“I want warrants for every house in this village,” said Ash. He looked at Keera expectantly. She shrugged her shoulders and went to the front of the church to collect her bag. Maurice mumbled something and got back to the pyre. When they were gone, Ash leant over the font and let out a deep breath; he wished he could just exhale all of his troubles into the water but, when he looked back up again, they were still there.
His phone rang. He fished it out of his inside pocket and checked the caller ID, but he knew who it was. He ground his teeth together, knowing with a sinking heart that he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He span around hitting answer at the same time.
“Yes?” he hissed.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at work.”
“Great. I’m just going through your kitchen trying to find some olive oil. Where is it?”
“What are you doing in my kitchen, Penny?” he sighed.
“Cooking your dinner, mister. I assume you’ll be home in less than forty minutes.”
“No. I’m two hours away at least and we haven’t-” He broke off knowing it was pointless trying to explain to her that she didn’t have an open invitation to wander into his house and cook him a meal.
“Look, Asher,” she said angrily, “you better be back and you better appreciate the meal I’ve done you.”
“Jesus...” Ash looked around. He could feel his cheeks redden, his body temperature rising. Alix was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, obviously interested. He ran his hand down his face.
“Look, Penny,” he began, “I’m in the middle of something. Can we perhaps-”
“Oh you’re always in the middle of something, Asher! There’s always something more important than me, isn’t there?”
“How did you even get into my house?” he seethed.
“I took one of your keys a few weeks ago and got one cut, like you said I could.” At least she was an honest stalker, albeit one that was living in a dream world. Alix found some interesting stone work on the other side of the font a little closer to where his conversation was taking place
“I never-” he started, but he knew it was pointless.
He had met Penny a year ago at a BBQ Baron had organised. She was an admin clerk in central control. Data-entry-and-tea-for-the-decision-makers-sort-of-thing. They’d got talking. She wasn’t his type: long, straight mousy brown hair, too much make-up, no shame about the cellulite thighs being flaunted around Baron’s generous garden. He hadn’t thought much of the conversation at all. Something about them both liking The Golden Child with Eddie Murphy. He’d been bored and gone home shortly afterwards.
Then it had started.
“So, you’ll be home shortly,” she said brightly.
“Whatever.” He hung up.
Chapter 25
Eph hurried down the corridor to where he had left Megan in the drawing room. The eyes of his forefathers watched him nervously from inside their frames. The lights flickered and outside he could hear the distant rumble of thunder; the demon waking from its slumber.
The door was shut. He had left it open when he had left her. He threw it open.
“Megan!” he shouted, but it only took a second to register that the room was empty. He rushed to the window. He couldn’t see anything and there were no signs of the window having been opened. Outside, black clouds had gathered. The wind tore through the trees, taking with it waves of snow which danced and swept across the grounds covering everything in a grainy, distorted coating. Then the patter of large spots of rain on the glass, slow at first but building in momentum.
Where in God’s name was Megan?
Eph staggered out of the drawing room, his mind racing. Behind him, rain turned to hail and began to pelt against the window and for a moment he thought the glass might shatter. The corridor was lined with closed doors and the house, he knew all too well, was a labyrinth of small rooms, interlocking doors, hideaways, priest-holes and servants routes in the walls. Why the Hell hadn’t he locked the door?
He made his way across the corridor and down to the Grand Hall where he checked the front door, which appeared secure. He called her name. The sound reverberated off the stone walls, abating as it did, but he knew she wouldn’t answer him even if she had heard.
A crack of thunder, louder this time, and the chimes of the grandfather clock under the stairs. Then something else. Some muffled sound of movement, of scratching across the flagstone. He turned too late to see anything but the slightest movement of the double doors that led from the Grand Hall to, ultimately, the library.
He followed the sound, through two more rooms teeming with furniture, ornaments, paintings and other remnants of the Speck family history. Lightening flickered through the bay windows and for a brief second everything went white.
When he reached the library, he stopped dead.
The library was one of the largest rooms in Parkview and by far the most impressive. The lower level was surrounded by walls of leather bound texts. A dark oak writing bureau sat in the corner in front of a black leather chair, a magnificent chandelier hung delicately from the ceiling although the only light was cast from the wall lights dotted around the outside. Three steps up and the second level was separated by a small wooden banister about waist height. Fewer books on the second level but the room was dominated by three floor-to-ceiling bay windows looking out over the lake, barely visible through the snowstorm.
“I was just admiring your collection.”
The man in the black robe snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf, taking another in its place.
“Is this genuinely a first edition?” he asked, holding the book up for Eph to see like he was taunting him with it.
“What would you know of such things?” Eph said. “The book you hold is priceless. And you would have it destroyed along with everything else in this world if you could.”
He tossed the book in the corner, strode across to the edge of the banister, fingers dragging along the sleeves. He was considerably taller than Eph, broad shouldered and well built. Only the bottom of his chin was visible beneath the hood that fell around his head.
“Why don’t you show me your face, Harbinger?” Eph said, moving his feet round so that he faced the intruder as he approached the end of the wall of books.
“Because I choose not to.”
