to your lies.’

  Bubba moved towards Alice.

  ‘Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Is that it, Alice? Turn a blind eye?’ Ben said.

  Alice stepped out on to the landing. ‘Get away from me.’

  ‘Stop her,’ Ben shouted.

  Bubba tried to grab hold of the edge of the door. Alice slammed it, crushing two of his fingers in the jamb. He yanked his hand free and held it to his chest as if trying to revive it with his heart.

  Alice closed the door. ‘You’ll pay for this. By God, you will.’

  Ben tried to respond. Tried to summon a smart-arse answer. But Stutter-buck was dumb-struck. Bubba-struck, you might say, if you were as cruel and vindictive as Sister Alice. ‘Bitch.’

  ‘You two will both go to Hell for this.’

  ‘See you there,’ Ben shouted back.

  Alice didn’t respond. Ben heard her walk across the landing and up the second flight of stairs to Ebb’s quarters. He turned to Bubba. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’

  Bubba looked at Ben the way an injured animal caught in a trap might look at a hunter. If Bubba could speak, he might tell old Stutter-buck he’d been perfectly happy working on the farm and minding his own business before Ben and Maddie had turned up and landed them in a dung heap the size of Kilimanjaro.

  ‘Are your fingers broken?’

  Bubba looked at Ben as if to say what the hell do you think?

  ‘Maybe we could smash our way through the window frame. The wood looks pretty rotten.’

  Bubba walked over to the window. He pointed towards the tower and then drew the index finger of his good hand across his throat.

  ‘They can’t be watching all the time. If we wait for it to get dark we might stand a chance.’

  Bubba panted and growled.

  ‘The dog?’

  Bubba nodded. He then walked over to his bunk and sat down on the edge. He bent so far forwards that his head was almost touching the floor. Conversation over. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage already, without suggesting we get shot and savaged by a dog?

  ‘We have to do something.’

  Bubba stared at the floor and nursed his injured hand.

  Ben walked over to the window and peered out through a net curtain of grime. Above the tower, dark clouds gathered in the sky like a funeral procession mourning the loss of liberty.

  Come on, Stutter-buck, jump. Make like a parachute and j-j-j-jump.

  Alice was right. They were dead. And no stupid plan could do anything to alter that.

  Chapter thirty-three

  Ebb looked up at Sister Alice and tried to process the words spewing forth from her mouth like the staccato rasp of machine gun fire. ‘Stop. Stop. Stop. Slow down.’

  ‘The Devil’s in them, Father. Right inside them. They’re rotten to the core.’

  Ebb dry swallowed. ‘Fetch me water and painkillers.’

  Sister Alice looked at Ebb as if he’d just requested a fresh turd for lunch. ‘Pardon, Father?’

  Ebb called upon all the saints within him for restraint. ‘Water. I need water and painkillers.’

  Sister Alice opened her mouth to say something else, but then seemed to think better of it.

  Ebb sincerely hoped that she would rid herself of hysteria by the time she returned. The remains of his nose felt as if it was still clamped between Tweezer’s manky teeth. As for his leg, that had been reduced to a butcher’s bone. He would definitely need a tetanus jab sometime soon. And antibiotics. Not that he blamed poor Maxine for his mangled leg. No, sir. Tweezer’s unprovoked attack had confused the poor animal.

  He looked up at the skylight. Dark clouds rolled across the sky. How he longed to feel fresh air in his lungs. To feel the cool invigorating summer breeze on his face. And a rent boy clamped to the end of his pecker. But now was not the time to indulge in fantasies. Not while Brother Tweezer lay rotting in the Revelation Room along with dear Maxine. There was a slim chance that the dog was still alive, but he didn’t dare raise his hopes. One thing was for certain, though: if that dog was dead, Brother Marcus would be burned at the stake. Ebb had raised that dog from a pup. To lose her now would be like losing half of his heart.

  Sister Alice returned with a glass of water and painkillers. ‘Shall I help you up, Father?’

  Ebb nodded and allowed Sister Alice to help him into a sitting position. A grenade exploded in his mangled nose. Ebb hollered and beat his fist against the sheet.

  ‘Are you all right, Father?�
��

  Why did everyone seem to ask him questions designed to elicit murder? ‘Do I look all right, sister?’

  Alice didn’t answer. She fed two paracetamol caplets into his eager beak. Ebb washed them down with the glass of water. His throat felt like a sandpit. Water dribbled down his chin. He tried to relax, but it was a big ask. A corpse in the throes of rigor mortis was more supple than he was right now.

