by Gilmour, SJB
‘Mason! Get into the master bedroom. If they’re asleep, fine. If not, I don’t care if it means they can catch you and put you in a bottle, keep them up there. This woman’s a psycho!’
Mason looked affronted. ‘Aren’t you in the least bit curious as to why I’m here?’ The infuriating spook made no move towards the hall. ‘T’would appear young master Riley’s been haunting the Forbes girl’s room upstairs.’
‘What? I haven’t seen him!’
Mason chuckled. ‘I gather he thinks you’d disapprove of his voyeurism.’ He nodded in the direction of the window. ‘The lad saw the vehicle and roused the girl. She’s in her cupboard now with a telephone. She called the constabulary. As fast as their fancy vehicles are, they’re no match for we who roam the—’
Aaargh! Carefully, as if I was talking to a child, I replied, ‘That’s great Mason. The police are on their way. Still, in the mean-time, would you mind keeping an eye on Sally and Mitchell?’
Mason finally acquiesced and sped off, tipping his hat to my ceiling as he went. My relief was short-lived. As soon as Mason left, I saw the lights of Father Brian’s Landcruiser on the dirt road outside. What? What was he doing here? Had he heard and managed to beat the police? It took him only half a minute to breach the fence and make it to the porch.
Always before, I’d seen him with that practised, gentle expression of the kindly priest. Now, his jaw was set and his eyes afire with a malignant anger. He cast a quick glance in the window and saw Marcy, still half-leaning against the stove, her mad eyes darting back and forth at the images I kept hurtling into her immediate consciousness.
At first, doing that had been difficult, but now it was easier, I was relieved to note. It had made it possible for me to concentrate on Mason and then Father Brian.
He stuck his head in through the window. ‘Marcy!’ he hissed.
She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t even hear him. Then he did just what I’d hoped he do and leaned further into the open window.
‘Marcy Greenw—’ Bam! I hit him as well. He was easier to reach into. After all, I’d trusted him a great deal once and now, even though he was beyond redemption in my mind, I still had some connection with the man.
Better be quiet. Climb in and see what this lunatic is doing now... And he climbed in through the window. Seething away under his current stream of thought, was fury and frustration.
In his mind, I saw the answer to how and why he’d come. He’d been to pay Marcy one of his nighttime visits. She’d be only too willing to do anything for him. She’d suck him till he came and swallow it all, like the good little acolyte she was. She’d kneel on all fours and wear the plug with the tail. She’d take the cane and the paddle. Then, when she was bloody and sobbing in her shame and pain, and he was hard again, she’d take him with such willingness, worthy of the ancient Sodomites from which she was sure to have descended.
But, when he walked along her dark street, two blocks from where he’d parked his car (never park near the house of the girl for the night), he saw her. She wasn’t in bed the way she normally was. No, she was rushing into her car, flustered and wild-eyed, a dirty great shotgun in her hand. He slunk into the shadows as she dove past him. Damn it, he’d thought. This was no good! He’d have to stop her. Then, and he’d smiled to himself, then when he got her back in her house, he’d give her a punishment the likes of which she’d never had before. He could be especially cruel. She’d be sore for weeks. This could all turn out for the better.
I felt truly ill. The man was so far removed from the peaceful and gentle pastor he’d had everyone believe him to be. As much as it sickened me to be in that diseased mind, I had to remain. The horrid discoveries kept coming.
Thoughts of lust and anger, repressed for so long and so deep within him had grown in the darkness there. Then he’d discovered the adoration of the little group of women from the congregation. Wives, mothers, old and young. They twittered about him, constantly vying for his favour. They’d do anything for him. Sure, he had to guide them in his special prayer groups, but that was how he kept them under control. His words sank into their vacant minds and they followed him blindly.