“You are a coward,” said the old man, but he couldn’t hide the quiver in his voice. The Harbinger laughed, picked his finger behind one of the books and threw it at Eph who caught it neatly in his hand, placing it delicately on a table nearby.
“It’s all been so disappointingly easy, hasn’t it?” said the Harbinger. For the first time Eph noticed little Megan Laicey sitting mournfully in a chair in the corner of the room looking out across the room into nothing. He looked at the Harbinger angrily.
“You cannot succeed,” he said. “You didn’t regenerate one of the children in time and she perished. Your dream is dead.”
The Harbinger chuckled quietly. It was an unpleasant sound. “That is your adopted species’ constant mistake, Ephraim,” he said. “You persistently underestimate my kinds’ capabilities.”
“Your kind? You are no different to us and the Necromire that controls you is merely an outcast, exiled from the Void and turned mad by the deluded vision that Sin might one day be able to join us here in this paradise.”
“Paradise? You call this paradise?” The Harbinger laughed again, louder this time. “We are barbarians, Ephraim. Trapped in a backward world the time for which is almost up. Why fight to save such a pitiful World, one that Cronos himself has abandoned? This is an opportunity, friend. An opportunity to erase what has been done and start again. Can’t you see the logic in that? And we – the chosen Hosts – will rule under Sin’s direction. That will be our paradise.”
Inside Eph’s head, a voice that only he could hear spoke softly to him.
“You would waste the lives of living things, defy the Laws of the Ether and s
pit on the creator for what? So Sin can play at being God? Cronos has not abandoned this World, Harbinger; Cronos has abandoned you, which is why you’re so desperate to emasculate him.”
“Why not? The acts of man are inconsequential are they not? Law three, is it? It is irrelevant anyway. The Prophecy has foretold of these events anyway. You cannot prevent their loss coming to pass.”
“The Prophecy is malleable, Harbinger. And you are breakable!”
The old man moved with a grace and skill unbefitting his age. He whipped around past the bureau to his left, seizing as he did the oak chair and hurled it with unnatural strength at the Harbinger. The chair tore through the air at astonishing velocity, but Eph’s adversary neatly sidestepped the attack and the chair smashed against the back wall below the coloured window, splintering and crashing to the floor in pieces. Realising that the projectile had missed its mark, Eph struck out his hands towards the desk and propelled it across the room. It twisted and cracked in the air, pens, paper and books were flung aimlessly around the room and for a moment it appeared inevitable that the Harbinger would take the full force of the bureau head on.
For a short, horrifying moment there was silence and stillness. The room imploded, the air froze. It seemed that even time itself had stopped. Eph and the Harbinger stood motionless opposing each other, their hands outstretched, the Harbinger’s mouth warped into a nefarious grimace. The bureau hung, mystifyingly, suspended in the air, awry at an angle as if lynched from the ceiling with ropes at each corner of different lengths. There seemed to be an invisible energy emanating from Eph and the Harbinger that in that moment came together at opposite ends of the bureau and neutralised, cancelling each other out. Then, like a black hole opening and the space around it rushing in to fill the void, life and noise and motion and madness returned to the room in the blink of an eye and the bureau was sent sprawling back across the room where it buried itself into Eph, knocking him to a heap to the floor and breaking in half as it did.
Eph hit the floor hard and felt bones in his legs and shoulder shatter, sending a debilitating wave of excruciating pain and nausea through his body. He wheezed as the wind was taken out of him but even as he hit the floor he knew he had to get up again quickly or the Harbinger would be upon him. He felt his legs stir and he felt his body rise and for a second he thought he was in control, but he soon realised that his movement was involuntary. He was paralyzed but he was being propelled to stand, forced to his feet quicker than his ageing frame could cope with. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt his muscles tighten, their efforts to resist the movement hopeless. His head was suddenly forced up and he gazed into the eyes of his assailant; those dreadful, dead eyes.
“You!” he exclaimed, the recognition jolting him back to consciousness.
The Harbinger stood holding his arm outstretched as he had done when he had caught the bureau in mid air and sent it back to Eph. With the slightest twitches of his fingers he manipulated Eph’s frame so that it was lifted up off the floor; his feet dangled downwards helplessly, his arms were caught in a vice, and he was thrust against the back wall. And as the Harbinger lifted the old man higher up the wall it felt like invisible strings had attached themselves to Eph’s skin. He felt everything tighten and his breathing became constricted, his wind pipe locking shut. The feeling of choking was draining him and it took everything he had to remain conscious.
“Know this, old man,” he heard a distant voice say. It was a voice he recognised. “The day of man is at an end. It is time your pathetic era ended. The age of Sin is upon you and I will take pleasure in watching this fucking World burn.”
C
hapter 26
It was a three hour journey home through the snow. As the Outlander pulled into the drive of a modern detached house on the estate, Ash’s eyes stung with fatigue.
Penny’s car was abandoned haphazardly on the driveway blocking both garages. He cursed under his breath. She must still be here.
It had started after Baron’s BBQ, a few weeks later maybe. She’d got hold of his mobile number from somewhere. He’d sworn to find the person who gave out his phone number and string them up on a washing line somewhere but never gotten round to it. The text seemed innocent enough. Something like: Hi Ash its Penny from the DSI’s BBQ! Would be nice to c u again n havin party tomorrow night if ur free? Xxx
He hadn’t replied but stored the number just in case.
