Sigil

by Aidan J. Reid

  During the onslaught, Regan's mind seemed to, if not adjust to the pain, at least to disassociate from it for a spell. The dull blows had a certain predictable pain that although he could still feel on one level, he was almost outside and observing, a higher level of consciousness kicking in, calm and patient. That sense of serenity lasted for a few seconds until, he was snapped from it suddenly, finding one of the rough punches shatter through the protective casing that was his ribcage, feeling something fold in on itself in his body. His senses came immediately back and with open eyes screamed, but the voice was only in his head. The face in front, suddenly encouraged by the literal breakthrough in the priest’s body, and despite his weariness picked up the pace and centred around the problem rib, raining blows.

  The agony was overwhelming and Regan fought to find the bridge to the higher consciousness that had at least given some respite, but couldn't find the gap again. His breath had already been exhausted with a body so badly beaten it didn't feel like his own anymore. Each hook into his side seemed to sink deeper into his very core as if they were tunnelling their way right through to his organs. Body jerking with each timed hit, the meaty slaps merged with the sounds around him. Laughter. Grunts from the attacker. Everything suddenly faded from view as Regan found his body flop from the hands of the officer hitting the hard floor.

  Shouts in the room, perhaps his own could be heard. His slipping consciousness dimly aware of a series of loud bangs, rushing feet around him kicking up straw. It threatened to pierce through this bubble of comfort, a place where he suddenly felt secure, hugging the floor. For a second, he felt protected from the relentless assault and he felt the gentle flap of angel wings flickering against the light, and accepted without question his fate and smiled, knowing he was finally free at last.

  Epilogue

  Dear Fr Regan,

  I've thought long and hard about how to write down my emotions and put into words my gratitude and eternal thanks for what you did.

  It's taken a long time and I've had to do a lot of soul-searching to finally come to terms with Lewis' death. I know he was no saint, but he was a doting father and I'm glad to say little Mya is doing well. She really is a gift from God and her smile brightens my day and makes me think how blessed I actually am. Were it not for you and Officer Chambers, well...it doesn't bear thinking about.

  I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to visit you in the past few weeks. I made sure to ask about you in the hospital and the young nurse there was really helpful. You've got a fan in her!

  Joe Boyd has been really sweet through all of this. He misses his wife terribly, even if he can't comprehend why she did what she did. I suppose that connects us both and the kids have loved visiting his farm and playing with the lambs. It's the little things that matter now like family and friends. Something I've missed but I'm coming through the other side. Getting stronger day by day.

  I just wanted to say that I'm going to miss you terribly. We all are. I hope you'll come back and visit someday and don't forget us, which I'm sure will be very hard to do!! :)

  God Bless You Father and I pray that the next chapter in your life will be much more peaceful and full of happy memories.

  With Love,

  Louise Tighe

  P.S. Chambers told me you were a fan so I've enclosed a DVD which I hope you haven't seen!

  ***

  Regan pulled the slim DVD case from the package and turned it in his hand. It showed the side on profile of Detective Bourbon's face hiding behind a torchlight cast at some object of interest out of sight. Regan tapped it on his palm and laughed, the light pain in his ribs more psychological than physical at this stage.

  His suitcase was by his feet and he extended its handle and tipped it on its wheel, rolling it to the front door which was open. Beyond it, he could see the parked car.

  “Let me just do one last scan,” Regan shouted and the man gave a little salute to confirm.

  Regan turned and moved to the bedroom and opened the clothes cupboards which had housed his spectrum of coloured cardigans, the bedside table drawers, knelt down to look under the bed and scanned the walls before he was satisfied that the room was empty.

  The kitchen which hadn’t looked as clean since the first day he took up residence was sparkling. Fridge shelves that had never been tested for strength were spotless. Creamy kitchen counters which had been dyed with various wine shades over the years came through with flying colours. The metal sink basin was scrubbed cleaner than most baptismal fonts.

  The sitting room where he had spent most of his time and had the many memories seemed foreign now, with the walls stripped of the portraits. The little desk bureau was uncluttered, soon to be someone else’s owner. Regan opened the drawers again and was surprised to find a page in the bottom drawer. He picked it up carefully and stared at it. The sun through the open window caught the insignia in the corner, making it look like a bloodied thumb print smear. The last time he had looked at it had been the day he found out that the community of Ballygorm had lost a son. A man who had been murdered in cold blood. He took it with both hands and was about to rip it in two, dismayed at the memory but stopped himself, pausing in thought. He read the last line again.

