CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Sammie, you come back here!” Frank shouted into the darkness of the hallway. Angela placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. The last thing she wanted was for Frank to disappear into the shadows of the house too.
“He’s not going to come back on his own,” she said. “We need to go find him.”
“Yeah,” said Tim. “Before he finds us.”
Angela sighed. She liked Tim – even trusted him – but she was beginning to see that he was no good under pressure. Some people saw problems while others saw solutions. Tim was the former and it made him difficult to rely on. You’d think a professional ghost hunter would be a little braver.
“So what’s the plan?” Frank asked.
“We go after him. But we stay together. Sammie is more dangerous now than ever.”
“Probably has something to do with the fact that you keep wanting to stab him,” Tim commented.
Angela faced him down. “It is because the blood exorcism is almost complete. Whatever is inside of Sammie now has nothing to lose.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Almost complete? What else is left?”
“There are two more stigmata to perform, two more wounds of Christ to bestow upon Sammie’s body.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed even more. “You need to pierce his feet?”
Angela nodded.
“And then…what, no way. You’re insane. You plan on stabbing Sammie in his side?”
Angela shook her head. “No. Piercing the feet should be enough to ward off the demon. The final stigmata, if performed, would banish any spirit to Limbo for all eternity. Just the threat of it should be enough to drive Chamuel out.”
“And if it’s not enough?”
“Then we have to decide what we’re up against, and if sacrificing Sammie is something we should do for the greater good.” Angela couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, but she was without doubt.
Ever since the death and destruction she witnessed in Jersey at the hands of Charles Crippley, Angela knew the importance of defeating evil before it had time to bloom. If the entity inside of Sammie was true evil, then she knew the value of one boy’s life was not enough to prevent what needed to be done.
“We’re not killing a kid,” Tim objected. “Frank, you’re with me, aren’t you?”
To Angela dismay, Frank agreed with Tim. He had seemed on her side up until that point. “I have to draw the line somewhere, Ms Murs.”
She was outvoted. She just hoped they would see it her way when the situation required them strongly to change their minds. “Okay,” she said, not wanting to waste any more time talking. “Let’s just find Sammie. We can figure things out later.”
Tim folded his arms. “Fine.”
“Frank, you lead the way. You know the house better than we do.”
Frank nodded and took the lead. They filed out into the hallway and padded down the corridor silently like bedraggled commandos. Every inch of the house was bathed in darkness, every unlit corner a potential hiding place for unseen horrors.
Frank opened up a door on the left and stuck his head inside, then closed it again. “It’s just a storage room,” he said. “No sign of him inside. There’s a bathroom over there. Go check it out.”
Angela nodded and headed over to the next nearest door. Sure enough there was a bathroom inside. The white and black tiles, which probably shone bright in the daytime, were dank and dreary. The smell of bleach hung heavily in the air. The room was empty and lacked anywhere to hide. Except one place.
There was a freestanding bathtub in the far corner of the bathroom. It was a modern affair with a wraparound shower curtain from end to end. It would have been very easy for a ten-year-old boy to hide inside.
Angela moved slyly, but the sound of her feet on tiles seemed inordinately loud. If Sammie was hiding in the bathtub, he would hear her coming. She thought about calling out to him, but knew it would be pointless. A person hiding does not respond to their name being called.
She closed the final few steps, stood within arm’s reach of the shower curtain. Here goes. She placed her fingers against the plastic sheet, found the seam, and slowly, inch by inch, pulled the curtain aside.
She let out a breath.
The bathtub was empty.
Somebody grabbed Angela from behind. She spun around, ready to scream.
“Any sign?” Frank asked her calmly.
“Bloody hell, Frank. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” he apologised earnestly. “Tim said he heard something down below. I didn’t hear anything myself, but I lost twenty-per cent of my hearing during my days in the forces, so I tend to doubt myself.”
Angela nodded. “Okay, let’s go check it out then. You shouldn’t have left Tim alone. It’s not safe.”
“He insisted. Said he’d be fine.”
“I hope so.”
When they went back out into the hallway, Tim was gone.
Frank looked left and right. “Where did he go?”
“He’s afraid,” said Angela, understanding what had happened. “I imagine he’s trying to find a way out.”
Frank’s nostrils flared and he snorted like a bull. “Coward.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it now. If Tim wants out of here then he’ll be of no use to us anyway. We need to find Sammie. Do you think Tim was at least telling the truth about hearing a noise downstairs?”
Frank shrugged. “Probably not. In fact, I doubt it entirely. Perhaps we should work from the top down. Go to the penthouse first?”
Angela nodded. “Sounds like a plan. You still got that gun?”
“Huh? Yes, it’s tucked under my shirt. Why?”
“No reason. Just nice to know you have it.”
As they walked, Angela decided to fill the time with some questions. “So, now that Jessica has…” she thought for the right words, “passed on, what will happen to the family’s shares in Black Remedy? Will they really all belong to Sammie?”
“Yes, but they’ll be overseen by his legal guardian until he’s eighteen.”
“Who’s his guardian?”
