Angela thought about it. “I don’t know. Some schools of thought say that only the devout are at risk of an evil entity invading their soul. Others say that repetition of a specific sin attracts the Devil’s minions – such as excessive masturbation or swearing. Some say it is a random occurrence while others say that for a demon to inhabit your soul you must consciously invite it.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think evil takes advantage. I think it plays the human race like chess pieces on a board. If a demon were ever to possess a person, it would do so for a specific reason – to further the cause of evil. Some say that several demons cast out from Mary Magdalene went on to inhabit Judas, Emperor Nero, Adolf Hitler and many other powerful men. I think that is what truly attracts the Devil – power.”
Tim scrunched up his face. “And you think a ten-year-old boy is powerful?”
“A ten year old boy that stands to inherit a fortune one day and a place on the board of the world’s most powerful company? Yeah, I think little Sammie is more powerful than you realise. Hitler was able to influence millions towards evil, but Black Remedy Corporation has the influence to affect billions.”
“So you think that if there is a demon inside Sammie, it’s basically a power-hungry entrepreneur?” Tim laughed. “Sorry, I do get your point, though. I guess Sammie does have a lot of potential backing him. That would mean that this demon is in it for the long haul.”
“If there is a demon,” said Angela. “I’m still not willing to accept that.”
The laptop flashed back on.
The backup file resumed playing on its own, screening more footage of the previous evening, but this time it no longer showed Sammie’s room. The video footage this time was of Angela’s room. It showed her asleep on her bed, the lights switched on.
Tim saw the concern etched across Angela’s face and wondered if he looked as worried.
“What time is this?” she asked him.
Tim checked the time stamp. “5AM, but I don’t understand. I haven’t set any cameras up in your room. I don’t know where this footage came from. Did you leave the bedroom light on?”
“Yes, I was…nervous. I guess I must have fallen asleep and the power came back on briefly.”
Tim watched the footage of Angela sleeping and was lost for an explanation. “I don’t understand this. How did the feeds switch?”
“Someone was in my room,” Angela explained bluntly. “I got out of the shower and someone had written a message on my mirror. Maybe they left a camera in my room at the same time.”
“Who, though? Frank?”
The laptop flashed again. The screen changed back to Sammie’s room. The boy was no longer pacing the room and quoting Bible passages. He was in bed asleep; a normal ten year old boy.
Tim tried to jog the video backwards, to re-examine the footage from Angela’s room, but when he tried to rewind…
“This makes zero sense.”
Angela shrugged. “What?”
“The footage of your room is gone. Look.” He moved the video’s timeline back and forth slowly. The images showed only Sammie in his room. “The video from your room is gone.”
Angela stared at the laptop’s screen. “Or maybe it was never there.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mike sat on a chair across from Graham. Jessica lay on the bed between them. The lady of the house was currently sleeping fitfully, eyeballs flickering like loose marbles beneath her bloodshot eyelids.
“So are you okay to take over?” Mike asked Graham. “I need to crash or I’m going to pass out on my feet.”
Graham’s face was as grumpy as ever. “Don’t have much choice, do I? Why did she have to go and do something so bloody stupid, anyway? Silly girl.”
Mike sighed. “You know there’s more to it than that. Just keep an eye on her. I’ll be by again later to take over. Frank says we call him soon as Jessica wakes up.”
Mike left the penthouse and headed for the second floor. Most of the rooms there had belonged to the live-in staff, but they were all now vacant. When he got there, he just picked a room at random and headed inside. The ottoman-style bed that met him there was a welcome sight and the thought of imminent sleep made his body limp with anticipation.
Things had been set in motion at the house, Mike could feel it. There was a destiny at work and it was finally coming to fruition. Jessica was not going to be the last person hurt before all this was through. Sammie was just getting started.
