The Demonologia Biblica

by Wilde, Barbie

  “Some kind of what?!” The boy questioned.

  “Perhaps he was queer for you?” Doret smiled. “Is that what all this about? Some kind of underground gay cult?”

  The boy stared back up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what circles you move in Detective but they’re not mine.”

  “The Sixteenth Chapel.” Delacroix asked. “What do you know about that?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “And Xezbeth?”

  “Xezbeth?”

  “It appears to have some importance.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Am I a suspect...the way you’re interrogating me suggests that I’m suspected of something. I did think I was the victim in all this. But now I’m not so sure.”

  Delacroix continued. “We managed to speak to the priest, not long before he died. He kept repeating that word over and over again, it appeared important to him. I wondered if it was important to you as well?”

  The boy paused. “Is it Greek? Latin, perhaps? Islamic?” Was that a sly smile on his face? Doret really wasn’t taking to him.

  Delacroix reached in his coat pocket, took out a piece of paper. He unfolded it, ironed it out on his leg. “I visited a friend of mine last night. He’s a priest at the Church of St. Vincent de Paul.”The boy shifted, his eyes kept staring at the ceiling.

  “I asked him about Xezbeth. Xezbeth is a demon.” Delacroix stated. “A lower order demon, but a demon all the same.”

  The boy grinned. “And this means what to me Inspector? Am I supposed to be afraid? I’m not afraid of demons.”

  “I’m just telling you what I’ve learnt, it might be useful.” He coughed again. Took out a handkerchief, wiped his mouth. “It’s strange that you say you’ve never heard of it because I spoke to the paramedics that cut you down. You were still conscious. They told me that you kept saying that name over and over again.”

  The boy flushed. It looked like he was going to say something but then the door opened. A nurse entered.

  “Inspector?”

  Delacroix looked over.

  “Can I have a word?”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  There were tears in her eyes. “Not really.”

  The Inspector folded up the piece of paper, put it back in his pocket. “Fine.”

  “We’ll be back.” Delacroix said as he headed to the door. “So try hard to remember what happened to you.”

  “I look forward to seeing you again.” The boy said. “Especially you. You never know what lurks in the shadows.”

  Doret shot him a harsh look but the boy was already asleep.

  ***

  In the corridor, a crowd had gathered. Most in tears, several hugged each other.

  “Please, this way.” The nurse showed them into a waiting room. She took out a small tissue and dabbed at her eye. “Sorry. I’m not sure how...one of our colleagues, nurse Ganbry.”

  Delacroix frowned. “What about her?”

  The tears were in free-flow. “She was found dead in her room about half an hour ago. She was expected for her shift, she was late, we knocked on her door, it was open...” The nurse was battling hard to keep her composure, a battle she was sure to lose. “It’s so terrible, such a pretty red-haired girl...” She sobbed.

  Delacroix stood up. “Where is she?”

  Doret didn’t say anything, he didn’t dare.

  ***

  “You’d better wait here.”

  “She was a friend as well as a colleague.”

  “Remember her in life, not like this.”

  Delacroix and Doret entered the room, nodding to the hospital security officers standing by the door.

  “Fuck!” Doret muttered. Even Delacroix mumbled under his breath.

  It was, without a doubt, a horrific mess.

  And much like the priest, the nurse had been literally torn apart. Chunks of flesh were dripping off the ceiling, sliding down the walls. Puddles of blood everywhere.

  “Who or what can be doing this?” Doret asked.

  Delacroix didn’t answer, just walked further into the room, looking as he went.

  “What’s wrong?” Doret asked.

  “Where’s her head?”

  They searched the small kitchenette, nothing there. Then in the small toilet. Again, nothing.

  “Perhaps whoever did this took it with them?” Doret shrugged.

  They stepped into the bathroom.

  “What we’re looking for is behind there.” Delacroix pointed to the curtain in front of the bath.

