by Marcus Brown
Picking up the extinguisher, he aimed the nozzle at Tony’s lower half and sprayed. The white foam covered his legs, extinguishing the flames.
Tony was unconscious, the burns to his feet and legs horrific. The material from the trousers had fused to the red raw flesh on his legs.
Jeremiah pressed the green button once again and the chain pulled Tony’s arms outward again, lifting him away from the scorching grate.
He smiled as the flesh on Tony’s charred feet peeled away and he was lifted back into the air. Chunks of charred and stinking flesh clung to the grate. The smell was reminiscent of roast pork.
He bent down and carefully pulled one of the chunks free and popped it into his mouth.
“Mmmm, delicious,” he said, chewing the perfectly cooked flesh blissfully. “Now, let’s see how long it takes for the infection to take hold. You revelled in the suffering of others and gained financially from it. I wonder how well you’ll cope with your own suffering?”
He walked toward the sisters and dragged them to their feet. He clicked his fingers and they opened their mouths, taking in deep breaths.
“Look,” he ordered.
“No, I won’t,” Talia replied.
“Open your eyes and look, or next time I’ll glue your eyes shut and you won’t ever open them again.”
“No,” Tamara cried.
“You don’t need your eyes to stay alive,” he said menacingly. “Do you think your sister would like to wake up in the morning to another special delivery left on the doorstep.”
Reluctantly, both sisters opened their eyes.
Tamara sobbed and retched at the sight before her, which pleased Jeremiah immensely.
He knew Talia wouldn’t break, and would let it pass for the moment. But in time, she would -- he would make sure of it.
Chapter Seventeen
Trey banged on the front door of Moonlight Manor.
He was certain Tabitha was home.
Where else would she be right now?
He bent down and yelled through the letterbox.
“Tabitha, if you’re home,” he bellowed, “let me in. I need to speak with you.”
He spied Tabitha at the end of the hallway.
“Go away, Trey. I don’t want to see anybody.”
“I’m not leaving until I speak to you properly. Now, open up or I’ll sit and wait until you do.”
Suddenly the front door swung open and in front of him was a beautiful young woman that bore an uncanny resemblance to Tabitha.
“And who might you be?” Abigail asked, heaving her bosom outward.
“Erm,” he said, standing straight and looking flustered. He held out his hand. “Trey Dembélé. Good to meet you, Miss…”
“Worthy,” she replied, coquettishly. “I’m Abigail Worthy, Tabitha’s cousin.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Worthy…”
“Abi, or Abigail, please,” she interrupted. “Miss Worthy makes me feel about four hundred years old.”
“Very well then, Abigail it is,” he said, smiling, taken with the beautiful woman before him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Abigail pulled the door open fully.
“Won’t you come in?” she said.
He stepped over the threshold. “Thank you.”
Tabitha walked toward him. He’d never seen her look so discombobulated.
“What do you want, Trey? I’m on leave.”
“I know that, but I thought you should know Tony Marshall is missing.”
The words hit home like he had hoped.
“What?”
“He hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning. His assistant said there were signs of a scuffle in his penthouse, and after reading this morning’s paper, it looks like he was receiving information directly from the killer himself.”
“Shit,” Tabitha said. “And they’ve printed that in their own paper? I need to go into the office.”
“You need to stay here in case there’s any ransom demands for Tamara and Talia,” Trey stated.
Abigail looked on, but didn’t say a word.
“Abi can stay here and listen out for the telephone. There are still officers stationed outside so she’ll be quite safe. Won’t you, Abigail?” Tabitha said.
“Quite,” Abigail replied. “Run along and find out what you can and I’ll see what I can find out from this end.”
Abigail walked off toward the kitchen.
“What did she mean by that?” Trey asked. “What is there to find out – is there something you’re not telling me, and by the way, why have you never mentioned your cousin before?”
“There was no reason to. I haven’t seen her for about seventy years.”
“Oh, very funny,” he replied. “You all look so similar. What side of your family is she from?”
“One question at a time, your Honour,” she said irritably. “Ignore Abigail. She’s here, but she turned up a week or so ago. What can I do? She’s family, after all.”
Chapter Eighteen
Nathan Rigby spun around on his chair as Tabitha stepped into the office.
“Shit, boss. We weren’t expecting you here, now with, well you know…”
“I can’t sit at home and do nothing, so somebody, anybody, give me some news, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.”
He jumped up and crossed the room. “We’ve interviewed the rest of the staff from Donaldson’s place, and from what we’re being told, there was no sign their boss was up to anything at all.”
“How could they not know? The woman would’ve been in agony every day with her skin from what Trey tells me.”
“They either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. They said she was obsessively clean, to the point of hysteria, if she found any trace of dirt, but nothing she said or did led any of them to believe she was killing people and using body parts as pie filling.”
Tabitha could feel her stomach lurch.