Frank shook his head. “I’m not sure. Vincent Black was the boy’s godfather, so perhaps him.”
Angela stopped walking. “Isn’t he the other owner of the company?”
“Forty-nine per cent, yes. The Black family provided most of the funding that the Raymeady family required to build the company.”
“Mike was obviously working against the Raymeady’s. Do you think he was working for the Black family? Are they trying to take control of the company?”
“I’d imagine so,” Frank said, sounding resigned to the fact. “With Sammie so young, the Blacks will likely raise him as their own.”
“Doesn’t that bother you? Jessica, Joseph, they could be dead because of some greedy American businessman.”
“Of course it bothers me, but what would you have me do? My job was to protect this family. I’ve failed. Time for me to move on.”
“Move on?” Angela couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You can’t just move on. You’re right, you failed this family. You owe them. You owe Sammie.”
Frank sighed. “It’s already too late. If the Black family is behind everything that’s happened, then they’ve already achieved everything they needed to.”
Angela clenched her fists by her sides. “It’s not over yet, Frank. You’re going to do everything you can to protect that boy once this is over. You promise me that, Frank. Do you hear me?”
Frank sighed. “Yes. Yes, I hear you.”
“Then come on. Let’s go make this right.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tim hated himself (even more than usual). It didn’t matter how hard he tried, he could never bring himself to jeopardise his own safety for anyone else. He was a natural coward and it made him sick, but that was just who he was. It was Angela’s sick God that made me this way.
The house made
Tim so anxious that his spine was in a constant state of rigour. He tiptoed stiffly across the thick marble floor in the foyer and felt as if his joints were about to seize up at any minute. Trying to get the front door open would be a fool’s errand, but what else could he do. One way or the other he was getting out of this fucking house.
The thick wooden doors loomed over Tim as he approached them. It almost felt as if they were in on the whole conspiracy to keep him trapped inside. Perhaps they were possessed, too, like Sammie allegedly was. Tim still felt like the victim of some elaborate hoax, but he was quickly becoming more open to the possibility of something else. Something worse.
He couldn’t deny that evil existed, he had witnessed it. Despite hating to admit it, Tim knew that there were things in the world made of malice and hatred. There could very well be something like that in the house. The closer he came to admitting it, the more he wanted out. Out of this goddamn cauldron of evil.
He placed a hand around the doorknob and took a deep breath. Then he twisted his wrist and yanked.
Tim almost choked when the handle turned freely. The door was unlocked. His surprise was so much that his hand slipped back down to his side and he stood silently staring at the door without moving. Part of him expected the door to slam shut as soon as he went to leave. He didn’t waste too much time, though, and quickly placed his fingers back around the door handle.
The door swung open in his hand. He ended up yanking so hard that it almost smashed against his foot and crippled him. He hopped out of the way just in time. He found himself staring out at the inviting expanse of the driveway, nothing to see but a velvet sheet of background. Freedom was waiting out there for him. He could even smell it. The air outside was different, fresh and pure.
Tim stepped forwards, eyes wide, lips quivering.
“I suppose this is goodbye?” someone said behind him.
Tim froze on the spot. There was no confusion in his mind about who was currently standing behind him. Ahead was the exhilarating freedom of the English countryside and behind was the icy wickedness of a ten-year-old boy.
“I have no need of you,” Sammie said, seemingly content to speak to Tim’s back. “You are…insignificant.”
Something about the word irritated Tim. He turned around. “What is all this, Sammie? What’s it all about?”
Sammie examined him with jet black eyes, tilted his head and smiled. “What is anything about in this decaying crust of existence? It is about power. Power to mould the world.”
“And what exactly do you want to mould it into?”
Sammie opened his arms wide like a bat unfurling its wings. “An existence without fear or suffering, a world of order and consistency.”
Tim backed away towards the open door. He could feel the breeze on his back. “That sounds very much like a world without free will to me. Sounds like you plan on enslaving humanity or something else equally as H.G Wells.”
Sammie grinned, wide and feline. “Slavery, freedom. Mere semantics. The only thing you need to realise is that God’s world is a failed experiment. It is time for new management, wouldn’t you agree?”
“You’re the fucking Devil,” Tim spat. “Angela will stop you.”
Sammie sighed. “I am not the Devil. The Devil is weak, perverted from spending millennia among the seductive filth of humanity. I am beyond God, beyond the Devil. I am the wolf amongst the lambs. Your cleric will kneel before me and her death will be sublime.”
Tim took another step backwards. “You say I am insignificant. So what do you want with Angela? Why did you summon her here?”
“I did not summon her here.”
“Then who did?” Tim demanded. “Who scribbled her name in your sketch pad?”
Sammie took in a deep, whistling breath and let it out again in a gust which stunk up the air like festering meat. “There are more forces at work in this house than you realise. There is another. He is the one who shares history with your priest, not me. Regardless, her presence defiles this place and I will take exquisite pleasure in claiming her soul.”
“You won’t-”
“ENOUGH!” Sammie’s voice was like a hive of bees. It buzzed inside Tim’s head and made his eyes water. “Leave this place. Leave before this house becomes your tomb. The door is open. I suggest that you take it. My clemency is not without end.”
