by R. J. Gadney
Candlelight sparkled on the scarlet varnish of her fingernails. “Are we of single mind?” she asked. Without waiting for a reply, she said: “Please, together say: ‘I am.’”
There was a low harmonious chorus: “I am—I am—I am.”
“I am, we are,” said Teresa. “We will observe the silence and touch each other. Place your hands upon the unsullied cloth of virgin white. Touch. Hold hands. Let us pray. We put aside all thoughts of self, our fears, our problems, our thoughts of what has happened to us today, all thoughts of what we have seen or imagined or suspected from our minds.”
Sophie cleared her throat.
“We invoke love,” continued Teresa, “so that we will share our innermost feelings for each other.”
Hal felt the suggestive pressure of Francesca’s fingers.
“The doctrine of Our Circle shows us the nature and right use of those means which we have instituted to remit our sins, give us grace, infuse into and increase in us the virtues of Faith, Hope and Charity and the Life Herebefore.”
Francesca edged closer to him and sighed.
“We are joined together,” said Teresa, “in a united bond of psychic energy, in our personal spaces, in the true circumference of each, and in the love and remembrance of Priscilla. The Living here tonight cry to the Living Dead for vengeance against those who do not freely give of their flesh in love and because their iniquity is so great and so manifest that it inspires the Spirits to punish them with the Severest Chastisement. Let us watch the white light of the Seven Candles, as we ask for the presence of the pure light of Angels, our Guides, and our Gods. Focus upon the Seven Flames. Feel only the Sacred Energy of the candles’ light as we seek the Divinity of Patience. Now please keep Sacred Silence. Flesh in Flesh. Silence Sacred.”
The storm beating The Towers seemed to Hal to be holding him in its possession.
Sophie squeezed his fingers. She too must have been alerted to the eerie reverberations from the Bell Tower causing dull, irregular shudders within the structure supporting the floor of Priscilla’s bedroom.
He imagined that the bell was slowly swinging and booming in protest against the storm’s assault. The vibrations seemed to emanate from the impact of some distant hammer blows within The Towers, low bass steel-on-steel accompaniment to the storm: rising, falling, rising once again as the storm charged at the walls like waves crashing on a beach.
During the briefest of silent intervals he heard faint rustlings, creaks of wood on wood, the smooth sounds of the seven sputtering candles.
How the danger sinks and swells, of the bells of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells …
*
He stole a glance at Sophie, searching for some sign of equilibrium.
Her fair hair was shining in the candlelight, her full lips were moist, her eyelashes cast long shadows on her cheeks, her green eyes glinted, her white silk dress shimmered.
Sumiko—Sophie—Sumiko—Sophie.
Hands had surely begun to toll the bell.
… by the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells …
The rhythm beat in his eardrums and his head was spinning. The bell summoning him.
52
Hal and Sophie shifted tentatively on the upright chairs to make themselves more comfortable. Francesca, her thigh pressed against Hal’s, did likewise.
Teresa sat very still; her eyes closed allowing the incorporeal voices of The Towers to possess the sickly bedroom of the living dead, inviting phantoms to find refuge with her and escape the vagaries and dangers of the natural world.
To Hal it seemed an eternity during which he fought to control his confusion, fear and anger. The bell beat on in his head. Inexplicably, the room filled with lingering insubstantial white shadows.
What new orgiastic depravity fueled by Velamorphine and NulFail was forming behind these telepathic masks? Now so demure, her body pressed close to his, would Francesca with downcast eyes, her parted lips alive with spittle, begin some new seduction?
Where was the shotgun? Had MacCullum or even Warren been here to steal it?
Who or what were those deformed and loathsome succubae feeding on the detritus of the dead in the cellars, and why?
Had his mother and Saba Abe liaised to issue some perverse Declaration of Inhuman Rights and instituted a new regime, a Second Front of horror? No memory of the future offered itself to guide him.
When was Sumiko arriving? Would she get here through the blizzards to cleanse the evil from this crumbling mausoleum of resurrection? Would it now collapse, destroy itself and take the living with it into eternity?
Locked into the psychic life force connecting her to the world beyond: its past, its present and its future, Teresa Vale chanted: “The nearcoming of Priscilla heralds Patience. It is but a little while that She will come that She shall come to us in Her Fullness. Be patient, therefore, my Sisters Sophie and Francesca and my Brother Hal unto Her coming. Be also patient, for the Coming of Priscilla draweth nigh. Her redemptive spirit draws near us in neither suffering nor affliction. Her peace is as a river. Her words, the music of the flowing stream. And when at last She is come to honor us with Her Divine Presence I will pose questions for Her Answering made crystalline by the Psychic Life Force through me, possessed by Her Divinity and She will answer simply: ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’”
Francesca’s fingers clutching his were moist: Sophie’s dry and warm.
“We will say together the Most Sacred and Supreme Invocation. Say after me: ‘Our beloved Priscilla … We bring ourselves … as gifts from this life into the Abyss of Death … Commune now with your intimate loves, Priscilla … and move among us …’”
Hal saw spittle dribbling from Francesca’s lips and then Teresa slowly slumped forward, her face pressed flat against the white tablecloth.
