The Edward King Series Books 1-3

by Wood, Rick

  She saw herself inserting the dead bull inside of herself and fucking it as she ate its heart.

  She gagged. It was vile. It was graphic, and it made her feel disgusted and degraded to have these visions of her committing such vile acts.

  “What was it this time?” Eddie enquired, relaxing his voice.

  Kelly shook her head.

  No. She couldn’t say it out loud. Not to him.

  She loved him too much and just couldn’t bear him judging her.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her. “You can tell me.”

  “I can’t, Eddie.”

  “But I need to know.”

  That was the wrong thing to say, and she knew Eddie could tell that as soon as the words left his mouth. This was no longer about her, it was about him. About him fighting the evil within himself, his endeavour to learn more about his opponent. His war with the devil, who had stolen her body from her.

  His determination to journey into the depths of what he was fighting was ever-present in his mind and she knew that, but it wasn’t what she needed. She was not a pawn between him and the king of hell.

  She was his girlfriend. And she was not going to let herself become anything less.

  However unfair it was.

  “I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. “I know it’s not about me – it’s just, you’re the closest thing I have to learning more about what I’m facing. It would really help.”

  She freed herself from his grasp and meandered aimlessly back into the bedroom, leaving him standing with his hands on his hips in the doorway of the bathroom. Was that meant to be an apology? It was pitiful. All he did was justify his personal reasons for dragging her deepest, darkest visions from her mind.

  She opened the curtains and gazed upon the street below. They lived in a lovely house. It had been nearly a month now, mostly on his wage. She was still a student, she couldn’t match his salary. If she was honest with herself, sometimes it made her feel like she owed him.

  Before she could debate it any further in her mind, she felt his arms tucking around her waist. She closed her eyes and sunk into his embrace, feeling its comfort, letting its warmth spread through her.

  “I am sorry. I mean it. I’ll let it go. I know this isn’t easy for you. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Kelly said nothing else. That was all she needed.

  She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and returned to bed. She laid on her side, facing the wall, and he put his arms around her from behind. She enjoyed the warmth, but within minutes his breathing became heavier and he was asleep.

  She stayed wide awake until the alarm went at 7.00 a.m.

  5

  16 July 2002

  Martin couldn’t believe his luck.

  The heat of his best friend’s basement wasn’t the only thing making him sweat. Beneath his hormonal teenage body was Kristy, her long, blond hair spread out across the arm of the sofa, her hands rubbing themselves up and down his back, her mouth passionately gnawing at his.

  He felt her tongue brush against his and it sent tingles down his spine. He tried it again, poking his tongue warily into her mouth, and she returned the gesture.

  Sweat dripped down the cusp of his neck, his erection pressing itself against her hip, her bare leg lifting itself around his waist and thoughts of lust and sex and breasts and stuff filled his head until –

  “Kristy, Maggie, your mum is here!” came the cockblocking voice of Simon’s mum up the stairs of the basement,

  “Aw, shit!” exclaimed Kristy, immediately ceasing her lip contact with Martin, frantically pushing him off and grabbing her sister, Maggie, from underneath Simon on the sofa across the room. “We got to go.”

  Maggie was equally alarmed and, before Martin’s eyes could even readjust, they were sprinting up the stairs.

  “Wait!” Simon jumped up. “Can we at least have your number?”

  “We’ll give you our number,” Maggie replied, “if either of you can remember our surname.”

  Martin smirked. Simon looked blankly at him. His mouth remained agape as he returned his desperate gaze to the two gorgeous girls exiting his room.

  “We’ll see you at school,” Kirsty interjected, evidently the happier of the two. “Bye, Martin.”

  With that they were gone, and Martin sat back with a satisfied smile. Simon slumped onto the sofa next to him and interrupted his gaze with an inquisitive stare.

  “What?” Martin grunted.

  “Mate, she was a right cow.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I was after Kristy, and I asked you to take her moody sister,” he laughed. “She is angry as shit.”

  Martin turned to the fridge next to him and opened it, looking for a beer.

  “Bruv, what you doin’?” demanded Simon.

  “I wan’ a beer.”

  “Mate, those are my dad’s. He’ll kick my arse if he sees us nicking his beers. You already had one.”

  “One? How’m I meant to get pissed off one?”

  “You ain’t. You wan’ get pissed, you get your own beer.”

  Martin shut the fridge and leant his head back. His mind returned to daydreams of Kristy.

  “Kristy is proper nice though, ain’t she?”

  “Yeah, mate, she’s nice. Next time bring one with a sister who ain’t a bitch.”

  “Whatever.” Martin’s joyful mood immediately ceased. He had been desperate to get into Kristy’s pants for ages, and Simon was being a right dick about it. “Let’s go down the offy and I’ll nick us a pack o’ Stella.”

  He stood and took a cigarette out of his bag, lighting it and pretending not to choke as he inhaled a small drag.

  “Can’t be arsed, mate,” Simon replied. “Think I’m just gon’ stick here and play COD. Wan’ play?”

  “Nah mate. I hate fuckin’ video games.”

