The 13th Black Candle

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The 13th Black Candle Page 24

by Bob Goodwin


  ‘Stuffed up, eh?’ said Hogan. ‘Cochran wants us out of here. We can drop shit for brains off at the hospital on the way back.’

  Chapter 35

  Let the Service Begin

  Simon was on his knees. His arms were extended behind his back, and secured around a thick timber upright by a pair of overtightened handcuffs. His head faced the dusty ground and his limp body hung forward, causing the cuffs to make fresh cuts into his wrists. Particles of sawdust clung to his naked chest, arms, and the left side of his unshaven face.

  Numerous cloaked figures, only differentiated from one another by body size and height, stood nearby, awaiting the effect of the antidote injected into the cannula in Stacey’s forearm. The drug worked quickly. Simon’s shoulders twisted. He raised his heavy head several times before it remained in a somewhat unstable, but vertical position.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Romoli as he looked at the wakening Simon Stacey. He placed his hand on the shorter figure next to him. ‘You have done well, and you will be justly rewarded. Tonight, there is a vacancy in the inner circle, and you will become one of my chief ministers.’

  ‘It is a pleasure to serve you and our Master,’ said Kym. She tipped her head and took a couple of steps backwards.

  Simon looked around the semi-lit room. He soon assimilated the available information and realised that the business end of his prolonged adversity had arrived. There was little doubt he was at an old sawmill; whether it was the deserted one only a few kilometres from his Samford property he was unsure. On the left side of the staged area there was a large, unrecognisable object lying horizontally. A long, heavy chain seemed to connect it to a wooden beam in the roof.

  ‘Simon Stacey, hello, and welcome to our celebrations.’ Romoli squatted in front of Simon. ‘You will be remaining here in the rear stalls for the time being, but you will have a very good view of the proceedings going on directly in front of you and up there on the raised platform a little later.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’m feeling a touch off colour and I’d like to go home. Thanks for the invite, but maybe next time.’

  ‘You awaken in fine spirits. That’s good. You will be able to scream very loudly then? We would appreciate that. It adds enormously to the atmosphere.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you? You’re not that moron, Goldsmith, I know his voice. Why don’t you take that cloak off?’ Simon squirmed against the upright at his back to ease the pain in his wrists and the strain on his shoulders. He pushed his head back against the timber and bellowed out. ‘Look at yourselves! You’re a pack of chicken-livered, murdering sons of bitches, too scared to face up to the real world! You’ve all failed in aspiring to anything truly meaningful in your own lives, and for that you must maim, mistreat, and murder the innocent! Show me who you are, you gutless bastards. Take those hoods off!’ A few heads turned momentarily. No one spoke. There was not even a murmur. Romoli broke the brief silence.

  ‘A nice little speech. I’m impressed. You’re certainly going to be good value tonight.’

  ‘Whoever you are, you’ll never get away with this. You’re all going to be spending many years looking through steel bars.’

  ‘On the contrary, we will continue to prosper and expand. It does present certain difficulties having bodies lying around. That’s where you come in. Kym, the package, please.’ Romoli held his hand out to one side. Kym handed over a paper bag. ‘We had a little whip around and put together a present for you. Take a look.’ He opened the top of the packet and held it in front of Simon’s face. Simon initially pulled pack, unsure of what to expect, then, realising it was not another beast of terror, peered cautiously down into the bag.

  ‘Bring that candle closer,’ ordered Romoli. He looked at the expression changing on Stacey’s face. ‘Ah, now you see, don’t you? The pistol, the knife, and the keys. Your fingerprints all over them, I’m afraid. A small cassette tape, too. The police will be most interested in that; after all, it is essentially a murder confession. A bit silly of you to make it in the first place, but it won’t go unappreciated. And let’s not forget the jerry can, which is in my car boot, but will reappear somewhere in the long grass near your garden shed. And it has only your prints on it. And you wish to know my name? I think you know that already. It’s Romoli. Does that sound familiar?’