  Ebb studied Sister Alice’s plain, poker face for signs of the Devil. It was becoming difficult to distinguish who was and who wasn’t contaminated by Satan’s poison. ‘Right, now tell me what’s happened.’

  Sister Alice relieved him of the glass. ‘I don’t know where to begin, Father.’

  ‘The beginning should serve you well, sister.’

  ‘Sister Emily is pregnant,’ Alice blurted.

  Ebb studied the woman’s face for signs of mischief. There was nothing instantly detectable. But that didn’t mean he should drop his guard. ‘Pregnant?’

  ‘She is carrying Brother Marcus’s child.’

  A surge of energy passed through Ebb. For a few seconds, the afterburner in his nose was put on the backburner. ‘This is a joke, right?’

  Alice shook her head. ‘I wish it was, Father. I’m as horrified as you.’

  Ebb tried to link his thoughts to coherent speech. It was like trying to hitch a trailer to the wind. ‘Horrified? Horrified? Please tell me that this is a joke.’

  ‘Perhaps we could abort the child, Father?’

  ‘Abortion is the contraception of the Devil. How could you even dare to make such a suggestion?’

  A nasty tic tugged at the corner of Alice’s mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Father. It was Sister Dixie’s suggestion, not mine.’

  ‘I shall pray for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’

  ‘You claim that Brother Marcus is the father of this bastard child?’

  ‘That’s what Emily says, Father.’

  ‘Fetch that heinous weasel from the tower.’

  ‘There’s something else, Father.’

  Ebb’s brain couldn’t could cope with any more bad news. ‘What?’

  ‘Benjamin and Brother Bubba tried to attack me. They tried to get out of their room.’

  ‘The sooner I’m up and running, the better it will be for everyone.’

  ‘Benjamin was saying things about you, Father.’

  ‘Benjamin? He doesn’t know the first thing about me.’

  ‘He claims you killed Brother Cyril.’

  Ebb’s heart stopped. There was no way on God’s sweet earth that Benjamin could know about Cyril. Bubba couldn’t talk. And even if he could talk, he was Polish for Christ’s sake. The bugger didn’t know a stitch of English. ‘Benjamin’s not been here five minutes. How could he make such a preposterous claim?’

  Alice looked away. ‘I’m sorry, Father. It’s just what he said. And then they tried to get out of the room. I only just managed to get out in time.’

  Ebb ignored Sister Alice’s heroics. Benjamin had to be in possession of special powers. The kind of powers only afforded to demons. Terror tweaked his balls and then squeezed them in a vice-like grip. So Satan had at last declared himself ready for the final showdown. Ebb had known all along that this day was coming. Right from the first time Jesus had appeared in that gardening programme all those years ago telling him that his mother must shame the shovel.

  ‘Are you all right, Father?’

  ‘What exactly did Benjamin say?’

  ‘He said that you killed Cyril, Father. Why would you want to kill Cyril? I thought he had an accident with a tractor.’

  Ebb felt like reaching up and wrapping his hands around that turkey neck and squeezing the chicken bones out of her. ‘Never mind accidents with tractors. What else did Benjamin say?’

  ‘He said that you cut out Bubba’s tongue because he saw you kill Cyril.’

  Ebb sat up in bed and swung his legs over the edge. The room swam in and out of focus. His head throbbed and his nose bleated like a lost lamb on a hilltop.

  ‘You need to rest, Father.’

  ‘Rest?’ Ebb squawked. ‘You think I should rest when Satan is among us?’

  ‘But you’re not well, Father.’

  Ebb rubbed his eyes. ‘Satan is in our hearts.’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  Ebb was in no mood to ponder what Sister Alice might or might not think. ‘He is spreading his filth and lies like a deadly virus.’

  Alice looked away. ‘He cannot defeat us, Father.’

  Ebb hacked phlegm. ‘Can’t defeat us? We have Sister Emily pregnant with Brother Marcus’s spawn. Brother Bubba attacks you, and Benjamin makes wild accusations. And you say Satan can’t defeat us?’

  ‘Is it true, Father?’

  Ebb looked at Sister Alice. She was all fuzzy around the edges. There were tiny silver balls clinging to the spikes of her hair. ‘Is what true?’

  ‘What Benjamin says about you killing Cyril and cutting out Bubba’s tongue?’

  Ebb nodded. ‘All true, your honour. I killed Cyril because he was contaminated, and I spared Bubba because he was a good worker. I simply removed his ability to tell tales.’

  After seeming to consider this for a few moments, Alice nodded. ‘You did the right thing, Father.’

  Ebb slapped his thigh. ‘Damn right I did the right thing. The Lord Jesus Christ Himself told me to do it.’