  Doret took a deep breath, grabbed the side of the curtain, yanked it back. Still nothing.

  He looked up.

  It wasn’t the nurse’s head luckily, but scrawled there across the ceiling, again in blood, was the word Xezbeth.

  “What the fuck have we got ourselves into?” Doret asked.

  “Sir?! Sir?!” They turned around. A security officer stood there, a walkie-talkie in his hand.

  “What is it?” Delacroix asked.

  “Please...you’re needed.”

  They followed the officer into the corridor. “What’s the problem?”

  The nurse was beside herself. A doctor stood nearby, as white as a sheet.

  “The boy...he’s dead, Inspector. Dead.”

  “I don’t understand. He was okay when we left him.”

  “Heart attack. Everything was done to save him, but it seems he just wasn’t strong enough and he gave up.”

  ***

  In the boy’s room, it was pandemonium.

  “Who are all these people?” Delacroix shouted, pushing his way through.

  “There was nothing we could do to stop them.” One of the medical team said.

  “Stop what you are doing right now!”

  An older man stood behind them. He signalled to the men and women surrounding the bed. “No. You will continue.”

  “I gave you an order. Step away from that bed.” Delacroix repeated.

  “Your orders mean nothing to us. You have no authority here.” The older man stated.

  Doret reached out, grabbed his arm. “And just who might you be?”

  “My name is Dr Francois Papper. I am this boy’s grandfather.”

  Delacroix frowned. “The boy’s identification hasn’t even been verified. You could be anyone. That body is going nowhere.”

  Dr Papper broke free from Doret. “Have we met before?” He asked.

  Doret returned the stare. “I don’t think so.”

  “My mistake.” Dr Papper stepped away, rubbing his velvet-gloved hands. “In our belief Inspector – I presume you are Inspector Delacroix? - our dead must be buried within the first twelve hours in order to grant their passing into the hereafter.”

  “There are tests to run, an autopsy for starters. He’s not even cold!” An exasperated doctor cried.

  Dr Papper shook his head. “No. His body has expired and that is all that matters now. I have a plane waiting at the airport. We need to transport him there as quickly as possible. We have to take him home.”

  “And where is that exactly?” Delacroix asked, but no-one answered.

  The policemen watched as the men and women expertly wrapped the corpse in a white shroud from head to toe. It was then gently lifted onto a gurney and a further light blue cloth laid over the top.

  “You are not taking this body anywhere, I have jurisdiction...what is that?”

  A piece of paper was forced into Delacroix’s hand. “That will explain everything. It gives me all the authority I need.” Dr Papper stated. “Now, let us pass.”

  Delacroix opened the paper, went to protest further but then when he saw what was written there and the signature at the bottom. “This is impossible.“ He said, looking up.

  “Apparently not.” Dr Papper replied.

  “This isn’t right.” Doret blocked the doorway.

  Nobody moved until eventually Delacroix signalled. “Let them go.” Total defeat in his voice.

  Doret�
��s mouth opened but Delacroix cut him off. “You heard me, let them go.”

  He hesitated but stood aside nonetheless.

  The men, the women, filed out of the room, taking the body with them.

  As he passed the policemen, Dr Papper tipped his hat. “Thank you, Inspector.” He turned to Doret, reached up, touched his face. “Au revoir, I have a feeling our paths will cross again.”

  “One last thing.” Delacroix asked.

  “Yes?” Dr Papper replied.

  “The boy’s name. What was it?”

  Papper smiled. “Etienne Florent Papper.”

  He bowed to the medical staff and followed his entourage out of the room.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Doret asked Delacroix. “Why did you let them go?”

  Delacroix showed him the paper.

  “But hang on a second, who killed the priest and that nurse for God’s sake? We just can’t allow them to walk off...”

  “Whoever is responsible, it wasn’t that boy. But now we have his name it gives us something we didn’t have five minutes ago. Let them leave, we’ll go back to the station, make some calls, stop that plane from taking off for starters.”