  ‘Bullshit. He’s dead, and a good thing, too,’ said Simon. ‘I didn’t do the tongue thing and I didn’t leave him naked. What’s the story with that shit? You got your secret fetishes?’ Simon peered at the cloaked head. Through the dim lighting and the loosely hanging material there was something vaguely familiar about the shadowy features.

  ‘Ah, you think you killed him? Shot him dead? Not a nice thing to do at all. Romoli cannot die, Stacey. You can destroy a body, not a spirit. The spirit lives on in me. Through our special communion, his body becomes my body.’

  ‘Really? Special communion? Excising someone’s tongue? Fuck off!’

  ‘Not just excising it. Devouring it.’

  ‘You ate his tongue?’ Simon half-laughed. ‘You people are even more fucked-up than I first thought. There’s no stupid spirit, he’s just plain fucking dead and that’s all about it. And you’re next, dog breath.’ Simon was trying his best to irritate the cool satanic sultan. Obviously, this shithead had been insulted by the best, he thought. It was time to try a new angle. ‘You might like to know,’ he continued, ‘I have been praying like you wouldn’t believe. Been praying that there is a God. Because if there is, you and your fellowship of fuckwits are in the deepest shit of all time, because you’re all going to burn in hellfire for a thousand years, and I can’t think of anyone more deserving.’ Romoli stood and spat in Stacey’s face. Simon didn’t flinch. The white, bubbly saliva ran slowly down his cheek and past the corner of his mouth. ‘Burn, Romoli! Fuckin’ burn!’ The leader slapped him hard across the face, then turned away and addressed his room of followers.

  ‘It is time. The service will commence.’

  The black-robed worshippers assumed their designated positions. Only the six chief ministers and Romoli were permitted to sit within the two large concentric rings. Each of them sat cross-legged, in the centre of one of seven interlocking circles, with their hands on their knees, head angled slightly upward and eyes closed. Romoli occupied the most central position. He held the two shining blades crossed above his cloaked head.

  The other devotees had settled themselves around the outside of the canvas sheeting in preparation for the last event in the supreme ceremony: The Consecration of the Feast.

  Romoli, it is you who will lead us.

  Romoli, it is you that have the power.

  Romoli, it is through you we will contact the King.

  Lucifer, provide us with strength,

  Provide us with pleasure.

  Let out bodies feel the joy and the ecstasy.

  Lucifer, we remain your loyal servants,

  Now and forever ... Amen.

  Chapter 36

  The Sawmill

  Cochran was confident he was on the right track. He had consequently issued instructions for all teams to proceed to areas within a few kilometres of the old sawmill at Eaton’s Crossing, and then to wait in position until confirmation was given. The numerous false alarms had, for the moment, achieved their purpose, and dispersed his officers to all parts of Brisbane. It would be some time before they all would be close enough to lend assistance. Detective Briggs and his companion were closest and would be there first, followed by Cochran and Johnson. The Tactical Response Group had been placed on standby, awaiting further information.

  * * *

  Noel Briggs switched his headlights off as he turned into the gravel road. He proceeded slowly until he could see a dull, flickering light coming from the old building.

  ‘We’ll stop here,’ he told the young cadet. ‘You man the radio and keep your foot off the brake. I’m going for a little stroll.’ He crept away quietly into the knee-high grass and ventured cautiously forward.
His grassy cover came to an end near a dirt road only ten metres short of the sawmill. Briggs lay on his belly and surveyed the area. There were two dark-suited men near what looked like the entrance. One sat on a small, metal drum, smoking, while the other walked slowly back and forth, occasionally stopping to peer at proceedings through a gap between the old boards. A black station wagon was parked near the seated man. Several other vehicles were parked to the right of the building near a small cluster of bushy trees. Noel Briggs lay quietly, considering his options. After retreating a short distance, he began edging his way in a wide arc around the parked vehicles and towards the rear of the sawmill. He stood and popped his head up to recheck the scene. The two men hadn’t changed their activities. All seemed well until, without warning, a large hand smothered his mouth and nose. Simultaneously a sweeping kick left him legless. A huge weight dropped onto his back and the soft ground seemed to fly upward to meet his face. With his arms pinned beneath him, there was no chance of reaching his shoulder holster.