He pulled up on the pavement outside the house. He knew the beat patrol round here anyway and if anyone gave him a ticket he’d make their lives Hell. She had acquired more gnomes. They littered the pathway leading from the road to the front door. Cheap, badly painted little figurines with their tiny fishing rods, wheelbarrows and toadstools. There were over thirty now, he guessed. All staring at him, their feigned smiles taunting him in the silver moonlight. Why she bought him gnomes as gifts, he had no idea. It was just her thing.
The weeks that followed the first text message were worrying. The messages got more and more elaborate and more and more unilateral to such an extent that he regularly checked the sent messages in his phone to see if anyone was replying to her on his behalf.
Hi Ash, wd b awesome 2 c u this wkend. Goin to V fes if u want 2 cum? XxxP
Saw u the other day buying cheese at Morrisons! Great coat! Waved but u didn’t c me. XxxP
Been shopping today. Got u a Superdry top! Will leave it os ur house. XxxP
He carefully opened the front door. The hallway was dark. He stepped over a mound of discarded clothes and into the lounge.
“Hi!” From out of nowhere she emerged in front of him, beaming from ear to ear. Shocked, he stumbled backwards stupidly.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “What the Hell?”
“Sorry, gorgeous,” she said, jumping forward and grabbing his arms pointlessly. “Are you ok?” She had this stupid mocking fake baby voice he guessed he was lucky enough to have reserved just for him and maybe other men she terrorised.
“I don’t need your help.”
“Of course you don’t, silly man. Did you have a great day at work today?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, what are you doing in my house?”
“Ha! You’re such a tease.” She skipped off into the lounge and after a few moments heavy breathing he followed her.
This was perhaps the third time she’d been in his house without him knowing about it. The first time she’d left hundreds and hundreds of tiny pieces of paper screwed up everywhere which said I love u on them. The word love was represented by a badly drawn, skewed heart. For weeks afterwards he’d found them lying around the house. In his bed, all round the edges of rooms, in the washing machine, in the kettle, in the bathroom cabinet. Everywhere. Even, weirdly, in the toilet. The second time was slightly more disturbing. She’d been waiting for him, sat in an empty bath in the dark. That was a horrible, horrible day. Now apparently her modus operandi had changed again and she was cooking him dinner and generally acting like they lived together which, in her disturbed head, they probably did.
Whenever he found out how she managed to get a key to his front door...
He’d change the locks tomorrow. Should have done it sooner.
“Look Penny,” he said. She sat down on the sofa, crossed her legs, spread her arms out across the back and smiled at him provocatively. “Look Penny, I think we need to talk about this.”
“Talk about what, Asher?”
“This thing you’ve got going on in your head about us.”
“What thing about us?”
“I don’t really know how to categorise it. A keen interest maybe. I don’t know. But it’s... it’s not reciprocated, Penny.”
“What’s not reciprocated, Asher?” There was that hint of danger in her voice he’d detected before. He’d never been further than this point previously.
“This thing you have. You know: turning up to my house, stealing my keys, leaving many gnomes – many gnomes – on my front lawn. It’s a bit weird to be
honest.”
“You don’t like my gnomes?” She seemed genuinely hurt.
“It’s not really about the gnomes. Look, I’m in the middle of a very large and complex case and I don’t have time for a relationship-” That was a really stupid thing to say, he thought.
In many ways, he only had himself to blame. Really, as a detective inspector, it wouldn’t be too difficult to get a restraining order against her. He had enough incidents to persuade even the most liberal of judges if he needed to. A few weeks of her making his life even more difficult, a court appearance, a piece of paper with a phone number and penal notice on it and he’d be free of her. But that was just it. Candidly, he was embarrassed. He was DI Ash Fielding. When it got round the station that he had a stalker he’d be a laughing stock. There was a precedent for it. Couple of years ago there was a DS in Complaints and Conduct who got into a fight with his neighbour about the size of a leylandi. Got a bit messy and turned into a drama. Regular updates rippling through the canteen every morning. Did you know he’s parked his car across the other guy’s drive just to annoy him? That sort of thing. Anyway, it got out of hand. Soon the DS was known solely because he was engaged in a long running legal battle with his neighbour and soon he was so swamped by it he put in for a transfer.
So Ash would deal with this himself.
“Well I’m sorry I don’t have as an important a job as you, Asher,” she was saying. “We can’t all be DIs and frankly your attitude is very selfish.”
“Penny, I don’t even know y-”
“No, you just hold on right there, Asher Fielding! I’m sick of this. What is it you want me to do? Beg? I’m here when you need me, aren’t I?” She was kicking up quite a frenzy by now. Ash wondered how thick his walls were. It was late and the neighbours were annoyingly nosy. “I don’t think you have any clue how lucky you are to have me around. Heaven knows why I bother with you, you selfish pig! If you want to keep me, Asher, you’d better start bucking your ideas up because there are plenty of men out there who would really appreciate a girl like me.”
Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1) Page 10
