The third shark drew away into the shadows, but Julia turned to look at him. Her eyes held his and he felt his legs buckle beneath him, as he fell to the ground. He tried to stand but he had no strength left in his body. He lay beached and helpless.
Julia turned into the entrance hall of the brownstone. The moment had gone and she was back to normal, although that wasn’t how she felt. She had suffered these attacks of uncontrollable energy for as long as she could remember and she was tired.
It was well past midnight and thankfully Des was asleep when she went into the apartment. She undressed and went to sleep in the spare.
In the morning she told him it was because she didn’t want to disturb him but they both knew the real reason. She told him she needed a few days break, go and see her son, her parents. Maybe it would be for the best if he were gone when she got back. He handed over his key like a naughty child scolded at school.
The drive up to Albany took almost two hours. The regular payment she sent each month to her parents represented a quarter of her salary but it didn’t free her from the guilt she felt for leaving her son with her parents.
Her parents had taken the news of her pregnancy well enough, even when she refused to name the father, and had supported her while she finished college and established her career. It had been their idea to look after Matt while Julia worked, and the arrangement suited them all, with the schools, the friends Matt was making, and the quality of life he was enjoying far better than he would have had in the city. It took a huge toll though in Julia’s emotions.
Her parent’s house was set back from the road on its own piece of land, shielded by trees from the nearest neighbours. As usual her mother was in the kitchen making something for the lunch, while Matt and her father played in the woods or fields that surrounded them.
The weekly visits ran a similar course each time, with her mother anxious to ensure she was looking after herself correctly and her father always prepared to remind her of the sacrifices he was making on her behalf.
Matt and she were just glad to spend some time together. They caught up on one another’s news, read, played and generally enjoyed being together.
When the day was over, and Matt was long in bed, the evening meal ate, and her father smoking a cigar on the porch, Julia helped her mother with the dishes. It was when she dropped a plate, the motion of it falling to the floor seemingly caught in freeze frame action that she knew something was wrong. After the attack in the park she wouldn’t have expected another one so soon. Making the excuse of being tired she went to her room, largely unchanged since she had lived in the house.
Outside her window she could hear an owl as it swooped low over the fields. The aroma of her father’s cigar wafted on the warm night air. The episode with the muggers flashed into her mind. Her head began to spin. In the next room she could hear Matt’s slow and even breathing. Bright lights began to dance in front of her eyes. She closed her eyes but the lights were still there. Her mother was climbing the stairs, and Julia knew she would have a glass of milk on a tray. The milk was parchment white, blank like skin. Don’t drink the milk, whore just like my mother. Pain flashed through her head and her body sat upright on the bed.
There was bright light, and burning at the mouth of a tunnel. A man was running and then he fell. Before she knew what she was doing she had pulled her case out, packed what little she had taken out and was saying her goodbyes.
Robert Moreland was already aware he had never really known his brother. Even as a boy Michael had always been different from the others. Where they would be frightened of the dark Michael seemed to prefer it; when the others crouched down into the sofa while watching old horror films, Michael would be laughing and calling it ‘unreal’. Robert could clearly remember Michael having a kind of quest to find what he called the ‘true horror in life’. When he learned about his psychic powers he was overjoyed, until he realised both his brothers shared them as well. Then he was mortified and swore he would do everything he could to make his powers stronger, better, different.
A fierce flame of light seared at Roberts’s thoughts and he recoiled, bringing his mind away from Michael’s dark mind.
The mask started to slip away; the civilised veneer with which the beast had cloaked itself cracked and fell, leaving the true horror, the true nature of the evil that lay below the surface; that had always lain beneath Michael’s surface.
The layers peeled away like petals from a dying rose and the handsome man that had been created disappeared, as what Michael Moreland had become started to emerge, blinking into the gloom. Skin split, bones liquefied, as something dreadful showed its true face.
Robert moved against one wall, as far away as he could get, as the windows broke in a shower of splinters and the sky outside, unnaturally black, starless and storm-laden, closed in. Clouds across the sky caused shadows to dance in the room, where once had been people, and the shadows seemed to cry out in torment, the volume rising until Robert had to cover his ears to be able even to think. He imagined he could hear Rebecca's voice above the rest but he knew it was an illusion.
In front of him now, amorphous on the ground, was a huge shapeless mass that swayed like a black cloud, rolling and unfurling as if a shadow of someone’s nightmare. All around was the stench of decay, a rotting flesh, and Robert gagged when he saw, caught up in the mass of the creature’s body, corpses, some merely white bone, others with tattered flesh still hanging from the skeletons, and some, the worst sight of all, some still alive but caught and helpless. There were living things within the mass, writhing, feeding from the dead and the dying, tearing the rotted flesh from the bones.
In the corner of the room four shapes moved stealthily towards Robert; the women clothed now in torn rags, skin hanging in folds from their emaciated bodies, tongues lolling over cracked lips, as though they had escaped from the mass. The one with red hair sprang at Robert, catching his chest with her claws, but he twisted to one side as she jumped. As he felt the skin of his chest tear he swung his fist down on her head, knocking her away from him. She fell awkwardly to the floor, and before she could move Robert ran over to her, gripped her neck between his hands, wrenched savagely sideways and heard the loud crack as her neck broke.