How could anybody do something as wicked as butcher a human being and use their internal organs as food.
In all her years on the force, it was the worst thing she’d ever had to deal with.
She’d spoken to Trey on the way into the office and he’d confirmed the pies found in the freezers had been contaminated with human remains.
Appeals had gone out to the general public who had eaten there to report to their local hospital. A special hotline had been set up, but hopefully, there would be no lasting physical damage to anybody. She couldn’t say the same for how it would affect them mentally.
Tabitha knew had she consumed human flesh or organs, it was something that would never leave her mind.
“Was Miriam ever seen with anybody at all?”
“Not at all. From the picture painted of her, she was quite the loner. None of them had any idea she was living with this man. We’re checking with her suppliers and the local cash and carry’s she may have bought supplies from – see if we can get any CCTV footage.”
“So, we do know they were living in the same place?”
“Looks that way. The whole place has been searched. Clothes, grooming products, as well as DNA discovered all lead us to the same conclusion. If he wasn’t living there – he definitely spent a lot time there.”
“Then, where is he?”
“I wish we knew, boss. But, we’re all working our arses off pulling double shifts. We won’t rest until we get the bastard and your sisters are safe at home.”
She felt genuinely touched her staff had rallied around her at such a point.
Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you,” she croaked, uncomfortable showing vulnerability for the first time in front of her team. “Please find them.”
Jack walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get them back, Boss. We promise you.”
She couldn’t speak and offered a weak smile.
The team dispersed and carried on with what they were doing before she entered the room.
She sat at
her desk and switched on her PC. Typing in the password, she waited a few seconds for her system to boot itself up.
The little envelope icon at the right-hand side of the screen flashed, telling her she had four new emails.
Clicking the icon, the name immediately jumped out at her.
Jeremiah Blackwell
“Oh, no,” she said quietly, clicking onto the subject.
The Dark Magic Murderer
A picture opened up in a new window and instinctively, she pushed herself away from the screen, horrified by the image in front of her.
The picture showed a close up photograph of Tony Marshall. He’d been suspended from the ceiling. That wasn’t the worst part – the burns on his legs and feet were horrific to see.
She couldn’t tell if he was alive, or dead, but she clicked on the next email. They all had the same subject heading.
A picture of her sisters appeared on the screen and relief flooded through her. They were alive at least, and from what it looked like, he hadn’t harmed them -- yet.
Tabitha clicked on the third email, waiting for a picture to open, but instead, there was a rhyme;
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Catch two girlies by their toe,
If they scream,
Hurt them so,
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
She clicked on the last email and balked at the picture in front of her.
Tabitha bent over as vomit poured out of her mouth.
Jack rushed toward her and grabbed the waste bin, holding it under her mouth.
“What is it, Boss?” Rigby asked.
Tabitha’s retching echoed around the office, and she was acutely aware her team were gawping at her.
Rigby handed her a tissue and she wiped her mouth.
“Thanks, Nathan,” she said, wiping her mouth again, conscious she hadn’t got all the strings of vomit. “Take a look at my emails, will you?”
Rigby sat at Tabitha’s desk and groaned.
“The sick fuck,” he said as the team crowded around.
Tabitha took a step back, not wanting to see the picture again.
Two of her female colleagues looked at the screen, then rushed from the room holding their hands over their mouths.
Rigby spoke up. “Well, I think it’s safe to say Tony Marshall is dead, and we can expend all our energies on your sisters.” Tabitha brushed off his insensitive comments. “We need to catch this fucking maniac.”
“Get Trey on the phone, Jack. I need him down here now. I want him to see these pictures and don’t trust our connection is secure enough at this moment in time.”
*
Trey arrived thirty minutes later and sat at Tabitha’s desk.
“I’ve never seen anything like it, Tabitha. Not in all my years as a pathologist.”
“Tell me something, anything.”
“This is only hypothetical and doesn’t go beyond these four walls. Agreed.”
“Okay,” she said.
“By the looks of it, Marshall was tortured pretty badly before he died.”
“So, he’s definitely dead?”
“Yes, by the colour of his skin, and the wounds you see, there’s no way he survived that.”
“He must have been in agony.”
“The untreated burns alone would have caused serious infection, but have a look here,” he said, pointing to the corner of the photograph where Tony’s feet were visible.”
“I can’t stand this,” Tabitha said.
“Looks like his feet were burnt and the skin melted against some form of metal grate. When he was moved, the skin and flesh tore, leaving gaping wounds. Wherever Marshall’s being kept, it seems our Mr Blackwell either introduced the rats, or they were already there, but they’ve had a good go on what was left.” Tabitha closed her eyes. “Whether he was alive at that time, I can’t say, but I pray to God he didn’t suffer.” Trey’s expression looked grim. “But, knowing how much pleasure Blackwell takes from inflicting pain, I think Marshall was aware of it all.”
