The 13th Black Candle

by Bob Goodwin

  One man’s head was twisted back over his own shoulder. His eyes were wide open in a startled expression. Cochran felt for a carotid pulse. There was none. The other man was unconscious. His irregular, stertorous breathing the result of extensive bruising and swelling around the front of his neck. Both men had empty shoulder holsters.

  ‘Briggs?’ asked Cathy.

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘My secret weapon.’

  ‘The leopard tank?’

  ‘That’s the one. Get on the two-way. Tell Marshall we want all the support he can get and we want it now.’

  The clicking metallic sound stopped. Almost immediately it was followed by loud shouts. Cochran recognised Stacey’s voice at once.

  ‘You bastards! Take him down. Please take him down!’ bellowed Simon. Cochran peered through a gap in the old boards.

  ‘Jesus Christ! I think it’s Devlin!’

  Adrian Devlin was suspended on an inverted crucifix over a large circle of candles. He looked particularly unwell, and not really aware of what was going on. His bare white body appeared much leaner than Cochran had imagined. A good deal of the blood that trickled down his legs and arms dripped from his hair into an old wooden bucket positioned beneath his head. The inspector traced the heavy supporting chain along the timber beam and back to the noisy winch. He scanned the room. There were a lot of people. It could be risky to barge in too soon.

  ‘We’ve got to do something,’ said Cathy uneasily. ‘We can’t just watch that poor man being tortured.’

  ‘You’ve called Marshall?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘Okay, then we wait.’

  ‘And he dies?’

  ‘Maybe he does. I see no child in there. If we rush in now we might lose more than Devlin.’ The sound of Stacey’s voice quickly returned their eyes to the old wall.

  ‘Don’t do this,’ he pleaded, having received no attention from his shouting. ‘Anything you want you can have. Money, a flight to Brazil. You can have the Bodytone Club, it’s all yours. I’ll sign it over, no strings attached.’

  Romoli spoke quietly to Kym.

  ‘Follow me. We should talk with Stacey now.’ They turned and slowly left the circle. Romoli held one of the ceremonial knives in his hand.

  ‘Continue with the service,’ he announced. ‘I’ll be returning shortly. Doctor, you may proceed with the first stage of our communion when you are ready.’ The worshippers once more broke out into monotonous chanting.

  Romoli knelt again in front of Simon.

  ‘Stacey, you are sounding in a very generous mood, but there is nothing you can give us that we do not have or cannot attain if we wish.’

  ‘Please, put Adrian down. I beg you.’

  ‘He will be put down shortly, I assure you,’ said Romoli calmly.

  ‘Don’t kill him, please don’t.’ Simon’s gaze darted between Kym, the suspended Devlin, and the cult leader.

  ‘I must tell you he is not in the best of health at present, and while he may die, we have no plans to kill him. At least not tonight.’

  ‘I think I’m pleased to hear that. What about that knife in your hand? I suppose that’s for me?’

  ‘Oh this.’ He turned the blade around slowly in front of Simon’s eyes. ‘It certainly will be used, but not on you. Kym, can you explain the finer points of this special occasion to this confused man? I am returning to receive communion.’ Romoli stood to leave. ‘Remember to scream. Scream very loudly. Being in such a generous mood, I’m sure you won’t disappoint us.’ He proceeded around the kneeling group to the altar.

  ‘Dear Simon,’ said Kym. She gently stroked his face. He pulled away. ‘I do wish we had spent more time together. It’s a shame it has to end. Let me explain. Bodytune is a very special form of worship. We, like in many Christian churches, accept communion in the form of the body and blood. As you can see, your friend’s blood has been collected for that very purpose.’

  The Doctor held the bucket in one hand. Following Romoli, the other worshippers filed up one by one. They knelt in turn with head back and open mouth. The Doctor smeared a bloodied finger over each tongue while uttering the words: ‘Blood for pleasure. Power for Lucifer.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Simon shook his head in disgust. ‘Okay, is that it then? Is it over?’

  ‘No, no, no, that’s the blood. The body will be arriving to the right of the altar at any moment.’ Simon’s thoughts started racing. What body? There are so many; Alison, Robbie, Teddy, Ras, Eddy. He looked at the Doctor. He recalled the photo of Melissa and Danny in Teddy’s album, and there was the kidnapping.