The other three women howled, dropped to all fours and rushed at Robert. As they ran past the massive creature a tentacle whipped out and took the brown haired one. She whimpered as she was lowered into the heart of the beast. There was a fierce blaze of heat, and her body crackled as the fire took hold.
The remaining two women were picked up as if feathers; the head of one was bitten off with a crunch and the discarded body dropped into the seething mass. Robert was weakened by the constant need to keep his defences alert. With the beast distracted with the women, he edged along the wall, trying to get to the broken window. Suddenly a claw like tentacle shot out and knocked him to the floor. He struggled to his feet, keeping his mind alert, but the room appeared to be empty. There were restless shadows all around, but he couldn’t sense Michael, or what he had become.
The room was silent except for his laboured breathing. He let his mind relax, dropped his defences, and opened his senses, probing for a reaction. There was resistance immediately; the force was still in the room, and he covered his mind again, sending out waves of attack. The answer was instant and ferocious; Robert was lifted bodily from the ground and flung like a rag doll against the far wall, the breath knocked out of him. Before he could move he was lifted again and thrown against the floor, where he slumped in a heap. A huge arm whistled out of the darkness and smashed into his nose.
Despite the pain he threw out wave after wave of energy feeling the wounds opening, and the pain he was inflicting. There were voices in his head, or were they in the room? ‘Eat drink and be merry.’ ‘Party seems to be going well.’
A bride stood in the centre of the room, dressed in flowing white, a thin veil covering her face. Pure white hands lifted the veil and he stared into th
e face of Imogen as she might have been on her wedding day. Then the dress began to crumble, the material dissolving, as Imogen’s features changed; maggots crawled from her eye sockets, worms wriggled from her mouth, and blood seeped from the pores of her skin as she sagged to the floor and sank into a pool of thick liquid.
Robert felt the pressure squeezing his brain, battering his defences. The beast was materialising in the room, the huge black cloud filling half the room, expanding, rolling towards Robert, ready to swallow him.
The pain in Robert’s head was too intense now, the agony of his body too deep to ignore. He needed to sleep. He felt the tentacles lick over him, slimy and possessive. He imagined he heard the cruel chuckle that Michael always gave when, as a boy, he would play a cruel trick on Robert and Frank.
Then everything was bathed in a brilliant white light. The creature, its body filling the room, seemed suddenly to shrink away from the light. Robert sent one last weakened probe into its mind and felt momentarily not one entity but two. Two powers were locked in a struggle that lasted mere moments before there was an implosion, the walls of the room seemed to crumble and Robert collapsed.
When he woke he had the taste of dust in his mouth. He coughed, a harsh rasping cough that jerked through his injured body bringing a scream of protest from his limbs. He lay face down on the floor, breathing deeply, trying to ascertain how badly hurt he was. His eyes were puffy and swollen, there was a crust of dried blood under his nose, and his ribs were aching. The skin on his chest and side was torn, but the blood had already dried.
He pulled himself to a seated position, his head throbbing, uncertain where he was. When he remembered he shrank into himself, defensive; but there was nothing here. He probed gently through the house, but the rooms were as empty as shells left stranded on a beach. His thoughts bounced back from darkened rooms and passages, like strangers avoiding each other’s glances.
The house was a tomb, and he knew Rebecca was dead. With a low groan he sank to his knees, hugging himself with the physical pain of his grief. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, as the realisation of his loss was uncontrollable. He rocked back and forth, calling her name.
Slowly he forced the pain to subside, leaving him alone and numb. There was nothing for him here. The Jaguar was outside, parked neatly on an empty drive.
Thunderheads were gathered across Boston, purple black edifices rimmed with silver, hanging threateningly above the masts of the yachts in the harbour, touching the tips of the trees on Boston Common with dark menace.
A dog whined low in its throat and slunk along on its haunches, belly-down on the sidewalk, chasing shadows in which to conceal itself, shying away from the lights. Its ears were pricked in fearful apprehension; something was hidden in the storm, and it frightened the animal’s instincts, making it want to hide until whatever it was had gone. A car door slammed and the dog began to whimper, darting down an alley for comfort, crouching there, panting softly, eyes watchful.
The apartment in Hanover Street was cold and empty, flat and dead without Imogen’s presence. Daniel moved from room to room restlessly, feeling like a stranger in his own home. He couldn’t accept the police advice and, ‘go home and wait by the ‘phone.’ He slammed his fist against a doorframe; he had to get out and do something. The anger and fear were welling up inside again, but the overwhelming emotion was of frustration. Frustration that he had failed to protect her; frustration that he had no idea where she was, or what was happening…a sob broke from his mouth and he clamped his hand to his lips to try to stem it but the tide was rising. He sat on their bed, stroked her pillow, and sobbed into his hands. He had never known such hurt, such terror before and he was frightened he couldn’t cope.