Mike stood in front of the full-length mirror secured to the back of the bedroom door. He took off his shirt in front of it and examined the runic symbols carved into his chest. The thick, pink scars brought memories of agony, and the necessary suffering he’d had to endure in order to be ready for what he would face. The symbols would keep him safe.
At least for the time being.
When Mike took the job as the household chauffeur, he knew that his eventual responsibilities would include more than just driving the Raymeady’s Mercedes. His role was much greater than anyone in the house knew and his employers were counting on him to ensure things went to plan. So far they were.
Mike ran his fingertips over the scars on his chest and admired the handiwork one last time. Then he slid beneath the sheets of the bed and got ready to sleep through most of the day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Angela had spent the last hour praying to God and confessing her sins.
In order to perform an exorcism, one must humble herself before the Lord. To invoke the power of Jesus Christ, one must not withhold any part of the self. So, after unburdening herself, Angela finally felt re-connected to Heaven. For the first time in several years, she once again felt the light inside of her; she felt pure.
To her surprise, Angela had found her old cassock and dog collar in her suitcase. Mike must have looked for it. Wearing it again now, after so long without it, felt strangely comforting. It was as if she had donned another layer of skin or a set of body armour. She realised now how much she missed the purpose and identity that the robes gave to her.
She picked up her exorcism kit and exited the room. Tim and Frank had arranged to meet her outside Sammie’s room and she headed straight there. Both men seemed impatient when she finally arrived.
“Beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” said Tim, quite seriously. From the sound of his voice it seemed that he wasn’t just impatient, but anxious also.
“Sorry,” she said. “I needed to prepare.”
“No worries,” Tim forgave her. “Are you ready now?”
“Almost. I just need to run through a few things with you both first.”
“Such as what?” Frank asked.
“If – and I mean if – it turns out that Sammie has been infiltrated by a demon, there are several rules you need to abide by at all times. Number one: Do not converse with the demon – leave any talking to me. Number two: Do not challenge the demon in anyway. Remember that it can hurt Sammie. Number three: Control your emotions. Any sign of anger, fear, or even empathy, and the demon will use it to control you. Number four: Do not touch Sammie once I have begun, and do not hand him anything. Finally: Do not try to interfere. Once this process begins, Sammie will appear to get worse as the demon is brought forth. No matter what, though, you must let me finish. Do you both understand?”
Tim nodded and Frank grunted.
“Okay, then. Let’s go and see Sammie.”
Frank opened the door for her and Tim to step inside. As soon as they entered, the now-familiar stench of stale sweat fell over them. Sammie was at his desk as usual, half-naked, and sketching away with his various-coloured crayons.
“Don’t we need him lying down in the bed or something?” Tim asked.
Angela shook her head. “No, that’s just in the movies. As long as he can hear me.”
“Should we at least make a circle of protection?”
Angela hushed him with a finger to her lips and then told him, “The Lord will protect us. You c
an keep your circles of salt for Halloween parties.”
Sammie leapt up out of his chair and faced them. The movement was sudden, violent, but now the boy stood, looking at them serenely. “How lovely to see you again, Miss Murs – and in your Christian armour no less.”
“Jesus Christ is my armour, Sammie. Do you know who Jesus Christ is?”
A slight grin crept across Sammie’s face. “A character of history, as I understand it. A creation of mankind to lend credence to its own importance. Fiction, Miss Murs. You are wasting your life on fiction.”
“It is not fiction, Sammie. Jesus Christ is here with us now. He sees you.”
“I fear you are misguided,” he said calmly, but the awkward twitching of his cheeks spoke of some underlying irritation. Of all the times she had seen Sammie, he now seemed different – spiteful.
Angela took a step closer to the boy and made sure she got good eye contact. “He loves you, Sammie. He wants you to come to him.”
Sammie laughed. It was a bitter, guttural sound. He made no other reply.
Angela took another step toward the boy. This close she could see that there were scratch marks all over the boy’s skinny arms and sallow chest as if he had been clawing at his own flesh, trying to escape his own body. “When did you last eat, Sammie?”