  ‘Don’t move a muscle. Don’t say a word,’ a voice whispered. A hand grabbed his hair and twisted his face sideways. The greasy mud smeared over the detective’s cheek. ‘Who is this snake in the grass? Briggs! Well, well, we meet again.’ It was Schliemann. He seemed to take some pleasure in his discovery. He released the pressure of his hand over Brigg’s mouth.

  ‘You bastar — ’ blurted Briggs loudly. The hand quickly covered his face again. A beam of light flashed across the tops of the long grass. Both men froze. The light travelled slowly back once more, then disappeared.

  ‘You’ll get us both killed. Will you be quiet?’ whispered Oscar firmly. Briggs’ eyes opened wide. His head nodded vigorously. Once again, the grip was released.

  ‘What’s your caper, Schliemann? What the hell are you doing here?’ snarled the detective softly.

  ‘I hope we’re both here for the same reason. Where’s the backup? Or are you taking matters into your own hands again?’

  ‘They’re on their way. I’m just doing some surveillance. Get your backside off me.’ Oscar shifted his weight onto one knee, allowing Briggs to slide free.

  ‘I would suggest you be a bit more alert then. If I wasn’t such a nice fellow I might have broken your neck first and asked questions later.’

  ‘Fuck you! What’s going on? Have you had a look? Is Stacey in there?’ asked Briggs, while wiping his face with a handkerchief.

  ‘You’re a very rude man. I don’t like you at all. The only thing I have to tell you is don’t cross my path again.’ Oscar turned to leave. There was a sharp click. He stopped and slowly turned. Briggs had his service revolver cocked and pointing at Oscar’s head.

  ‘Answers are required.’

  ‘Briggs, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.’

  ‘Now! Tell me what you know.’ Noel made a slight adjustment to his aim. ‘Or your eyes will be parting company with your nose.’

  ‘You’re obviously not a career man. There’s a lot at risk here. The lives of Stacey, an innocent child, yours, and mine, and who knows who else.’

  ‘So, he’s in there?’

  ‘Yes, he’s in there, and so are about thirty of them.’

  ‘Is Stacey at this end or round the back?’

  ‘This end, handcuffed to a post and probably drugged. Got a plan, super-sleuth?’

  ‘Maybe I have. The first thing is for you to make tracks. Now piss off.’

  Noel Briggs watched the tips of the long grass bend side to side as the large man slipped silently away and disappeared into the darkness. He sat motionless for a couple of minutes, just to be sure Schliemann wasn’t doubling back. Confident he was now alone, he turned and continued his trek towards the rear of the sawmill.

  * * *

  ‘Briggs is out there checking things out. Oh shit, that sounds particularly bad. Let’s hope we’re not too late,’ said John Cochran to the young cadet sitting in Briggs’ vehicle. ‘You set with that gun, Johnson?’

  ‘It’s not comfortable.’ She tugged at the shoulder strap. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘It’s like that. Eventually you’ll only feel comfortable when you’re wearing it. Let’s go.’

  ‘What about the others?’ asked Cathy nervously. ‘Aren’t we going to wait for them?’

  ‘If I thought we could spare the time, Johnson, I’d strike up a barby. Sorry to thrust this upon you, but the apron strings have now been cut. Marshall’s got the drum and he’ll sort out the details at this end.’ The inspector paused, clenched his fist and held it near his chest. ‘Think of those photos. Think of Melissa Goldsmith, and think of the innocent children this gang have been tormenting, torturing, and murdering for goodness knows how long. Now, let’s end this thing. And by the way, I’ve got a secret weapon.’

  ‘Really? What, a leopard tank?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Cochran turned to the cadet, who immediately brought himself to attention from his semi-reclined position against the rear car door. ‘Do you know how to operate the radio?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. Detective Briggs showed me,’ he said proudly.

  ‘I take no comfort from that, let me assure you. If I call and confirm a siege situation you are to advise Detective Marshall immediately, assuming that he hasn’t arrived by then. Is that clear?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Cochran looked at Johnson and nodded. They moved away towards their objective.