They had argued at the hospital when he had announced he was discharging himself, but there was little they could do to prevent him. The nurse arrived to give him another injection and found him searching for his clothes. The doctor was called and added his protests but Daniel was adamant; he signed the waivers and disclaimers and got a cab home.
Only it didn’t feel like home any more. He showered quickly and changed his torn and bloodied clothes. The black and silver Harley Davidson stood on its rest, waiting for him like an old and dependable friend. He started the engine, eased the bike from its stand, and drove out into the rain swept night.
Robert stared broodingly out at the rampant storm. The air was thick, hot and humid. He breathed deeply through his nose, sniffing the air, detecting the faint whiff of ozone. As a fork of lightning ripped through the sullen sky his fingers clenched on the windowsill, knuckles whitening under the steady and intense pressure he was immersed in. He wanted to scream, to voice his pain, his grief; he wanted to see Rebecca again; he wanted to kill Michael; he wanted to hurt someone so that he might feel better. Anger rose like bile and as the thunder exploded above him he slammed the window shut.
A small walnut table stood in a corner of his study, and he walked to it, and poured a large Scotch from a crystal decanter. The hand that held the matching crystal glass shook so much the drink slopped over the side, bouncing from his shoe to stain the patterned Persian rug. He was still in shock, he knew that, but he had to take action. Somewhere, what was once his brother was waiting for him.
He gripped his wrist to steady it, poured some more whisky, and brought the glass up to his lips with both hands. The scotch burned his throat but he gulped it down in one long swallow. The drink focussed his mind; he didn’t want a distracted mind for the work ahead of him.
Thunder growled and found an echo in the dog’s throat. The sound gave way to another, a deep rhythmic roaring, and the dog looked around with frightened eyes, terrified by the single white eye glaring in the distance. As it closed in the roar got louder and the white eye blazed fiercely. The hackles rose on the dog’s back and it broke from the cover of the alley, ran across the street, into the path of the oncoming Harley Davidson.
The bike’s headlights speared the dog in the centre of the road, before Daniel swerved, leaned on the horn and pulled the machine out of its skid. The dog howled and raced away seeking cover in the lee of a storm drain. Daniel swore at it, and rode off, riding as fast as before, not really caring if he made it to Robert’s house or not.
When he got there all the lights in the house were off, but the car was there. Using his own key to let himself in, he checked the downstairs rooms but they were all empty. He began to get a nervous feeling. Were they at the police station? Or at the morgue, identifying Imogen’s body?
Robert was in the study. Both men looked at each other, appraising the physical injuries they both displayed. Awkwardly, as if acknowledging that it was others they would rather embrace, they hugged.
Daniel realised Robert had more knowledge than he did, knew more than he did about what had happened. Quietly and efficiently Robert told Daniel about Imogen, about Rebecca, and as much as he could explain about Michael.
When Robert had finished speaking they held each other’s eyes in hostile silence. Daniel found he was shaking.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Robert poured another drink, and without asking whether he wanted one, handed one to Daniel. “There’s one thing I haven’t told you, because I’m not sure about it myself.”
Daniel drained his glass, realising they were both drinking far too much. “What else can there be to tell?”
Robert hesitated, not sure if the other presence he had felt in the house, for a split second, had been what he thought. “I haven’t seen Michael for years, ten or more. I always knew he would use his powers badly; but I haven’t seen my other brother, Frank, for about the same length of time.”
“You had a ‘falling out’, you’ve told me before.”
“Sure, Michael disappeared off to Europe, and I never heard from him. Frank went off the rails, drink, drugs, you name it; all in an attempt to escape the power he didn’t want. When I thought Michael was going to kill me, in the house, when I was completely drained
, another force entered the room, and if I’m right that was Frank.”
“Would his power be strong enough to know you were in trouble?”
Robert looked out of the window, at the departing storm. “If I’m right, I think Frank is holding Michael, by the force of his will. The trouble is Frank isn’t as strong as Michael, especially after the life he’s led; it’s just a matter of time before Michael, or whatever he is now, breaks free.”
“What happens then?”
Robert shrugged. “I have no idea, but I think I’m his prime target. Rebecca and Imogen were pawns in his game.”
Daniel helped himself to another scotch. Robert accepted his glass without acknowledgement. “So,” Daniel said. “We need to find Frank.”
Robert pulled a huge tongue of paper from the computer printer. “I think we already have, or rather he’s found us.” He gave the pile of paper to Daniel.
“What’s this?”
“Look at it; it was hanging out of the printer when I got back, the computer was switched off, so God knows how it printed it.”
Most of the paper was blank, but at random intervals were letters, partly formed into words. When words were decipherable they were repeated, over and over, until the letters merged into themselves. The words seemed to be ‘Michael’, ‘Frank’, ‘Robert’, and ‘help’.
Daniel shook his head in amazement. “All we need now is an address.”
Robert gave a tight smile. “Look at the very bottom, where there seems to be just a jumble of letters.”
Daniel looked, walked to the lamp and held the paper close. Amongst hundreds of repeated letters, and numbers, coalesced as though someone was holding down several keys at once on a computer keyboard, was an address in Kansas.
A Weaving of Ancient Evil Page 26