  “What fifteen-year-old hates video games?”

  “I do.”

  “Whatever. You can’t smoke that fag in the house, my mum’ll kill you.”

  With a sigh, Martin picked up his bag and marched up the stairs.

  Fuck Simon, man, he told himself. I’ll go nick some Stella on my own, take it down the park. See if Kristy can come out later.

  After leaving the house, he made his way down the street, avoiding eye contact with the surrounding houses.

  Kids cycled back and forth, shouting obscenities at each other. Some guy was napping on a sofa on his lawn. A bunch of boys Martin recognized from school were loitering against the road sign.

  He hated this street.

  He put his hood up and retained his tunnel vision, striding forward without altering his course.

  He glanced at his watch.

  Aw fuck, I’m late.

  He didn’t want to go home, but his nagging conscience told him to. His mum needed him. Without him, she could be stuck in her bed, starving. Last time he left her too long she ended up peeing herself.

  Joys of being a young carer.

  He daydreamed that he was a millionaire. He and Kristy would walk down the street and people would marvel at them. They would drive around in limos, have servants who would wash their dishes and iron their clothes. Maybe he could be a footballer, or Kristy could become an actress.

  As it was, he still had a bowl of dirty dishes at home with his name on it.

  Sighing a hesitant sigh, he trudged home, wondering what excuse he could come up with to a mother who was too ill to understand.

  6

  The sun poised in the midday sky over a clear, blue horizon. The grave sat still, where it had always been, a few clear words engraved upon it:

  Cassy King

  Gone but not forgotten

  1976 – 1984

  “She’d have been twenty-six this year,” Eddie acknowledged, taking Jenny’s hand in his.

  “Wow. Really, that old?”

  “Yep. Yet somehow, she will always stay eight years old. In our mind and in…”

  His
thoughts trickled off. He had fought Balam on Millennium Night to free her soul. Her eight-year-old soul, that had been detained in hell for sixteen years.

  Luckily, he had won.

  Yet, he still didn’t understand why a demon had chosen his sister. Sure, he was supposedly a man with evil inside of him, he could understand why a demon may have gone at him.

  But surely, Cassy was innocent in all of this.

  Was it to torment him? To show off?

  To push him over the edge?

  The feel of Jenny’s hand in his comforted him. She had been his best friend his whole life. Neither of them could remember a time when they hadn’t been close.

  When Cassy died, when he had to leave his abusive parents’ house, when Jenny met Lacy, when Eddie attempted suicide, when he met Lamashtu, Balam’s slave demon, when he had to send himself to hell to rescue Derek and face the devil himself… She had been there for him.

  Each and every time, she had been there.

  And do you know what’s changed? he thought to himself. Not a damn thing.

  “She’d have been an incredible woman,” Jenny smiled.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Of course I do. If her brother is anything to go by, then I don’t doubt it one bit.”

  He sighed. He felt her arm nestle around him and he reciprocated the gesture. They hugged. The only person other than Kelly he would ever let get this close.

  His mind was still preoccupied with thoughts that Cassy’s death was his fault. He was the one riding his bike with her. He was the one going fast and she was the one copying her older brother. He had tried to stop her, but by then, it was too late. She had met that car face first as it turned the corner.

  He wished she was still alive. By his side. He had so much to tell her.

  “How’s work going?” Jenny mused, as if trying to avoid the situation becoming too emotional.

  “Oh, fine,” Eddie answered, pretending it was normal to talk about work by the grave of one’s dead sister. “Derek’s still off. No idea where he’s gone. Somewhere far off to find some answers or something, I don’t know.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  “What about you? How’s Lacy doing at the hospital?”

  “Oh, she’s queen of the nurses, she rules the roost. But you know her. Always so calm, while I’m always a mess.”

  He smiled. It was true. Jenny was the anxious one and Lacy was the one who was always down to earth. Lacy never let her emotions get the better of her; always so cool and collected, so calm.

  “How’s Kelly? She sleeping any better?”

  “No, not really. She still wakes up with the dreams. I don’t really ask her about them. She doesn’t want to talk about what…”

  He trailed off. How was he supposed to say these things aloud? “Her nightmares are still occupied by when she possessed by the devil.” Five years ago, just the idea of it would have been too farfetched for him to even entertain.

  Despite all he had faced, he still couldn’t quite verbalise some of the bizarre situations he had been in.

  “Come on, let’s head back,” Eddie decided.

  “You sure?” Jenny confirmed.

  “Yeah,” he nodded.

  They turned around and strolled up the path, their arms remaining around each other.

  Then Eddie froze.

  He had seen something.

  It must be a trick of the imagination. Surely.

  Eddie spun around. Across the graveyard, beside a large row of bushes, there had been a figure.

  A figure accompanied by a bright-white light.

  But it wasn’t there.

  But it had been. He was sure of it.

  “What is it?” Jenny asked, peering at the blank space where Eddie stared.

  Eddie let go of Jenny’s embrace and stepped forward.

  “Cassy…?” he whispered.

  “Eddie, you know that’s not possible.”

  No. It wasn’t.