  ‘You wouldn’t. Not little Danny Goldsmith. No, not a child!’

  ‘Simon, think a little harder. It cannot be just any child. It must be a child whose body is tuned to this special day. This is Friday the thirteenth, a very significant day in our church. A child who attains the age of 666 days at this time is indeed very special.’

  There was some movement to one side of the altar. A side door opened. A shadowy figure moved in the darkened corner. There was something in his arms. Simon’s head began to pound with the rush of blood that now hammered against his temples.

  ‘It’s not possible. It couldn’t be.’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed it is,’ said Kym joyfully. The figure moved into the light. The young child, asleep in his arms, squirmed lightly. ‘It’s your son. It’s Robbie.’

  Simon screamed his son’s name repeatedly. He pulled hard against the handcuffs. His wrists bled. Tears ran down his distorted face as he desperately strained every muscle in his body to free himself.

  ‘He cannot hear you, Simon. He is drugged. Just like you were.’

  ‘You fucking bitch! What do you want of my son? Take me. Use me. Kill me if you must. Let him live!’

  ‘He will provide us with the body for our communion. Romoli will remove the beating heart from his chest.’

  ‘No! No! No!’ Simon gave a prolonged, shrill scream. Kym left Simon in his agony and presented herself before the Doctor — the last to receive the sacred blood.

  * * *

  ‘Where the hell are they? Johnson, give me the two-way.’ Cathy quickly obliged and Cochran pushed the button.

  ‘Some vehicles are approaching now, sir. Could be them.’

  ‘Listen, Marshall, I don’t think we can wait. Put your foot down, man. We’re desperate. You’ll hear us if we go in.’

  ‘J. C, they’ve placed the child on the altar,’ said Cathy, keeping a close eye on the evil proceedings. ‘You’ve got to go now.’

  ‘Me!? We both go, Johnson.’ He paused and gave Cathy a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘Okay, let’s go. And don’t wave that gun around so much. I’d be really pissed if I got shot by friendly fire.’

  Dressed only in a small pair of boxer shorts, Robbie lay on his back, with his head near the flaming star. His sleeping body was clean, well-nourished, and apart from a small dressing on one arm, was free from any obvious signs of abuse. Romoli took a step up onto the platform, bowed at the altar, walked around it, and faced the gathering. He lay the long-bladed knife on the boy’s chest and opened his arms wide. The recital commenced.

  Chil Luxty Ona Goid,

  Zado Tyo Ona Lux,

  Zado Lux,

  Zado Lux Nuna,

  Eillua Eillua Eillua,

  Jus Yokjet,

  Jus Doo,

  Jus Soenne,

  Jus Kunso.

  Simon struggled, shouted, and pleaded. Romoli took the knife in both hands, extended his arms above the boy’s chest and spoke loudly.

  ‘Lord Lucifer, master of our destiny, join with us now as we offer you this soul.’

  ‘Carter!’ shouted Cochran. ‘Freeze. Nobody move!’ A loud nervous mumbling spread through the kneeling assembly. Romoli responded quickly.

  ‘My old friend. I’m most impressed. Come and join me at the altar. Guarantee yourself everlasting power and pleasure.’

  ‘Walk away, Cart
er. Back right off. Now!’

  ‘The service continues, my good people. The inspector is outnumbered and he will not shoot a friend.’ His eyes shifted back to the child. The knife reflected the yellow candlelight as it moved in Romoli’s hands. Cochran fired. The shot struck Carter at the base of his throat and threw him backward against the rear wall. He slid slowly to the floor, leaving a thick trail of blood over the old boards before slumping into a motionless heap.

  ‘Quite right, Carter. I would never shoot a friend.’

  ‘Run, everybody. Run!’ shouted the Doctor.

  Simon watched as the room burst into life with people scurrying in all directions. He saw many head for the exit to the right of the altar from where Robbie had been brought in, and he noticed others pushing against weak boards in a search for escape. A few charged for the main entrance near Cochran and Johnson. Simon jumped with fright as the inspector let off a volley of shots into the roof. It did little more than cause a few women to squeal. The big man positioned himself between the exit and the runaways and managed to use his bulk to good effect in knocking two to the ground.

