by Marcus Brown
“They’ll heal,” Talia replied. “This one is already feeling loads better, but we’ll let him think I’m incapacitated that little bit longer and then when he least expects it, bang.” She used her two fingers to imitate a gun, “He’s dead.”
Chapter Twelve
Abigail Crockworthy sat at the breakfast bar in the spaciously fitted kitchen. She was consuming a large bowl of home-made chicken and vegetable soup.
“Everybody has an Achilles’ Heel,” she said, tearing a chunk of bread in half. “Your sisters are your weakness, and Catherine is Jeremiah’s.”
“Of course. How could I have forgotten her so easily?”
“Time flies, Daughter.” She dunked a chunk of bread into the soup and popped it into her mouth, greedily swallowing it. She hadn’t tasted anything so good in a long time.
“Your table manners leave a lot to be desired, Mother.”
“Who is there left to impress?” she replied, shrugging her shoulders.
Tabitha disregarded her opinion. “As you were saying, Catherine is Jeremiah’s weakness. How are we going to use that to retrieve Talia and Tamara?”
“Quite simple really. We will return to 1692 and bring her back with us. Using her as bait will lure the little weasel out of his hidey hole.”
“Absolutely out of the question. That isn’t going to happen.”
“Then, start preparing for your sisters’ burial.”
Tabitha glowered, obviously angered by her mother’s unconcerned attitude.
“There has to be another way. I’m a Chief Inspector and cannot simply vanish into the past. People will wonder where I am.”
“Who will know? One step back in time is all it takes. We locate the girl and open a portal, grab her, and in a flash, we’re back here.”
“I can’t take you back there – you cannot be trusted.”
“Do you think I want to stay in 1692? Think before you speak, my girl,” she hissed. “This time has a lot of advantages for someone like me.”
“What will you do once we go our separate ways?” Tabitha asked.
“That will be none of your concern, but our paths will not cross again after that day. That much I am hopeful of. I no longer want reminders of my past self.”
Tabitha looked sad. “And that’s it?”
“You look disappointed, Tabitha.” Abigail smiled. “Yes, I’m the woman that gave birth to you all, but I am no longer the same person I was all those years ago. You and your sisters saw to that, and now you must reap what you sow.”
“We would never have come back for you had we known.”
“I know you acted with the best of intentions, but all the lessons I taught you meant nothing. The human soul is a precious thing, and without it, well look at me, this beauty is all that remains.”
“You’re still you. I know you can find your way back. We can ask for the Goddess’ help.”
“That will not happen as much as you wish it. And as much as a small part of me wishes it also, I am no longer bound to the Goddess as I was before, and the sense of freedom I feel is elating. The desire to restore my soul is not within me.”
“Once this mess is over, let us try and find a way.”
“No, Tabitha. That time and place is forever locked and you must never return to that point again. You were only able to do so before because there was no risk you would come across your past selves.”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take and I know my sisters would do the same.”
“I will not sacrifice the three of you…” Abigail paused.
Tabitha was as sharp as a knife and latched onto her words.
“See, you don’t really want any harm to befall us. For over seventy years, we locked you away, but I see no malice in you, in fact, quite the opposite, and you would deserve to feel it.”
“I don’t wish to discuss it any longer,” Abigail said, pushing the half empty bowl away from her. She stomped across the kitchen and pushed the patio doors open and walked out into the garden.
Chapter Thirteen
Jeremiah walked into the windowless basement room and spied the uneaten food on the plates.
“You didn’t eat your food,” he said angrily to the sisters.
“We weren’t hungry,” Talia replied.
“Then it’ll be a long time until your next meal. We can’t have good food going to waste now.” He smiled at them.
“What happened to you, Jeremiah? You were always such a kind man.”
“You and your family happened,” he answered. “I had my future planned. To marry Catherine and have a family of our own, but Cotton Mather put a stop to that, forcing me to abandon everything I knew and find the three of you.”
“After you found us, why didn’t you just come straight to us? Did all those innocent people really have to die?” Tamara asked. “Those aren’t the actions of the boy I used to know.”
“The boy you used to know is long gone.” He looked up. “May the Lord forgive me for my trespasses.”
“You’ll never be forgiven,” Talia taunted. “Taking a life is a mortal sin, and I am certain the village elders will frown upon your actions once you return to your own time.”
“That may be so, but when I present the famous Crockworthy sisters to them, and we stand and watch you all burn on the pyre, I’ll be forgiven by the person that matters most, my Catherine.”
“You delude yourself, Blackwell,” Talia said, standing up.
“Ah, I see you’ve recovered. An added advantage to your already impressive gifts.”
“Hmmph,” Talia replied.
“But, don’t be too cocky, as next time I might just chop your foot off and boil it in a nice soup.” He chuckled. “I wonder if missing limbs grow back.”
“Talia, be quiet,” Tamara begged.