“I have all the nourishment that I need, Miss Murs. Thank you.”
“Do you get that from your friend?” Tim butted in.
Angela shot a glare at Tim to remind him of his promise to stay quiet. He averted his eyes and stared down at the floor, chastised, apparently catching her drift.
Sammie’s smile grew wider. “Naughty Tim. Angela is in charge here, don’t you know that? So quiet your insolent tongue.” He winked at Angela. “Am I correct, Miss Murs?”
“Yes, Sammie. I am in charge here. I am an adult and you need to answer my questions. Okay?”
“Why, of course. I wouldn’t dream of obstructing your investigation. Although, you’ll have to forgive my confusion; what exactly are we investigating?”
“You,” said Angela. “We don’t think you are very well, Sammie. We want to help you get better.”
“Seems like an utter waste of your time, priest, seeing as how I’ve never felt better. Perhaps it is you who is sick.” Sammie empathised the word “sick”; almost spat it at her, in fact.
Angela ignored his attempts to sow doubt. “This is about you, Sammie. I want to know how you’re feeling. Tell me about this friend that came to see you.”
Sammie looked upwards and smiled, as if imagining a beautiful day at the beach. “At first we were not friends at all. In fact, he disapproved of me. Came to change my ways.”
“Did he tell you to do bad things?”
Sammie shrugged. His shoulders were like loose pegs. “Let’s just say that we didn’t see eye to eye on things.”
“And now?”
“Now, my friend prefers to take a back seat.”
Angela asked the question she really wanted the answer to. “What is your friend’s name?”
Sammie shook his head. “I’m afraid it would be unkind for me to impart such information. Names have power and I wouldn’t like to compromise someone so dear to me.”
Angela took two steps forward, almost to within arm’s reach of the boy. “Let’s be honest with one another. I’m not talking to Sammie now, am I? Who are you? By the authority of Jesus Christ, I demand that you name yourself!”
Sammie snarled, his face contorting like the cragged rocks around a lighthouse. “Your words mean nothing, priest. They do nothing but insult me. Leave!”
“No,” said Angela, reaching into her pocket and bringing out her silver crucifix. She held it in front of Sammie’s face. “Be gone, demon. Leave this boy and never return. I ask you, Jesus Christ, to cleanse this unclean spirit. I banish you, demon. Return to hell and never come here again.”
Sammie clambered back, falling across his desk in a bundle of skinny arms and legs. He thrashed and kicked, screamed and whined. His crayons and drawings scattered onto the carpet.
Angela took another step forward, crucifix held before her like a shield. “Leave here, minion. Return to your master to burn in hell. The power of Christ compels you. Be gone!”
Sammie tumbled from the desk and fell to the floor, rocking side-to-side on his hands and knees. He retched; whole body wracked with seizure as his diaphragm spasmed. The sound was like a wounded cat, but it was gradually changing – its tone and pitch altering.
The sound changed to laughing.
Sammie guffawed on the floor so hard that his chest bellowed with every breath. The young boy was in hysterics and he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling as if it were playing some wonderful movie.
Angela sighed. She knew that her words had been unsuccessful. Sammie was not cured. He had been having fun at her expense.
“Bravo,” he said to her, still lying on his back. “Quite the little scene we had there, eh?” Slowly, Sammie got to his feet, his limbs unfolding like an ivory accordion. He grinned and stared at her with his piercing, obsidian eyes. “I enjoyed that, Miss Murs. Do tell me what you have planned for us next?”
“Why are you here?” she asked him, her resolve already beaten and clear in her voice.
“Why are any of us here, priest? We all have our parts to play, and we play them whether we choose to or not. You and I both.”
Angela was losing all control over the situation. She was failing to gain any influence over the boy or anyone who may have been inside of him. “And what part do I have to play?” she asked him.