  He headed into the corridor.

  Doret turned, looked around the now empty room. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but he was sure he saw something move, a black shadow, there above the bed, waiting and watching him.

  Waiting and watching.

  Xezbeth, he whispered.

  His phone rang, he took it out his pocket, looked at the display. A blocked number but he answered it nonetheless.

  “Hello?”

  There was a silence before a deep dark voice replied. “Detective, the shadows are ready to embrace you...”

  Doret was positive it was the boy’s voice.

  But surely that was impossible?

  Y Is For Yester

  Lets Sup Before We Go

  Sandra Norval

  It was a delicious moment while he lay there, eyes closed. There were beeps nearby and away in the distance a phone rang. And rang. And rang. He tried to keep his breathing steady, not wanting to give the game away, savouring the temporary peace.

  Then she spoke.

  “I know you can hear me George. Even if you’re unconscious it’s the first thing to come back and the last thing to go so damn it I’m saying this anyway.”

  A sharp pain in his shoulder nearly made him flinch but he thought he’d got away with it.

  “You bastard. I know you’re awake, you stopped snoring. You might as well open your eyes.”

  He didn’t.

  “Fine, have it your way. I’ve carried the marriage without so you might as well stay oblivious. Bloody idiot.”

  He felt something land on his chest.

  “Divorce papers. You don’t get to quit on me just by dying. You can suffer in here on your own. Do the decent thing. Agree to a quickie and maybe you won’t die with me hating you.”

  He listened to the sound of her heels on the hard floor as she walked out on him.

  Ah, well.

  He kept his eyes closed, grasped the envelope and flung it across the room. Something rattled before it slapped on the floor. He sighed.

  New footsteps approached and stopped.

  “Oops, butterfingers.” A male, not someone George knew. He heard knees cracking and the envelope being swept up from the floor and flapped around. “You’ll be needing this won’t you?” The man stood up and dropped the envelope on the side table.

  George opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

  “Why would I need that?” He sighed. “I could survive two years, then she’d have her divorce anyway.”

  “Oh, George,” the man tutted, “you know you don’t have two years. I’ve seen your scans. You’ll be lucky, wait, is lucky the right word? Huh, maybe not, anyway, you’ll be lucky if you have two months, won’t you?”

  “For the love of God, is that what you call a bedside manner? Get out of my room, go on, piss off!” His yelling rattled his throat and he started coughing violently. The taste of iron filled his mouth.

  “Here, spit.” The nurse held a kidney shaped bowl under his chin and waited while George cleared out bloodied spittle. “There now, you see, you need me here really, don’t you?” He firmly wiped the patient’s mouth, dropped the tissue in the bowl and disposed of it.

  He sat down in the vinyl chair by the bed.

  “Please, make yourself at home nurse.” George frowned at him before resting his head again.

  “Now George, I feel like we’re old friends already, don’t you think it’s time you called me Ste?”

  “Ste? What the hell kind of name is that?”

  “Well, gee, no wonder you have so many friends George. It’s that easygoing manner of yours, rubs off on everyone.” He chuckled. “Oh, wait, that’s right. You haven’t got any friends have you?”

  “Just fuck off will you, fuck off and die.”

  “I’ll fuck off,” Ste jumped up and planted a kiss on George’s cheek, “you’ll be doing the dying though.” He all but skipped out of the room chased by a tirade of profanities.

  The door clicked shut and George coughed for a while before collapsing into his stack of pillows. He looked at the envelope. No, it could wait a bit longer. He rummaged around in the cabinet by the bed and pulled out a notepad. Across the top he wrote ‘Funeral’.

  Just for good measure he underlined it.

  The pen sat poised above the page for a few minutes before he finally added ‘Guests’ and underlined that too. After half an hour the page remained blank bar the titles and George tossed the pad and pen on top of his wife’s envelope. He reached over and dragged it out sending the pen bouncing across the floor.