“She is here,” she whispered. “Keep silence so She may speak.” She began to talk incomprehensibly as though a claw had clamped itself across her mouth.
Sophie tightened her grip on Hal’s fingers.
Teresa said: “Can you hear me, Loved One?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in The Towers?”
“No.”
“In the storm?”
“Yes.”
“Hal is here with us.”
“Yes.”
“Hal in whom you are much pleased?”
“Yes.”
“May we talk of conception?”
“Yes.”
“Conception occurred after twenty-four hours of ovulation?”
“Yes.”
“Francesca is with child?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who the father is?”
“Yes.”
“Is Hal the father?”
“Yes.”
Hal stared at Francesca. She gently removed her hand from his and drew her shawl over her inclined head so it formed a veil.
Simultaneously, Teresa raised a photograph to the light of the candles. Francesca bore an uncanny resemblance to the image of the veiled Virgin.
“Is this the image of Francesca with child?”
“Yes.”
Hal held Sophie’s hand so tightly he could feel the bones of her broad fingers. Though the diagnosis of Francesca’s state might be ludicrous, it was still distressing. Sophie looked startled and Teresa went on babbling.
Hal tried to speak. The words wouldn’t come. He felt Francesca edging her legs close to his and her arm slide around his waist, a gesture of possession that brought a gloating tone to Teresa’s voice.
His father’s rocking chair had started moving.
Was the old boy about to have his say too? He was a man for plain speaking, pace the teachings of prophet, magician, poet and sexual adventurer Maynard Arcus, there was nothing amorphous about his father’s views. There was always the touch of cruel truth in his sour candor.
The howling of the Jack Russell outside the bedroom connected his anxiety to the supernatural signals of distress emi
tted by the storm. Demons were gathering in the ether. The unexpected was to be expected. Nothing was impossible. As for Teresa, the sound of the puppy’s pain acted as a balm.
She was asking questions in a tone of self-pitying frankness: “Is it right that we are alone here this Christmas time?”
“Yes.”
“Is it wrong,” Teresa complained, “that Mrs. Sumiko Wright join us here?”
“Yes.”
The Yes became an echoing Yessss—and Hal felt it trigger the vibrations of his cell phone in his jacket pocket.
He got up abruptly from the table, knocking his chair over backward as he went, staggering from his mother’s bedroom, fishing out his phone. Sophie looked at him and he saw an awful sympathy in her eyes. It was as if she feared for his sanity and recognized he was falling into an infernal trap he’d set himself.
53
Harsh and discordant sounds filled the Great Hall where the demented Jack Russell pup, terrified and panic-stricken by the screaming of the wind, careered across the floor. The lead from its collar whipped about like an IED’s wire.
Maddened, the turning animal crashed into furniture: howling at the headlights of a car beaming through a window. Its driveling mouth stretched open as though terrified by the sound of soot falling in a chimney breast.
Hal’s cell phone vibrated.
Above the deathly image of Planet Earth, he read the omen—BLOCKED—and tapped the screen—ANSWER.
EIGHT
Sunk in the caverns of insanity and pain
You howling creatures lie;
Sans sense to smile again,
Condemned to Satan’s prey.
Confined by our unfeeling eyes,
Embodiment of British hell;
Shackled, maimed, in rusted ties,
You wait for God Almighty’s summoning bell.
CLAUDIA HAYWORTH
54
Across the United Kingdom the temperatures had plunged to below minus 15°C. The ferocity of the weather showed no sign of abating. Snow blanketed the airports, roads and railways. Powerful north-easterly winds and blizzards added to the nation’s misery and frustration.
Motorists fought against freezing snow and the majority of motorways and roads in Cumbria were impassable.
Sumiko was inclined to doubt the wisdom of her plan to join Hal at The Towers for Christmas.
It was Yukio and the promise of her new puppy that persuaded her to close up her house in Ashwell and pack her bags into her VW to embark on the perilous journey north. Lines from her adored Sawako Kyushi Jones exercised her mind:
About suffering they were always wrong
The Old Masters: how little they
understood
of the falling sky.
En route, she tried without success to let Hal know of her arrival. She never consciously intended it to be a surprise. In truth she was initially the surprised party.
She was considerably disquieted to find The Towers in total darkness and that no one was answering the bell.
On the verge of driving back to the welcome lights of the Moster Inn, she called Hal’s cell phone and finally succeeded in getting through to him as the séance was drawing to its close.
Elated, he ran down the stairs and heaved open the massive door.
There she stood smiling, with Yukio asleep in her arms.
“Captain Stirling-san,” she said. “Santakukoru.”
55
Sophie was torn between the choice of interrupting the séance and following Hal out of the bedroom, or staying until the bitter end; she shook off Francesca’s attempt to hold her hand and remained seated at the table to hear the last of Teresa’s questions and Priscilla’s answers.
“She’s a married woman?” Teresa asked in an accusatory tone.
“Yes.”