  Chapter 37

  Sacrifice

  Simon had refrained from shouting abuse for several minutes. It seemed that such behaviour was only enhancing the perverse pleasure of the congregation. His last coarse remarks had been directed at a man whom Romoli had addressed as the Doctor, and who Simon felt sure was Goldsmith. This man occupied a position within the two concentric circles, giving him some seniority in the organisation.

  Simon had been listening intently, and methodically scrutinising all the robed clan for any sign of familiarity. While there were many he didn’t know, there were three that he had identified. There was Angela Philpott, Wayne, the gym instructor, both from Bodytone, and Howard Morgan. Somehow it all seemed to make sense. Angela’s involvement helped explain two things: firstly, the disappearance of Adrian who may already be another addition to the body count, and secondly, the discovery of the micro-cassette tape. Howard’s party on a Tuesday night for his so-called fortieth birthday was just too convenient. Simon had never thought much of Morgan, who had gate-crashed his way into the regular card-playing group via a painful encounter with Teddy Duncan’s wisdom teeth. There were several others that Simon thought he should recognise, but as yet was unable to attach names to. Had he not been in such an unfavourable position, the realisation that a cult of devil worshippers had been constructing an evil empire right under his very nose would have caused him more than considerable anger and embarrassment.

  Simon’s focus of attention changed when the monotonous muttering and chanting that had persisted for several minutes ceased. Romoli stood.

  ‘My brothers and sisters,’ he announced with his arms outstretched. ‘Tonight, we shall bear witness to a very special offering. It will be a divine and rare privilege for us all. We shall see a prepared earthly body attain synchronisation with our Lord Lucifer. Bodytune will be achieved. And through the most perfect of spiritual sacrifices, the two will become one. The power and desires of our Lord will be nourished, and our future of pleasure and eternal survival will be maintained. It is truly a joyous occasion, my friends. Hail, Satan!’

  ‘Hail, Satan!’ they replied in unison. Romoli touched the kneeling candle bearer on the head.

  ‘Tonight, you will have the honour of placing our final marker — the 13th black candle’. You may proceed to the altar.’ Kym’s features assumed a lifeless yellow glow as she raised the candle in front of her face. She smiled, bowed her head slightly, and then moved forward to the platform area. After the ritual kneel and bow, she reached carefully across the other burning candles and placed the
thirteenth marker in the centre of the star.

  ‘Dear Lord, Prince of Darkness and Ruler of the universe, we ask that you accept this, our final marker.’

  The congregation stood, their arms extended forward towards the altar, and recited the response.

  ‘Accept our souls!’

  ‘Dear Lord, Prince of Darkness and Ruler of the universe, please let us feel your presence at this divine service,’ continued Kym.

  ‘Accept our offering!’

  ‘Dear Lord, Prince of Darkness and Ruler of the universe, we humbly ask for your continued guidance and influence in our lives.’

  ‘Accept our souls.’

  Kym returned to her central position. Romoli glanced to one side and gave an affirmative nod. A hooded man, whom Simon had recognised as Wayne from Bodytone, returned the gesture, walked to the left of the platform, and began turning the winch handle…

  Cathy Johnson tugged nervously at John Cochran’s sleeve.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ she whispered.

  ‘Not sure. Something mechanical. A little unusual coming from a supposedly deserted sawmill. You got the two-way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go.’ They moved a little quicker through the grass.

  Pausing at the dirt road, they surveyed the scene. There were two men sitting on the ground, leaning against each other with their backs supported by the rear wheel of the black station wagon.

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked Cathy.

  ‘Hmmm. Let’s find out.’ Cochran selected a suitable sized stone and tossed it towards the two men. It fell just short of their feet. There was no movement.

  ‘I thought as much,’ said Cochran. ‘Cover me.’ He clutched his service revolver and in a semi-crouched position scurried, as best he could, across the open space to the front of the vehicle. The two men still hadn’t moved. He signalled the all clear to Johnson and beckoned her over. She repeated her leader’s example almost step for step. The two cautious investigators moved around the vehicle and squatted next to the two men. Cathy removed her penlight torch.

 

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