Ugh. I’d heard of cults. Was this big enough to be a cult? He had what, maybe six or eight local women, all prostituting themselves, believing him to be some sort of prophet? It all went click. His attention to his flock… Him being so enigmatic… All the work he put into that persona was a sham; an act to do nothing more than provide him with followers to serve his lust.
The lust Mitch and Sally felt for each other, and even to a much lesser degree for any other attractive people they remembered or imagined, was gentle and warm. It had a pleasant feel about it and was bright and thrilling. Father Brian’s lust was monstrous. Violent and cruel.
Seeing Marcy obviously so vulnerable now, that lust rose immediately. I could scarcely believe I was doing it, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. If it would keep them occupied until the police arrived… He climbed down from the sink and was upon Marcy so quickly, she had no chance to respond. He batted at the shaking hand that held the bread knife. The long blade went skittering to the floor and came to rest halfway between my fridge and my bench, a mere metre from the gun.
I ceased bombarding her mind with her own memories of snakes. She came to as Father Brian was forcing her up against my kitchen wall, pinning her arms back with his elbows and her legs apart with his knees. His mouth was hot and hard on hers, rough and desperate in his urgency.
At first she hesitated, protesting against the angry force of his attention, but then another exultant thought flickered in her mind. No… Oh yes he’s mine now! I grasped that thought and kept it high in her mind. I couldn’t let her back down from this. Even if he was intent on raping her as he seemed, she had to go along.
Don’t you fucking enjoy this, you crazy bitch!
Oh, how horrid. I could barely stomach the vile nature of the awful voice in his mind. I withdrew from him completely and concentrated back on Marcy. Her willingness and joy at having the object of her obsession bless her with his touch was too strong. I had to let it sink into the swirling madness of her mind a little and bring the resistance back up. She began to struggle against him, her eyes wide with renewed fright.
The result on Father Brian was predictable and disgusting. Grinning, he punched her square in the mouth and then shoved her down on the floor. Marcy cowered, scrambling back against the fridge, whimpering in shock.
‘N… No!’ she gasped.
Father Brian hissed at her. ‘Shut up!’ He wrenched off his coat and tossed it aside then climbed down to straddle her. ‘Shut! Your! Stinking! Mouth!’ He plunged his left hand over her mouth and chin, smacking her head down onto my tiles. He then wriggled a bit to one side and with his right hand, began wrenching open the buttons on her jeans. He managed to open them, but with him on top of her, he couldn’t get them down far. He moved off her a little but kept close enough, his fist raised.
‘Take ‘em off,’ he growled in a harsh whisper.
Stammering, Marcy nodded in terrified jerks. Her breath was coming in ragged short bursts. Damn it. She was getting too scared now. I reached in and pushed her resistance down a little and brought her acceptance up some. It was enough to calm her into behaving semi-rationally at least. She quickly reached down and shoved her jeans and urine-soaked knickers down to her ankles. Then she pulled one foot free, struggling in near panic for a second while her runner caught in the wet waistband. Another kick and she was free. No sooner had she done that than Brian was on top of her again, his pants too were down.
With his right arm diagonally across her now so that it was both supporting his weight on her and covering her mouth, the wretched man forced himself into her hard and brutally.
Marcy yelped through his hand at the pain of his thrust. She was still damp from having wet herself, but there was no lubrication where it mattered. His cock wasn’t large, but it was hard and she was dry. The sudden pa
in brought tears to her eyes. Despite my efforts to keep the balance of willing acceptance and resistance in her mind, her earlier panic from my snakes roused her fight-or-flight instinct and resistance won over and she began to fight him. She bit into his hand has hard as she could.
‘Fucking slut!’ Brian leaned back and shook his hand then curled it up into a fist and smashed it down onto her mouth again. Her eyes glazed over and she went limp. It didn’t take him much longer to finish. When he came, his emotions were raw and primal. It was as if he was the victor in a savage battle to the death with some monstrous foe. He threw he head back and snarled, barely able to keep himself from howling.