“He isn’t going to kill us, Tammy. You heard him yourself. Little Jeremiah wants to take us back to 1692 and parade us around the village. He wants his moment of glory. The chance to prove to his precious Catherine what a big man he is. Isn’t that right?”
Jeremiah strode towards Talia and punched her in the face. Blood spurted from her broken nose -- the force of the impact knocking her flying onto the bed. She was out cold.
He glared at Tamara.
“I suggest you speak to your sister about her lack of respect toward me when she wakes, or I’ll cut her tongue out and make you eat it.”
Chapter Fourteen
Tony Marshall liked to work late. Preferring the peace and tranquillity of his own surroundings as opposed to the usual hustle and bustle of the busy building he owned.
He didn’t often venture from the penthouse floor to the lower levels -- not unless he had something specific to say, or in matters of upmost importance. Lately, he’d had little choice but to take the private elevator downstairs and take charge of his empire.
He had everything he required in the penthouse -- a luxurious office not many people ever got to see and living quarters fit for a king.
He’d spent too many hours of late in the boardroom and felt like he was banging his head against a brick wall.
Now, the migraine that had been threatening all day had started to kick in. The throbbing behind his eyes working its way up to a drum beat.
Banging his hand down on the control panel on his desk, he hit the button that closed the blinds. The only light now coming in was from the screen in front of him.
He adjusted the brightness of the monitor and stared at the screen.
Wondering where to start, Tony sat, wracking his brains whilst massaging his temples.
He was quietly seething – for a multitude of reasons and falling ill with so much to do wasn’t ideal.
The unread autopsy report was sitting at the corner of his desk, then there was the article he had to write for the morning edition of his paper.
Yes, he had thousands of writers at his disposal, but his mole had called his private line earlier that evening and demanded he be the one to write the ar
ticle in return for more information on The Dark Magic Murders.
An email address had been provided for when he’d finished the article. The mole wanted to proof read and okay it before it went to print.
“Damn cheek,” he said out loud.
But, if it meant he’d get one over on the other red tops, he’d gladly walk over hot coals. He’d told his mole exactly the same thing earlier that evening when he called.
*
Tony hit send on the email and waited anxiously for a reply.
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed by, and nothing.
He wasn’t used to being kept waiting and hated the fact he was at this maniac’s beck and call.
“How long does it take this idiot to read an article?” he said out loud.
He pushed himself out from his desk and reached for his cane. The limp in his leg was a lot more pronounced lately and although he didn’t want to admit it, retirement wasn’t far off in the future.
In fact, he thought to himself, as soon as this case is solved, I’m off to Mustique.
Feeling parched, he walked toward the gleaming white kitchen with the matching marble work surfaces.
Finishing the article had distracted him from the migraine, but now he was trying to relax, it was returning with a vengeance.
He grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, delivered from Harrods that morning and poured some of it into a Swarovski crystal glass.
Taking a huge glug from the glass, a flickering of light from the other side of the penthouse floor grabbed his attention.
Placing the glass slowly on the countertop, he limped across the room.
He could see the shadowed figure standing by the fireplace, but with no natural light in the room, he couldn’t see his face.
*
“I must say, I was very impressed with your little article,” the shadowed man said.
“Who are you?” Tony asked from the other side of the room.
“What was it you christened me? Oh yes, The Dark Magic Murderer, wasn’t it? Well, ta-dah!” Jeremiah answered, opening his arms.
“Why are you here?”
“Questions, questions, questions. Ever the reporter,” Jeremiah responded. “Even in my own time, they weren’t so different.”
“Well, why are you here? You agreed to stay away. Being here could land us both in trouble. I don’t wish to be seen as an accessory to murder.”
“I thought it about time I met you in person. That’s all.”
“And now you have, please leave,” Tony said, his voice sounding shaky.
“I thought we were friends,” Jeremiah replied, slithering slowly toward Tony.
“Don’t come any closer. I’ll trigger the alarm if you don’t stay where you are.”
Jeremiah sniggered.
“It won’t get you very far, but please give it a try. I do enjoy a good hearty laugh.”
Jeremiah moved closer again as Tony backed away.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Who said I was here to do anything to you?”
“I’m a man of the world so don’t insult my intelligence -- you haven’t popped in to simply say hello.”
Jeremiah smirked. “Then I won’t insult your intelligence. Now, shall we get down to business?”
“And what business would that be?”
Jeremiah suddenly charged, knocking Tony off his feet and sending him crashing to the ground. He sniggered again as Tony’s head cracked the hard floor.
His smiling face was the last thing Tony saw as he drifted into unconsciousness.
Chapter Fifteen
Talia and Tamara watched through the bars in their cell door as Jeremiah dragged the elderly man past their room.
He winked at them as he passed by.
Talia looked on, horrified. She recognised the man.
“Shit, Tammy, that’s Tony Marshall.”
“Who?” she replied, looking confused.
“He’s the CEO of News Group UK. You know, the same guy who’s been running all the murder stories. Tabi was sure he was being drip fed information, and it looks like Jeremiah was the one responsible.”