  -hereby express my desire to leave the priesthood with immediate effect.

  Regan folded it in two and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. A final sweep with his eyes convinced him that there was nothing else left for him and he went to the front door.

  The driver was leaning against the bonnet of his car, staring up into the sunshine. Impatient and finding it too bright for his fair skin, he busied himself with the task of picking a sliver of the mornings breakfast from his teeth. With the priest's appearance, he watched him turn and lock the door, dragging the big suitcase to a stop at the boot of the car. Steady Eddie Chambers reached in through the open window and pulled a lever under his chair and popped it, before helping the priest lift the load into place.

  When they were both seated and the car had pulled away, Regan looked at the wing mirror at the little parochial house that had been his residence for the best part of a decade. A swell of emotion surfaced in his chest with the dawning of the fact that he was leaving the community behind.

  “Good to see you didn't leave behind your altar boy porn,” Chambers said brusquely and nodded his head down at the DVD and the letter in the priest’s hand.

  Underneath the crassness, risqué jokes and general bravado of the officer, Regan had warmed to him and found a deeper caring side that the man was at pains to cover up. The priest owed him his life, but Chambers downplayed his own heroics. After several weeks in hospital and regaining strength in his badly mangled torso which included a punctured lung, bruised kidney and three broken ribs, news began to filter through to his hospital bed of how close he had come to death.

  Chambers had followed the priests breadcrumb trail, firstly visiting his home late in the day to conduct a follow-up investigation but finding him neither there or in the church. The officer had begun to get worried considering the imminent danger the priest appeared to be in if the night before had been anything to go by. Working the night shift alone, he decided on a whim to call the local hospital to see if he was there, perhaps attending the sick, and had gotten through to the nurse who informed him of the sudden awakening and words of Bernie Cameron.

  On a whim, and without much to go on Chambers had remembered the night journey they had taken where the priest had asked to stop and decided to retrace those moments in his car. Encouraged by the break in a hedge, twigs snapped to suggest someone had recently accessed it, the officer had set off on foot to a little hill where he could get a better view of the surrounding landscape. The solitary light, set in the distance in the court farmyard prompted him to continue until he had suddenly stumbled upon the scene and, as far as Regan was concerned, not a minute too soon.

  Chambers had finally given in to Regan's constant pleading to tell the full story when he felt the man was
healthy and strong enough to hear it. Evie Boyd had grabbed the dagger and practically leapt for the officer like a scalded cat, knife point raised and wild scream forever locked in her chest as Chambers quickly drew his pistol and shot the woman through the heart. The three other men, fortunately, had enough sense not to follow her lead and dropped to their knees with hands raised. Tommy Docherty was closest to the splayed body of Fr Regan, with Louise Tighe a couple of steps further inside. Chambers was certain the two sprawled bodies were dead and dared not step closer into the room to check, as he was outnumbered and certainly outmuscled. Backup was called and the other men didn't resist arrest when the officers from Reamstown arrived soon after.

  Regan's testimony was crucial to the conviction of the men and he gave it from his hospital bed as his body began to slowly feel its way back to normality. The evidence continued to gather during the month-long investigation, as stringent searches of their premises shed more light on the cult. More fodder for the media that hoovered up every passing development keeping the community and county gripped for weeks, daily updates and interviews turning the small sleepy village into a media circus.

  Tests had confirmed that some of the animals on Boyd's farm were injected with a hormone which triggered mild nausea and flu symptoms in those who ate the meat. Those injections were said to be from Evie Boyd who was also the ring leader or High Priestess of the Cult. The effect of the hormone on the animals was negligible but on humans, could cumulatively escalate to colds and flus. Some villagers would soldier through while others, less fortunate, would seek the counsel of Dr. Woodhead, who treated the symptoms of people of his choosing with the drug Thorazamide. The drug prompted further sickness, aggravating other ailments with patients developing a growing dependence on the doctor for their healing.

  Forensic analysis of the place of worship revealed that the scored symbol in the ground was dyed by blood, most likely from a lamb.

  Cross investigation of the disgraced Woodhead and Docherty revealed Coroner Cleverley to be culpable for the murder of Lewis Tighe and reopening the original case, investigators found a litany of errors in his report. Under careful scrutiny, several counts of malpractice and cover up perverting the course of justice were almost trivial against the higher charge of murder. Cleverley was sentenced to forty years in prison.