  Or was it?

  He had seen hell. He had been to purgatory. He had fought demons. Surely the line between the world of the living and the world of the dead could be crossed. Maybe it had, maybe he had seen something, maybe…

  Or, maybe it was a figment of his imagination.

  A deep longing manifested by his sub-conscious.

  “Yeah. You’re right.”

  They walked back toward the car.

  As they did, Eddie couldn’t help stealing another quick glance over his shoulder.

  7

  17 July 2002

  Derek looked down at his map. This appeared to be the right place; it was just a thoroughly odd location for a meeting.

  ‘Sabratha wa Sorman.’

  Northwest Libya, at what Derek considered to be a spectacle. The Sabratha Theatre. An archaeological site he knew little about, but stood agape before nonetheless.

  He was fascinated by archaeology, but his endeavours into the paranormal had left little time for him to explore such an interest; and, despite discovering this to be a World Heritage Site, he was a bit embarrassed to say he knew little of its history.

  Before him were light-brown remains, steps of an amphitheatre leading up to a few grand pillars, arched in front of a seemingly sturdy wall. He wondered how long this wall would last before it was eroded; the colour looked less rock or stone, more soft rock and sand.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind Derek that he had not heard in a long time. A smile stretched across his face as he stood, embracing the man with a large, warm acceptance.

  “Bandile,” he acknowledged. “It’s good to see you.”

  Bandile looked just as he had in 1994, but older. His skin had grown a few more wrinkles and his hair had all but gone, but he still had a strong physique, and a caring, warm grin.

  “And it is lovely to see you, too, Derek. Come, let’s walk.”

  They had a leisurely saunter, sharing a few moments of silence as they circled the grand architecture. Derek mulled over questions in his mind; he had so many, and wasn’t sure where he should start.

  “How is your wife?” he decided would be a good question to begin, especially considering his first full exorcism had been ridding a demon from her.

  “Oh, she died a year or so ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Her life was full, filled with happiness and love. However short, how many people can honestly say that?”

  Derek loved the way Bandile talked about life. Even in Bandile’s letters, he came across as concisely philosophical, with deep wisdom.

  “So why on earth did you make me travel all the way to Libya to meet?”

  “I can feel conflict on the horizon. I am needed here. My children are grown up, my wife is gone; they do not need me in Umtata anymore.”

  “How do you know there is conflict coming?”

  “It is in my bones. Though it doesn’t feel close… It is hard to describe.”

  Bandile came to one of the steps and settled himself down, gazing up at the sunlit sky. Derek sat next to him. The air was peaceful and calm, the sun was bright; it was hard to think of a sight such as this being a home to hate.

  “So, you want to know about the book?” Bandile looked to Derek, straight to the point. He smiled, though it wasn’t the large, warm smile he had given Derek upon greeting him; but a consigned, reluctant smile.

  “Yes. There was a prediction in it, and… Well, it appears to be coming true.”

  “There are many predications in that book that have come true. That’s why I passed the burden onto you.”

  “And now, Bandile, I need to bring it back. I need your guidance. I need to know what you see in the future.”

  Bandile took a deep breath in, held it, then slowly released it. His eyes fluttered and he dropped his head. Derek could see Bandile’s conflicting thoughts; hesitance over thoughts Bandile couldn’t articulate.

  “You know what I say,” he reminded Derek. “T
hese things don’t come to me in fully formed stories. They are glimpses. Images. Feelings”

  “But the prophecy was rather clear, Bandile. It said the son of the devil would rise at the millennium. It said he would have no choice but to embrace the evil of his powers.”

  “And you believe you have found this man?”

  “I believe so. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “Run.” Bandile’s eyes widened and his voice faded to a worried tone Derek had never detected in him before. “He brings the very depths of hell with him. Run, leave him. He is evil.”

  “Except,” Derek sighed, “he is not. I taught him to hone his powers. I taught him to use them for good. But now… the devil wants them back.”

  “This man, he is your friend, yes?”

  “A very good friend.”

  “Kill him.”

  Derek’s eyes dropped. He was stumped. His feelings spun with shocked, argumentative responses. This was an extreme solution he hadn’t thought would be suggested.

  “You come here hoping for a miracle. I cannot give you one. If you want to save your friend, and the world, from an eternity of pain – you need to end his life.”

  “I can’t kill him, he is my friend.”

  “It would be mercy. Life is but a brief holiday from death. Release him.”

  Derek vehemently shook his head.

  “Is there no other way?”

  Bandile closed his eyes. He couldn’t return Derek’s apprehensive gaze.

  “I will tell you what I have seen, what I have felt. I have seen fire, shooting from the sky. I have seen torture of innocent people. I have felt eternal pain, souls screaming out. I wish I hadn’t, Derek, but this is what I have seen.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Bandile didn’t reply. Derek knew denial was a common, but useless, response. It doesn’t help anyone.

  Bandile had never been wrong.

  Derek stood. He put his hands in his pockets. His body reflected his mind; unsure, uncomfortable, wary.

  Terrified.

  “There has to be another way, Bandile. Please.”