Tim turned around and faced the door. The darkness outside beckoned him. It offered safety and the chance of living out the rest of his life.
Tim cleared his throat and stepped outside.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
After checking the penthouse floor and finding it empty, Angela and Frank had begun checking out the third floor. It, too, was deserted. She wondered what Sammie was planning. Would he jump out at them any moment, or was he planning to flee the house? She still didn’t understand what was happening or what he wanted, but she was confident about one thing: the blood exorcism was the solution – if it wasn’t, then whatever was in control of Sammie would not have fled from her. The demon was afraid. I need to drive the dagger through his feet and all this could finally be over.
Angela shook her head at the thought of what she had done, and what she still needed to do. Once she had been a servant of the Lord. It was true that she had lost her way, but she felt closer to God now than ever. Her renewed faith would allow her to do the grizzly deeds ahead of her. God help me.
Frank returned from one of the bedrooms he’d been checking. Angela smiled at him as he approached. “Find anything?”
“No, empty like all the rest. The next room is yours. Did you want to check it out?”
Angela nodded. She headed up to the door on the left that led to the Saunders Suite in which she’d been staying. Inside, things were just as she’d left them. Her suitcase lay on the floor beside the bed, its contents spilling out onto the floor. The bed itself was unmade, yet inviting. Tiredness pulsed through Angela’s head and licked at the back of her eyelids with a dry tongue. She looked at her watch and saw that it was now almost four in the afternoon. Yet the moon was still out as if it was midnight.
A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word 'darkness' on the walls of his cell.
The C.S. Lewis quote had popped into Angela’s head unbidden as she turned a full circle of the room, scrutinising every nook and cranny. She even knelt down to inspect under the bed. All was clear, though; no little boys hiding or evil beasts lurking. The last thing that caught Angela’s eye was the painting above her bed of the two cherubs fighting. She didn’t know why the picture kept catching her eye, but she was convinced she was missing something. Or maybe I just think it’s ugly.
She exited the room, and when she re-entered the hallway, Frank was not where she’d left him. He was further along the corridor, over by the grand staircase. “Frank, are you okay?”
Frank remained silent, but he heard her. He raised one hand beside his head that made it clear he’d acknowledged her but wished not to speak.
Angela crept forward, her stomach full of dread. It took more than a dozen steps to traverse the long corridor and catch up to Frank. Once she did, it was clear what had rooted the man to the spot.
Sammie climbed the stairs beneath them. He took each step leisurely, ascending like a spirit en route to Heaven. There was a smile on his lips so great that it contorted his face almost into a grimace.
Angela moved up beside Frank and whispered. “What is he doing? Do you think Tim is okay?”
“Tim made his own bed,” said Frank.
Angela watched the boy continue up the stairs. She couldn’t help but shout out to him. “Sammie? Sammie what are you doing?”
Sammie did not acknowledge her. He continued his slow, gliding ascent of the staircase. His smile grew even wider, crooked teeth taking up more and more of his face until he looked more shark than boy.
“Sammie? Where is Tim?”
Sammie finally glanced u
p and acknowledged her. “Tim has abandoned you, Priest. His heart was meek.”
“So we were right,” said Frank. “Tim did run out on us. Coward.”
Angela raised a hand. “You cannot blame a man for being frightened. None of us have any power over bravery. Courage chooses us only when it is needed. Tim is not important.”
Sammie reached the top of the stairs and was only six feet away from Angela and Frank now. He stood before them calmly, as if their previous altercations, including Angela driving a dagger through his palms, had not happened. Angela saw that the wounds had blackened and dried as if they were days old.
“I need to finish this, Frank,” Angela whispered.
Frank nodded. “Sammie, are you willing to come back to your room?”
Sammie laughed. “What do you think?”
Frank sighed. “Hard way it is then.” He made a snatch for the boy but was nowhere near quick enough. Sammie leapt up onto the balcony’s bannister, his bare feet and filthy toenails gripping the wood like a vulture’s talons. Angela made her own grab for the boy.
Sammie kicked her in the face from his elevated perch and sent her reeling backwards into the wall. Angela tasted blood at the back of her nose and was blinded by her tears. Blurrily, she saw Sammie glaring down at her with sunken eyes. The smell coming off of him was foul.
Frank made another grab for Sammie, but again the boy was too quick for him. He sprung off the banister and cleared Frank’s head by several feet, landing behind him in a crouch and hissing like a feral cat.
“He’s not even human,” said Frank, steadying himself against the railing. “More like an animal. What has happened to him? He really is possessed by a demon, isn’t he?”
Angela used the back of her hand to wipe away the blood that was filling up her nostrils. “The evil has twisted him, Frank; activated his primal instincts. We need to finish this now or Sammie will be lost forever.”
Her words seemed to spur Frank on. He bellowed in defiance and made a lunging tackle at Sammie. His arms connected with the boy’s legs and brought him to the ground. Sammie squealed with childish laughter, unconcerned by his capture. It was just a game to him.
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