  Woodhead was stripped of his medical license, barred from practicing and sentenced to 15 years, chief among his crimes being accessory to murder, falsifying his own report on the death of Tighe and administering illegal drugs.

  Officer Tommy Docherty was sentenced to 20 years – accessory to the murder of Tighe, GBH and attempted murder of Bernie Cameron top of his crime sheet.

  As the car slowly pulled through familiar streets, residents looked up from their garden plots and front yards. When they recognised the passenger, they waved and shouted a kind word as the car passed. The noise seemed to wake up the other neighbours, before suddenly every resident of Ballygorm was outside, smiling faces waiting their turn to see the priest depart for the last time.

  A throng of young teens interrupted their game on the street corner and walked to the kerb edge as the car crept closer. They lowered their hurling sticks as if in respect, deciding not to take chase this time, choosing to wave Regan onwards. Seeing the village as if through new eyes, Regan didn't fight the emotion and let the tears drop from his face freely. Chambers for all his insensitivity heard the wet sniffles of the passenger and sensed that perhaps it was best to let the priest have this moment so he shut up and enjoyed the silence.

  “Stop here for a second, will you Eddie?” asked the priest.

  “Another piss stop for old time’s sake?”

  The car pulled to a stop alongside the kerb, near the little cobbled bridge that arced over a small river, barely a trickle in the hot day. They both watched a man on the bridge, lying on his back and gently toasting in the sun’s rays. Regan screwed down the window and shouted his name and the figure sat up and looked back at the parked car. He slid off the rock wall and approached the vehicle with caution. As he got nearer, he recognised the face of the officer first and stiffened before the passenger's smile encouraged him to come closer.

  “I'm off Larry. You won't be seeing me for a while. Here take this,” Regan said and dropped a car key into the man's hand. “It's a rickle, but it’s reliable. All yours now. I have her parked up at the church grounds. Look after her.”

  The car started up again at Regan's command and they left the hermit standing in the middle of the street, staring at the car key as it if were about to perform tricks. He hadn't managed to thank the priest and big tears welled in his eyes, keen to slide down his sunburnt face and lick his cracked lips. By the time he turned to look, the car was already gone, Regan setting off to fresh pastures, other adventures awaiting in a new town. A new life.

  Larry Doe liked that idea. With a sudden excitement, he hadn't felt for many years he tossed the keys high in the air and caught them. A fresh start. A new life. Just what the doctor ordered.

  THE END

  FREE BONUS!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Aidan J. Reid was born in the small village of Cloughmills in Northern Ireland in 1982.

  Although he eventually moved to Dublin at the age of eighteen, the medley of characters he grew up with in the countryside stuck in his mind. That, coupled with his disgusting addiction to detective thrillers, prompted him to write SIGIL.

  This is his second novel, following on from the sci fi thriller, PATHFINDERS.

  -

  www.aidanjreid.com

  OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

  PATHFINDERS

  Norman Adams’ life changes in an instant when he experiences his first lucid dream. The watershed moment reveals an alternate world of consciousness which compels the young man to explore the boundaries of reality.

  He meets an eccentric librarian, Stephen Breagal, whose interest in the topic seems to know no limits and they strike up an unlikely friendship.

  Soon however, the dream turns into a nightmare when Norman is involved in an accident sending him into a coma. Under the apprenticeship of Breagal, loyal but sceptical friend Victor James volunteers to use the librarian’s pioneering techniques to enter Norman’s dream state and finds the horror trapping him there.

  The race is on to rescue their friend as together they search the deepest, darkest recesses of the mind - a place where nightmares are born.

  - Available Now - click here

  RAISING LAZARUS

  Student Molly Walker visits Lockworth Prison to interview some of the inmates as part of her final year University thesis.

  She meets a young man, incarcerated on a prostitution charge and forms an unlikely bond with the serial offender despite their contrasting backgrounds.

  The man believes he has been cursed with eternal life, the consequences of a gift his family begged a wandering prophet and teacher for some 2000 years earlier.

  Sceptical, Molly digs deeper, exposing the dark underbelly of the city to better understand the mysterious stranger as the man’s life long crusade unfolds, a mission which could drastically change both their lives and send shockwaves around the world.

  - Release – December 2016

  -

  For more information about freebies, competitions and the latest about upcoming books, please visit:

  aidanjreid.com