  The manila gave a satisfying sound, as he ripped the top off the envelope. Three rings jingled as they fell out into George’s hand. Engagement, wedding, eternity. Ha. Eternity. So much for that idea.

  The rings dug into the soft skin of the palm in the centre of his fist and he sobbed.

  He sobbed until saliva spattered his hand and the rattle in his chest rose again.

  He sobbed until the iron taste filled his mouth again and blood trickled down his chin. Pings and beeps alerted the staff and he was made to lie down while they fiddled with his various pipes and tubes and sedated him. Eventually, unable to respond with more than a grunt, he watched them all leave, dimming the lights on their way out of the door.

  George listened to his machines willing sleep to take him but it would not. A tiny movement caught his attention. In the shadows, in the corner, a figure waited. It stepped forward and seemed familiar but not. It was almost huddled, twiddling its fingers, teeth glinting with reflected light from the hallway, making them almost glow in the gloom.

  Unable to move a muscle, barely a participant in events George watched Ste as he approached. Inside he was screaming, “No! No! Oh God, no!” but outside all that was heard was a moan.

  Ste came closer, placed his hands either side of George’s head and sniffed, hard.

  “Oh, yes George,” he breathed out before sniffing again, slower and harder than the first.

  “Give them all to me. All those regrets.”

  A tear slid out of George’s eye and made its way down the side of his skull. Ste laughed through his teeth, more or less a hiss. He twitched his head and flicked out his tongue to drink in the tear. As more followed he lapped, just by George’s ear. Shlup, shlup, shlup. The more he lapped the more George cried and began to shake.

  Ste pinned George’s head to the pillow and fed.

  It was an age before the tears slowed and the nurse backed away. George was starting to get some strength back and Ste knew it. He turned up the dose and George fell unconscious.

  ***

  Breakfast arriving brought George out of his slumber. The clatter of the trolley as the careless staff did their rounds felt like a thousand hammers pounding his head.

  “Hello George, my name’s Tiffany
, I’ll be serving your breakfast this morning.”

  “Sod off and fetch the doctor.” George said.

  “After you’ve had your breakfast.” Tiffany said, trying to be stern.

  “Screw breakfast, fetch the fucking doctor.” George said. When the girl didn’t move he bellowed, “NOW!”

  She staggered back to the trolley, glancing over her shoulder as if he’d be following her. He heard the trolley rattle away and rested again, wiping his mouth dry.

  Moments later Dr Ansti strode in.

  “Now, George. I will not have you yelling at the staff. If you do it again I’ll have to refer you for psychiatric evaluation. I’m sure you’re just angry but there’s no excuse for being rude to the very people that are trying to help.”

  She waited for an answer but George just stared back.

  “You called for me, George, if you don’t say why now then I’ll be in surgery for a few hours yet. Your choice.”

  “I want you to assign a different nurse. And I want to make a complaint. That Ste licked my fucking face, dirty bastard.”

  “I’m sorry, Ste?”

  “Yes, Ste. He’s been downright bloody rude to me this last couple of days. Seems to think it’s funny that I’m dying.”

  “George, you’re not dying. We’re doing everything we can to help you.”

  “Well, get rid of that Ste then.”

  “George, I’d really like to help you sort this out but I’m afraid we don’t have a Ste working for us.”

  “Sure you do. He’s stocky, grins all the time but isn’t cheerful. Mousey brown hair.”

  “We definitely don’t have anyone of that description, we don’t have any male nurses on this ward.” Dr Ansti looked at the medication dispenser. “I think we need to review your dosage, maybe you’ve had a little too much for your needs.” She made some adjustments and turned back to George.

  He stared at her but said nothing.

  “Well, try and rest, you’re slowing your recovery by getting worked up like this.”

  ***

  It was late afternoon before Ste walked back in.

  “Hi George, how’s my favourite customer?”