“What’s he doing here?” she asked. “Do you think he’s in on it too and has been colluding with Jeremiah?”
“I don’t think so, Tam,” she said, fearfully. “By the looks of Marshall, he wasn’t given a choice about being here.”
*
“Wakey-Wakey.”
Tony opened his eyes slowly.
He had the mother of all headaches.
Slowly, the events came rushing back to him and his eyes opened wide in panic upon the realisation he was chained and hanging in mid-air.
“It’s good to see you back in the land of the living, Mr Marshall,” Jeremiah said. “I truly want you to enjoy this next part.”
“Let me down from here, this minute,” Tony demanded.
He was beginning to panic.
Jeremiah smirked. “Your days of giving orders are nearly at an end.”
“Let me down,” Tony repeated. He could feel the flush of anger in his cheeks.
“Not until we have your audience in the room.” Jeremiah walked to the door and twisted around. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said, “I won’t be long at all.”
Tony struggled to free himself, but he was tied too tightly.
His arms were outstretched and his wrists bound with chains that were hooked into the ceiling above.
His legs dangled loose, but just underneath his feet was a wooden stool situated on a metal grate, and if he stretched just that little bit more, his tip toes touched and the lower half of his body didn’t feel it was under as much pressure.
Without warning, two very attractive women were shoved into his cell.
Their faces looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen them before.
Realising both girls were chained at the wrist and ankles, he panicked and began to struggle again.
“You’re wasting your energy,” his captor said. “Save it because you’ll need it for what lies ahead.”
“What are you going to do to him, Jeremiah?” Tamara asked.
“Watch and wait,” he replied, wickedly.
“Listen to me,” Talia interjected. “You don’t need to hurt anybody else. We’ll give you what you want. Just let us call Tabitha and she’ll come to us, I know it.”
“Tabitha Worthy,” Tony exclaimed. “That’s it,” he remembered. “You’re the sisters, aren’t you?”
“Silence, all of you,” Jeremiah ordered.
He hooked the chains that bound the sisters onto the wall.
“Don’t try anything, or you’ll be next,” he warned.
“Jeremiah, please,” Tamara begged.
“I said silence,” he roared, and struck her across the face. Her head flew backwards and she let out a high-pitched scream as the pain took hold. “I won’t tell you again, any of you.”
Jeremiah turned to look at Tony.
“Now, remind me what it was you said you’d do if I gave you the scoop of a lifetime.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jeremiah kicked the stool from underneath Tony.
His feet kicked out. The pressure of dangling in mid-air too much for his weary old body.
“Walk over hot coals, wasn’t it?”
Tony replied, sounding breathless. “It’s just a phrase, you lunatic.”
“Jeremiah, no,” Talia protested. “Let him down, please.”
“Oh, I fully intend to let him down, but first, I have to deal with you and your sister’s infernal interruptions.”
Tamara opened her mouth to protest as Jeremiah clicked his fingers.
Suddenly, the sister’s mouths closed shut as their lips glued together.
Jeremiah observed a look of confusion as it settled over Tony’s wrinkled face. He didn’t have a clue what was happening, or indeed, what was coming.
He could see the shock and surprise register in the siste
rs’ eyes, but such a prideful display of magic was unforgivable and he would flagellate himself and beg the Lord’s forgiveness when he was alone later on.
He turned back to Tony. “Now we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get on with the business at hand.”
He walked over to the door and pressed a small red button and flames slowly rose from the grate under Tony’s bare feet.
“Oh, God, no,” Tony shouted as the flames flickered to life and began to grow.
He was an old man and Jeremiah could see it took all his strength to raise his legs away from the heat of the flames.
“Feeling a little warmer?” Jeremiah asked. He chuckled and turned to face the sisters. The look on their faces was priceless. He could see they wanted to scream, but their lips were still locked together.
“Please,” Tony begged, obviously trying to keep his feet away from the flames, “I’m a very rich man and I’ll give you anything you want. Just get me to your computer and you’ll have more money than you can ever spend.”
“You are sinful and must be purified,” Jeremiah responded.
He walked back toward the door and hit the green button, next to the red one.
Slowly, the chains that bound Tony began to lower him closer to the flames.
Tony screamed in agony as his bare feet touched the metal grate.
Jeremiah chuckled and pressed the green button again. The grinding noise from the mechanism came to a screeching halt.
Tony tried to lift his feet, but the skin had melded to the metal.
His tortured screams bounced off the stone walls.
“I didn’t have coal so had to improvise. How did I do?” Jeremiah taunted.
Tony continued to scream as the flames spread up his trousers, setting the lower portion of his body alight.
His guttural screams carried no words, just cries of sheer agony.
Jeremiah looked at the sisters. They’d closed their eyes, he assumed not wishing to see the rest of it play out.
“Not enjoying the show, ladies?” he said to the sisters.
He pressed the red button and the flames vanished, but the old man’s trousers still burned.