Sammie’s eyebrows lowered and a look of grim amusement seemed to settle over him. “You, Miss Murs, are here to play the Martyr.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What does he mean, you’re a martyr?” Tim frowned at Angela as they both milled around the piano in the lounge. He was tapping keys randomly and the sound was setting her teeth on edge. She bit at her lower lip until it was bleeding.
“I don’t know,” she said, somewhat snappily. “I assume it means he expects me to die for my beliefs, which is strange seeing as I’m not even sure what I believe half the time. Anyway, it doesn’t even matter. A demon will say whatever it thinks will get a reaction. I’d say it won that round.”
“So you think we really are dealing with Evil?”
Angela slumped forward so that her forehead rested against the cold, polished wood of the piano. “Oh, Jesus. I don’t know. If Sammie is possessed, then I would have expected something more than the reaction I got. My words were powerless.”
“How could that be, though?” Tim asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Why would it not work? Is there a success rate with this type of thing?”
“There shouldn’t be. Evil is Evil and God is God; there are no variables. Perhaps God is no longer with me. An exorcist must be devout, connected to Heaven – but that’s not me. I’ve been following the wrong path for years now. I shied away from God and now I’m part of a charade, speaking in His name.” She pulled the dog collar from her neck and let it fall to the floor. “I’m a disgrace.”
“Sounds to me like Sammie got just what he wanted. Five minutes with him and he’s got you running scared, doubting yourself.”
Angel scowled at him. “I never said I was scared, or running. And stop messing with that bloody piano! It’s giving me headache.”
Tim stepped away from the piano as if it were a smoking gun. “Sorry,” he said, coyly.
Angela shook her head and rubbed at her temples. “No, no, I’m the one that’s sorry. You’re right. I lost my confidence as a Christian a long time ago, and seeing Sammie lying on the floor and laughing at me just destroyed any self-esteem that I had left.”
“But that’s a good thing.”
Angela didn’t understand. “How is that a good thing?”
Tim walked over to the bar and hopped up onto its surface, almost banging his head against the overhanging shelf. “Well, in the army they break the cad
ets, don’t they? Totally rip their self-esteem to shreds. But then they rebuild them, into warriors – ass-kicking, gun-toting, heroes of the free world.”
“What’s your point?”
Tim shook his head at her as if she was an idiot. “My point is that now that you’ve hit rock-bottom, you’ve got nothing to lose. There’s nothing Sammie can use against you if you’re already down and out. Now you have the advantage. It’s time to rebuild yourself as a warrior. Come on, Christian soldier.”
Angela couldn’t help herself but laugh. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”
“Yeah,” said Tim. “Totally. But every now and then I’m right on the money.”
“And now would be one of those times?”
Tim shrugged. “Who knows? I’m just a ghost-hunter that lives in his van.”
“Maybe that’s why it worries me so much that I trust you.”
“Well, perhaps it’s time to trust yourself.”
They could hear a voice clearing over by the door. It was Graham.
“Sorry to interrupt your Hallmark moment, but I was looking for Frank.”
Tim smiled, polite, despite Graham’s rude tone. “He was in Sammie’s room last we saw him. Aren’t you supposed to be watching Jessica?”
“Not that it’s any of your business what my movements are, but, yes, I am supposed to be watching her. Frank told me to come and get him if she woke up.”
“She’s awake?” Angela asked.
“She’s been awake about ten minutes,” Graham explained.
“Is she okay?”
Graham looked a little squeamish. “Not exactly,” he said. “There’s…something wrong with her.”
“What?” Tim asked.
Graham cleared his throat and said, “She’s blind.”
***
The afternoon had begun to give way to evening and the light inside the house started to wind down gradually. It would not be long before the hallways were drenched in shadow. From the penthouse floor, the closest to the Manor’s slanted roof, the rain outside sounded like a million, tiny drums that seemed to gather tempo. The weather was getting worse not better.
Sam: A Novel Of Suspense Page 10