Now Teresa was COUNSEL FOR THE PROSECUTION: “Married to Dr. Wright of Cambridge University?”
“Yes.”
Now THE ABBESS: “Does Dr. Wright know of his wife’s adultery?”
“No.”
Now CHILD WELFARE OFFICER: “Dr. and Mrs. Wright have a young daughter?”
“Yes.”
ST MARK AND/OR JESUS CONFRONTED WITH THE INSANE: (“What is your name?” “My name is legion, for there are many of us …”) “Her name is Yukio?”
“Yes.”
BETHLEHEM INNKEEPER: “Is there room in our hearts for Mrs. Wright and Yukio to join us at The Towers?”
“No.”
THE VOICE OF MORMON WARNING: “Is it dangerous for her so to do?”
“Yes.”
QUIDNUNC: “Must I warn your son?”
“Yes.”
Teresa lowered her voice. “The signal grows weaker. Priscilla is wearied.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you, Priscilla. Thank you.” There was a long pause after which, seemingly much strengthened by Priscilla’s revelations, she said: “May we give thanks in silence. Amen.”
Sophie burst out: “You’re playing with fire.”
“Quiet,” Teresa said.
“You disgust me,” Sophie yelled.
“How dare you—”
Sophie got to her feet, leaned toward the candles and blew them out.
All three women held their breath.
“Sophie,” Teresa said with the nursing sister’s practiced steel of tenderness. “You will be taken hence in Time’s Fullness to the room in which you were last confined and from there to a place of execution where you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead and thereafter your body buried within the precincts of The Tower and may the Spirits have mercy upon your soul.”
Sophie stayed silent.
Francesca began to chant: “Halfman. Halfwoman. DIE.”
She was still chanting when Sophie left the room and closed the door behind her without a word.
56
He led the way through the Great Hall and upstairs to the rooms in the Victoria Tower, turning on the lights, smiling, speaking softly.
“Nothing’s changed,” Sumiko said.
“Except it’s colder.”
They could hear a clock striking and the sound of voices.
“Who else is here?” Sumiko asked.
“The nurses. They have rooms on the floor below. And there’s a woman from the family solicitors, Sophie. She’s stranded by the snow. You did well to get here.”
“In Japan I had Michelin X-Ice tires.”
“You can recommend them to Sophie.”
“Is she your friend—this Sophie?”
“She’s a great help to me. I want the two of you to be friends.”
Making the sleeping Yukio comfortable in her bed, Sumiko said: “She’s going to be wild with excitement when she sees the dog. Where did you find him?”
“In Carlisle. I got him from friends of Sophie’s. His name was Bertrand. Now it’s Arotiki.”
“Where’s he now?”
“If he knows what’s good for him he’ll be in the kitchen.” His thoughts switched to the séance. “Is it wrong, that Mrs. Sumiko Wright join us here?” “Yes.”
Sumiko stood by the windows’ parted shutters. Two girls in silk kimonos, both beautiful, one a gazelle … “The snow—it’s stopping. Look, it’s beautiful. A white Christmas.”
The wind had lessened and the light from the window shone against the wall of twinkling whiteness.
“Can I bring you a hot drink?” he asked. “Or something stronger?”
“No thanks.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m very happy … where’s your room?”
“Just through there.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Do you want to go straight to sleep?”
“Do you mind?”
“No.”
They kissed.
“You’re so sweet,” she said.
“Sleep well. Happy to be here?”
“Very.”
57
He found Sophie in her room in the dim glow of the single bedside light.
She w
as sitting cross-legged on the bed, her knees pulled up, wearing a white silk nightdress. The paleness of her skin, her glistening fair hair and the light reflected on the crumpled silk of the nightdress seemed to enclose her in an ethereal translucence. The only incongruity was the scarlet of her varnished fingernails. Her eyes were clouded with the defeat of a refugee.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Is it Sumiko?”
“I don’t mind what she thinks.”
“I do.”
“You’re not going to believe this. Those witches solemnly sentenced me to death.”
“They what?”
“Sentenced me to death by hanging. The sick daughter took leave of her senses. She started braying—Die. Die.”
“Ignore them.”
“I wish I could.”
“They’re not serious.”
“I’d have said the same before that séance. I’m afraid that’s exactly what they are. Venomous. Sick and dangerous. Hal, I can’t stay here tonight.”
“You want me to take you home?”
“In this snow?”
“I can handle it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then I’ll stay with you in here.”
“With Sumiko across the landing—isn’t that a bit cruel?”
“She’ll understand.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I can explain things to her.”
“Explain about us?”
“Yes.”
“Talk to her in the morning if you must. Or don’t talk to her about us at all. Don’t you worry about me. Just another of my secrets. I won’t say anything.” She turned her head aside. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
He took her in his arms. She kept on crying, her body trembling. She clung to him and he kissed her.
“I’ll take you to Minti and Schadzi’s.”
“You have to stay here with your Sumiko. And there’s her little girl to think about.” She shivered. Then pulled the sheets and blankets across her. “Why don’t you fetch that gun?”