  ‘Praise Jesus.’

  ‘If the Lord Jesus Christ told me to jump off Mount Sinai, I would jump. If the Lord Jesus Christ told me to leap into the flames of Hell and rescue a fallen angel, I would jump.’

  A noble man indeed, Pixie-pea.

  Ebb ignored his mother. ‘I did what was right. That’s all any of us can do.’

  Alice bowed her head. ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘I am not bound by man-made laws. I follow Jesus Christ. I am answerable only to the Redeemer and the shovel.’

  ‘You did what you thought best, Father.’

  Tears formed cataracts over Ebb’s eyes. ‘There is no law in the land that can interfere with God’s will.’

  ‘Praise Jesus.’

  ‘I would walk over hot coals in blistered feet for the Lord. I would sleep upon a bed of rusting nails for the Lord.’

  Sister Alice wept. She plucked a tissue from a box of Kleenex on Ebb’s nightstand and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I love you, Father.’

  ‘We are nothing more than mortal servants. We are not here to question the workings of the Lord. We are here to carry out his instructions without fear or favour.’

  ‘A-men.’ The word was spliced into two syllables by a sob.

  ‘The trouble that Satan has brought to our door may seem insurmountable, Sister Alice, but I shall pray for resolution. I shall ask Jesus what must be done to defeat the enemy.’

  ‘I shall pray, too, Father.’

  Ebb tried to stand on his injured leg. A hot poker prodded him in the groin. ‘Fetch Brother Marcus.’

  Alice sniffed. ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘And don’t give him any hint or clue that we are aware of his evil deed.’

  ‘What if he asks why he has to leave the tower unmanned?’

  ‘Tell him we need to sort out Brother Tweezer.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  Ebb waited for Sister Alice to leave the room. He limped over to his mirrored wardrobe and peered at his mummified face in the glass. His eyes squinted back at him over the parapet of a thick white bandage cordoning off his nose. His lips were cracked and peeling. A large scuff mark disfigured the top of his head. He wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see a crown of thorns perched on top of his head and a cross pinned to his back.

  ‘This is all the work of the Infiltrator,’ Ebb told his reflection.

  The reflection agreed. And rightly so. Everything had gone from bad to worse since that agent of the Devil had turned up in the tree overlooking the farm. Never mind him being a cop; he was a much more determined adversary than a mere gover
nment gofer.

  You’re a sight for sore eyes, Pixie-pea.

  Ebb closed his eyes as his mother’s gruesome image appeared in the mirrored door. Her pink wig sat precariously on top of her head. One of her eyes was bruised and swollen. A Woodbine cigarette dangled from her pink lips. She looked like the Barbie doll from Hell.

  ‘Go away,’ Ebb whispered. After a few seconds, he opened an eye and peered at the wardrobe door. She was still there. Larger than death. The puffed and bruised eye winked at him.

  All the burnt bunnies are hopping mad.

  ‘Shut up,’ Ebb screeched.

  Come on home, Pixie-pea. The house is on fire and the bunnies are gone.

  Ebb gawked at that winking eye. What he’d give right now for the corner of a shovel. Unfortunately, that piece of equipment was otherwise engaged in the Revelation Room.

  Ma puffed on that Woodbine like a steam train. Her hideous features vanished behind a cloud of smoke. Ebb hobbled over to a fire extinguisher that was secured to the wall. He lifted it out of its bracket and released the pin. He then aimed the nozzle at his mother’s image.

  His mother laughed. A witch’s cauldron kind of laugh designed to glue your heart to your throat. He was about to pull the trigger when the smoke cleared in front her face. But it was no longer Veronica Ebb’s face. It was Cyril’s leathery old chops that didn’t look so much lived in as ransacked.

  Cyril smiled. You should have gone west, young man.

  ‘Cyril?’

  Aye. But you can call me bunny.

  ‘You’re not there,’ Ebb shouted. He squeezed the trigger and emptied a stream of pressurised foam at Cyril’s grinning chops. The foam obliterated all traces of Cyril from the mirrored door.

  Exhausted, Ebb dropped the spent canister on the bare oak floor where it landed with a hollow thud. Job done. That would teach Cyril to fiddle with his bunnies. He staggered back to the bed and sat down. His brain felt as if it was filled with treacle and all his thoughts were wading through the sticky mess.

  You can lead a bunny to fire, but you can’t make it burn, Pixie-pea, his mother said from beyond the wardrobe doors.

  Ebb summoned all the strength within him to retrieve the discarded extinguisher. He raised it above his head and hurled it at the middle wardrobe door. The glass exploded and fell to the floor in a waterfall of fragmented shards.