“I need to go home, Trey. Will you drive me?”
“Sure, come on. You shouldn’t be here anyway.”
Tabitha stood up and made her way toward the door. She turned and spoke to her team.
“Please, do whatever it takes. Night, or day, if you find anything, call me, okay?”
The team nodded their agreement.
Chapter Nineteen
The same pictures had been emailed to The Daily Truth and to Tabitha’s surprise, next day’s front page carried a tribute to their fallen comrade and leader.
Later pages showed an edited picture of Tony Marshall lying dead, plus reports from various medical sources guessing how he’d died and whether he had suffered.
Jeremiah Blackwell had been named as The Dark Magic Murderer, but nobody, apart from Tabitha and Abigail knew who he really was and from where he came.
Tabitha spoke to her team every hour, hoping for updates, but there was nothing. There was no trace of him. It was a good thing her colleagues hadn’t traced him because they didn’t know what they were dealing with. She did, and that was why it had to be her that found her sisters.
The emailed pictures had been scrutinised and there was nothing on them that would determine the location of Tony Marshall or her sisters.
Tabitha couldn’t stand it any longer, and threw the pictures, scattering them across the coffee table in the sitting room. She rushed into the kitchen and found Abigail raiding the fridge once again.
“We need to do something. The longer this goes on, the more danger my sisters are in.”
“What do you suggest we do? You won’t allow me to go back to 1692,” she stated, taking a chunk of cheese from the fridge and biting into it, chewing furiously, “and bring Catherine to us, so you decide.”
“We need a spell that will help us locate them.”
“You’re stepping dangerously close toward dark magic territory here, Tabitha.” She put the cheese with the toothmarks back in the fridge. “But, if that is what you want to do, tell me what you need, and I will source what we need.”
“We need tarantulas,” Tabitha replied. “Lots of them.”
Abigail shuddered. “If you’re thinking what I think you are, forget it.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still scared of spiders,” Tabitha tittered. “Surely, a person without a soul isn’t afraid of a hairy little creature like a Tarantula.”
“Don’t tease me, Tabitha,” Abigail replied. “Regardless of my current predicament, my fear of the little terrors remains.”
“Will you get them for me, or not?” Tabitha asked impatiently.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“No,” Tabitha answered.
“If it puts me one step closer to leaving this place, and you, behind, then yes, I will get what you ask.”
“Then go now, but hurry. We don’t have much time. Blackwell is planning something. Either we go to him, or he’ll come for us.”
“I don’t know where I’ll find them. This time is a mystery to me,” Abigail said.
“You can still blink, can’t you?” Tabitha questioned. “Tell yourself where you need to go and voila, it will be so. But hurry.”
Abigail frowned at her daughter, then disappeared with a whoosh.
Glad to finally have peace and quiet, Tabitha blinked into the cellar and entered the room at the end of the corridor.
“Blessed be,” she said, waving her hand and watching the candles come to life.
She stood before the plinth and stroked the book.
“Book. I need you now,” she said. “Help me locate Jeremiah Blackwell.”
The book came to life and flickered to a page that held a picture of Jeremiah.
“Thank you,” she said.
She picked up the pot of ink and tipped a few drops onto the picture.
The words began to form almost instantaneously.
Jeremiah Blackwell hides in plain sight.
B
ut, underestimate him at your peril, for he has stolen the power of another.
“Whose power has he stolen?”
The ink pooled and then began to form different words.
Bridget Bishop’s.
“You must be mistaken. She hid her powers too well.”
Cotton Mather was a clever man.
Bridget Bishop fell on 10th June 1692.
The day after the Crockworthy three fled to England.
Bridget’s Grimoire was never found.
The realisation of what happened hit her.
“Cotton Mather took the book and passed it to Jeremiah Blackwell. That’s how he found his way here.”
Well done, Mistress.
“He wasn’t born magical and wouldn’t know how to summon its full power, but if he drew anything from the book, it would turn him slowly mad.”
The book spelt out new words;
The damage will already be done.
“We have to get that book before he finds out how to unlock its secrets.”
She looked down as the book spoke to her again:
Human sacrifice will unlock its secrets and allow Jeremiah Blackwell untold access to Bridget Bishop’s powers.
“Whilst it’s in Jeremiah’s hands, we’re all in danger. He won’t know what he’s doing, and slowly the power will drive him mad until Bridget’s Grimoire takes a life of its own and controls and uses him to do its bidding.”
We all desire our freedom, Mistress.
Chapter Twenty
A chill passed through Tabitha, leaving her cold inside.
It was the first time the book had ever expressed its own desires.
“Tell me how to find Jeremiah,” she ordered the book.
You must summon the spirit of Bridget Bishop.
Only she will guide you to her Grimoire.
But I offer you a warning.
Only with dark magic will you be able to summon her from the other side and bend her to your will.