Not that it mattered now. Mitch had heard something. Whatever Mason was doing to try to keep him from coming forward into the rest of the house wasn’t working. I could hear him running up the hall. Father Brian heard him too. He hauled himself to his feet and scampered into the shadows of my larder. Once there, he quickly pulled up his pants and buckled them sloppily — just enough to keep them up so he wouldn’t trip on his own cuffs.
Mitch burst into me and smacked the switch on the wall. He saw Marcy first, lying dishevelled and bloody on the floor. Then he saw the gun and the knife. What the fuck? Pants off… Bloody face? She been raped? Who the fuck is she… Who the fuck raped her? He stepped over the stunned Marcy to the wide space between my bench and my stove, looking this way and that. He still hadn’t seen Father Brian in the shadows of my larder.
The larder! I shrieked in Mitch’s mind. He whirled and Father Brian launched himself at him. If Mitch had been a fraction of a second slower, the foul priest would have succeeded in landing his blow. Instead, Mitch was fast enough and the bloody fist missed him by millimetres. Mitch fell back, still a little sluggish from having been woken up, I guess. Then Father Brian was on him. They fell to the floor, both scrambling at each other. Their blows were short and mostly powerless because of their proximity to one another.
Mitch was fitter and stronger, but he wasn’t hyped up with blood-lust the way Father Brian was. The priest landed a savage elbow blow to Mitch’s jaw, which was enough to let him scramble backwards past Marcy. With a furious roar, Mitch hurled himself at Brian and began raining blows down on his face. Brian shielded his face with his right arm as best he could while he scrambled for the knife with his left. Mitch lunged, trying to keep him from reaching the blade but Father Brian brought his knee up to Mitch’s crotch as hard as he could.
If the angle had been right, Mitch might have suffered real damage, but instead he was simply knocked to one side. Brian rolled over and grabbed the knife and then lunged back at Mitch. The two grappled once more, rolling away from Marcy towards the middle space between my bench and the stove again.
By now, Marcy had come to enough to see what was going on, but I had hands full trying to keep Mitch alert and at the same time trying to calm Brian. My murderess scrambled for her gun. Her thoughts weren’t cohesive enough to even read now. They were just flashes. Get gun. Shoot him. I couldn’t even tell which “him” she wanted to shoot.
As she reached for the weapon, a small bare foot caught her savagely on the side of her face. Her head snapped back but she didn’t lose her focus.
‘You!’ she screamed. ‘I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll kill you both!’ She began scrambling to get up again, only to receive another kick to the face, harder this time. Her head snapped back against my fridge and her eyes glazed over. She slumped down, blood and spittle dripping from her mouth and nose. Still mouthing obscenities, she continued trying to shamble forward in her desperate, insane effort to get to Sally.
Sally didn’t hesitate. She hefted the gun with her left hand around the forearm of the weapon and her right hand on the stock then smashed the stock against Marcy’s head as hard as she could. Marcy barely saw it coming. The blow sent her down to my floor where she lay, stunned and twitching.
Brian and Mitch were grappling again by my oven. Brian had the knife and was snarling at Mitch, desperately trying to bring the serrated blade to Mitch’s throat. Mitch had the upper hand, though. He was stronger and obviously far more rational. He knew Sally was coming up behind him with the gun. All he had to do was hold the crazed priest down and steady.
‘Stop it! Sally screamed. She aimed the gun at Brian. Her hands shook only slightly and her glorious blue eyes were wide with a fury I could never have imagined even her to possess, and I knew she could work up a fine temper at times.
Outside, sirens were wailing and the first flashes of the red and blue lights flickered through the dark night, refracting through my window eerily.
Brain’s eyes flashed furiously. He backed away, dropping the knife. Mitch snatched the chance and hauled himself off him and kicked the knife away from him. There was a pause for a few moments as the police cars screeched and pulled up outside. I couldn’t see all of them, but there were at least three sedans and a couple of four-wheel drives. Doors slammed and there came the sound of shouts and running feet.