  Kym remained calm amid all the commotion and crept off quietly towards the rear wall. She felt around near the slumped body of Romoli and found the knife. After lying the body flat, she opened his mouth, grabbed his tongue with her fingers, and pulled it forward. She sliced three times with the blade, pulled the bloody tongue free, and shoved the entire piece of flesh into her own mouth. Meanwhile, the chaos continued in front of her.

  Simon was trying to look everywhere at once. He noticed some movement near the dark back wall but could not identify anything clearly. His attention turned to a cloaked worshipper who stood too long near the inverted crucifix looking around for a way out. His robe touched some candles and lit up. The man ran forward and dove onto the dusty ground and began rolling over and over. The flames withstood the smothering attempt. He ran forward again, this time towards Simon, who pushed his leg out. The man tripped. Cathy Johnson ran over and began throwing dirt over the flames.

  ‘Let him burn! Please, let him burn!’ shouted Stacey. ‘I know the bastard. He deserves nothing less!’

  ‘I can’t do that.’ The flames went out. While Cathy cuffed the man, Simon used his feet to push the hood away and reveal the face of Howard Morgan.

  ‘You lowlife, depraved son of a bitch!’ He managed to deliver two firm foot jabs to the mouth and nose before Johnson moved the trembling man away and pushed him to the ground.

  Kym finished chewing and swallowed the last of the tongue. She stood, knife in hand, and moved to the altar.

  Simon continued scanning the scene. The blue lights of police vehicles now beamed through the dusty room. Most of the evil clan had left the immediate vicinity. The sounds of gunshots, shouting, and car engines indicated the battle was now on in earnest outside. As the dust began to settle, Simon noticed someone moving near the altar. Despite all the commotion, Simon could see that Robbie was still sleeping on the sacrificial bench.

  ‘Cochran, my boy!’ The fat man was near the door facing the other way. ‘Johnson, my boy!’ screamed Simon. Kym stood at the altar and raised the dripping knife.

  ‘Lucifer, the child is yours.’

  ‘Nooooo!’ screamed Simon, finally managing to attract the attention he wanted. Cochran and Johnson both turned. A gun discharged. The right side of Kym’s face exploded into a pulpy mess. She fell to the floor. Her body extremities jerked and twitched.

  ‘Nice shooting, Johnson,’ said Cochran.

  ‘I thought it was you.’

  ‘No, not me.’

  ‘Briggs?’

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘The leopard tank?’

  ‘I guess,’ said Cochran. They looked about the room. ‘An evasive bastard, isn’t he? Go and rescue the child, will you?’

  Cathy Johnson soon had Robbie safely in her arms. Marshall made an appearance through the top door.

  ‘Johnson, this way. Ambulances at the ready. Is he okay?’

  ‘Seems to be.’ She turned and shouted back to Stacey. ‘He’s all right! We’ve got to get him out of here.’

  ‘Thank you, God,’ panted Stacey, looking up at the roof. Tears streamed down his face in an intense emotional catharsis. There was a rattle of keys behind him. He felt other hands touching his, but was unable to turn his head far enough to see who was there. Suddenly the cuffs released and he fell face-first onto the powdery ground. His arms dropped like two lead weights at his sides. The relief was enormous. With his head on its side, he puffed away the sawdust from around his mouth and lay there motionless.

  His respite was short-lived. Someone’s arms wrapped tightly around his legs and began dragging him backward through the dirt and dust. He had no energy to resist, and insufficient strength to raise an alarm above the noise that was continuing outside the sawmill. Stacey’s head bounced about like a rag doll as his abductor took a sharp right turn and jumped down two steps. His body slid to one side and came to rest when his shoulder struck a large, immovable metal object protruding from the floor. The grip on his ankles was released.

  They were now in a long, narrow, dilapidated room and away from the main arena. Car and torchlights danced excitedly around the walls as they found the many gaps and holes between the timber boards. In the corner, a thick coat of cobwebs covering a pile of dusty timber glistened like silver threads as the beams of light struck them. Simon’s shoulder was pushed up hard against a large rusted lathe.