Then several things happened at once. The front door burst open to the shouts of ‘Police!’ Marcy somehow managed to get up once more and launched herself at Sally, who was pointing the gun at Brian. Brian saw the crazed woman coming at Sally and lunged at Mitch.
All the shouts and screams were then drowned out in the unmistakable thunderclap of a shotgun blast. Then two cops grappled Sally, and another dragged Marcy to the floor while three more flooded into the kitchen to take hold of Mitch and attend to Brian, who was now slumped against my oven window with a gory hole where his right shoulder had once been. His right arm hung limply by his side, seemingly only held there by the remnants of his shirt.
There were yells for paramedics and that this room or that was “clear”. The police hauled Mitch and Sally out of the kitchen to get them out of more harm’s way and to give their comrades and the paramedics room to move.
‘I’ll fucking kill them all!’ Marcy was screeching. ‘Give me back my shotgun your bastards! Give it back! Gotta kill them. Gotta kill them all—’
James blinked in amazement at the insane, pants-less woman as she struggled against the full weight of two of his officers. Crazy bitch! She’s just as well as admitted intent to murder! Guess this one ‘ll be easy to prosecute, at least unless some asshole lawyer comes in with an insanity defence.
Father Brian too was mouthing off, despite the agony he was in, having had his right arm all but blown off at the shoulder.
‘She’s mine!’ he howled through mashed lips. Two paramedics held him down while another shot something into his wounded shoulder. ‘I had her first! She’s mine!’ He then began laughing in a crazed gibber. ‘She might have killed them, but I have her soul! I defiled her as she defiles hersel—’ He didn’t get to finish the admission I held in the forepart of his brain. The drug took hold and he slumped down to the floor again, stoned but conscious.
I focused back on Marcy. She was breathing, but more slowly than she would normally. The paramedics had also shot her full of something and were strapping a brace about her neck. Despite all that had happened, I had to know for sure. Did she just kill me, or did she kill Ashleigh too? The currents of memories in her mind had slowed to the consistency of children’s craft glue, but I found it.
She’d turned on the power at the mains in my fuse-box, that was certain. But, she hadn’t killed Ashleigh.
‘I killed that Owen bitch,’ she slurred. ‘She was going to take him away from me! I knew it! When he killed her husband, I knew she’d find out! I had to stop her and I did! Then you bastards show up and fuck it all up! That’s why I had to come back!’ Then she slumped over, unconscious.
The two officers holding her down looked up at James, who just shrugged.
‘We all heard it,’ he said. ‘Add murder to the charge.’
With Brian down and being attended to, I sank into his befuddled brain. Stoned as he was, there was no resistance to the thoughts and memories I wanted to find. All I found was a sordid, revolting c
atalogue of his conquests over his flock. He remembered Ashleigh confronting him, but had done nothing about it. When the news of his death came, and he’d come to the house, he’d assumed one of his little followers had done the deed. He hadn’t cared which one. He hadn’t wanted to know.
He’d worked it out eventually though. Those stupid women were so easy to manipulate and even easier to read. A few leading questions here and there and the blank looks from the innocent member of his group of followers had led him to Marcy. Once he found out, he knew she’d take more of his ministrations than the others because his grip on her was so much stronger. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t expose him. His risk of being defrocked was tiny compared to her risk of going to prison for murder. Finally, his mind went dark as unconsciousness overtook him. Damn it!
Detective Thompson, arrived just as Father Brian and Marcy were taken away in separate ambulances. His face was impassive as he walked around me, but his green-blue eyes missed nothing.
‘Officer Hewitt,’ he called softly, his voice flat and emotionless. He waved at the blood on the floor. ‘You’ve taken photographs and prints?’ He didn’t make eye contact with James at all. Instead, he simply kept gazing around about me, assessing everything.