  ‘Hello, Stacey. Long time no see.’ Simon couldn’t see anything. His face was covered with sawdust, but he recognised the voice.

  ‘Briggs?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d be dead by now, but I can see I’m going to have to handle that myself.’ He pulled his revolver from his shoulder holster.

  ‘Briggs, what? Why? What’s going on?’ moaned Simon. He had managed to partly clean one eye and could see the blurry silhouette of his old business partner.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time before Internal Affairs will want a word with you. It seems that you’re the only one still in the country who could dig up any evidence against me.’

  ‘That’s ages ago. Who cares about that? I know we didn’t part very amicably, but I won’t dob you in, Briggs. That’s not my style. You know that.’ Keeping his arm tucked in close to his body, Simon carefully gathered a large handful of sawdust.

  ‘Sorry, old chum. It’s just taking care of business. A shrewd devil like you should understand that. This fucking enquiry crap has already claimed a few scalps. I can’t afford to have any loose ends around.’ He raised the weapon.

  ‘Just one thing, Briggs…’ Stacey tossed the sawdust high and hard then rolled over and over, hoping to fall in a hole or find some cover.

  ‘Shit!’ The detective threw his head to one side to protect his eyes. He squeezed the trigger. A shot rang out, almost instantly followed by another.

  Simon felt something strike hard against his face. He stopped rolling. With the handcuffs still dangling from his wrist, he felt his cheek then examined his fingers. They were smeared with blood.

  ‘Jesus, I’ve been hit.’

  ‘No, you haven’t, but he has.’ Simon’s eyes darted about, searching for the person belonging to the other voice. A large-framed man emerged from behind the lathe.

  ‘Schliemann! Thank God. I love you!’ Stacey sat up and checked himself over. ‘You sure I’m not bleeding?’

  ‘Look between your feet.’

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ He leaned forward. ‘It’s his finger. You shot it off.’ The finger was intact from the nail to the second joint. The base was shredded and generously sprinkled with bone fragments.

  ‘Only one? Too bad,’ said Oscar nonchalantly.

  Briggs dragged himself up from the pile of discarded timber. He was covered in cobwebs and blood was pouring from his right hand. He squeezed his wrist hard to stem the blood loss.

  ‘Help me!’ wailed Briggs. ‘My finger and half my
hand have been blown off!’

  ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ John Cochran marched boldly into the room, accompanied by another officer. ‘Shit, you’re a mess, Stacey. Don’t you own any clothes these days? Schliemann, what have you done to Briggs this time?’

  ‘He shot my fucking finger off. That’s what the bastard did!’ hollered the detective. He crouched down and began sifting through the sawdust. ‘Help me find it, you lot. Come on, help me for Christ’s sake!’ Stacey stood and walked over to the lathe.

  ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ He held up the finger, then placed it over a narrow slit near the rusted blade. With a block of hardwood, he belted it twice. The finger disappeared through the space and into the corroded interior of the machine.

  ‘You fool! Get it out. Get it out now!’ Briggs hurried over to Stacey, only to be greeted by a swift kick to the groin. He collapsed in a heap on the ground.

  ‘Perhaps that’ll get his mind off his finger,’ said Simon, with some satisfaction. ‘Cochran, where’s my boy?’

  ‘He’s on the way to the hospital. He’s going to be fine. I didn’t want him hanging about here while some of these psychos were still on the loose.’

  ‘Is he really okay?’

  ‘Physically he appeared to be in good shape. Mentally?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘What about Adrian?’

  ‘Should be on the way too, by now. Touch and go I’d say. They really gave him a hiding. You’ll get to see them both soon enough, but right now we need to talk. Grab a blanket from the boys outside and I’ll see you shortly.’ Simon left, escorted by a uniformed policeman.

  Cochran looked down at the detective still squirming on the ground.

  ‘Your arse is mine now, Briggs.’ He turned to Oscar and extended his hand.

  ‘Thanks, Schliemann. It’s good to have you on our side. If you’re ever thinking of coming back to the force, call me.’ The two big men shook hands and smiled broadly. Cathy joined her colleague.