Tim nodded. “But you know how to do one, right?”
Angela nodded. She remembered the Secrecy Order she’d been forced to sign. She remembered slicing into the flesh of rabbits and guinea pigs as she practised the sacred rituals. “I learned the Sacrament of Cursed Flesh a long time ago, but I remember everything – a person doesn’t forget a thing like that. There is just one problem though.”
Tim frowned at her. “What is it?”
“If I perform the Sacrament, there is a chance that Sammie could die. To banish the demon from his soul, I will have to take him to the brink of death. That is the only way to weaken the demon’s influence and expel it.”
“Hell’s bells,” said Tim.
Angela nodded. “Let’s hope the Lord is with us this day. We will need His guidance.”
“I think I should probably do some praying of my own.”
“You believe in God, Tim?”
Tim smiled. “No, I was thinking about praying to my guardian, Thor.”
Angela looked at Tim’s unflinching face and wondered if he were crazy. Then she said, “That’s a joke, isn’t it?”
Tim laughed. “Levity is as important as religion at times like this.”
“I agree.”
“So what can I do? I want to be involved this time. Let me help.”
“I want you to. Go to the kitchen and see if you can find any basil.”
“Basil?”
Angela nodded. “Where basil is, no evil lives. Sprinkle it in as many rooms as you can – particularly across the thresholds. It will confine the demon’s influence and weaken it. If you mix it with Black pepper, even better.”
“Okay,” said Tim, shrugging his shoulders but seeming happy to go along. “I’m on it.”
He went to walk past Angela but she reached out and grabbed his arm. She looked him in the eye. “Be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt. If this is going to work then I will need your help.”
Tim raised his fist at her in a gesture of solidarity. It was a manoeuvre more suited to a seven-foot basketball player than a skinny, white, ginger dude, but she appreciated his show of support. He had her back.
It was time to put a stop to all this.
Angela put on her cassock and smoothed it down with her hands. She looked in the mirror at her tired face and couldn’t believe how much it had changed in less than a week. Weakness clung to every one of her bones, but her mind was still strong; her will resolute. For the first time in a long time, Angela felt like she was doing God’s work again. It felt good.
She pulled her crucifix from underneath her clothing and let it hang against the jet-black fabric of her cassock.
May Jesus Christ guide me. May the Lord protect me. May Heaven watch over my soul as it journeys the righteous path.
She picked up her Bible from where it sat on her bedside table and clutched it close against her breast. With her other hand, she clutched the ceremonial dagger. It was made from Damascus steel and etched with the verses of Genesis.
Deliver me, I pray thee.
Angela was ready to do what was needed. The only thing left to do was find Sammie.
Hopefully before he finds me.
Angela stepped out of the bedroom, taking a candle with her. She felt like Florence Nightingale as she floated down the corridor in her small globe of light. For a moment she had the strange feeling that the hallway was infinite, stretching on endlessly, but then the stairway appeared on her right and she breathed a sigh of relief.
I’m being paranoid.
She headed down the stairs and could hear the sounds of banging from below. Eventually she encountered Mike and Jessica on the ground floor. They were working at getting the front door open.
“Is it still stuck?” Angela asked as she exited the staircase.
Jessica turned around and gave her a stern look, but gradually forced a polite smile. “Morning, Angela. If you’re looking for Tim, he just headed into the kitchen. I take it, from what you’re wearing, you intend on staying?”
“If you’ll allow me to. Not like I can leave, really.”
Jessica took in a large breath and let it out in an exasperated sigh. “I haven’t yet decided. I just want to focus on getting this door open first.”
“Okay,” said Angela. “Can I help at all?”
“No,” said Mike. He was brandishing a badly bent chef’s knife in his hand. “We have everything under control.”
Jessica shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’ve spotted Sammie anywhere yet?”
Angela shook her head. “Afraid I’ve been in my bedroom. Tim and I can look for him now if you wish.”
Jessica nodded, her pointed chin cutting through the air. “Yes, that would be most helpful.”
Angela saw Jessica’s attitude as a good sign. It seemed the lady of the house had calmed down slightly since their previous altercation in Joseph Raymeady’s office.
Acting on the information she’d been given, Angela headed across the foyer towards the kitchens. There was a good chance that Tim still intended to leave, but at least he had no choice to at the moment, not until the doors were open again.
Entering the kitchen, Angela found it empty. There was a candle burning on the centre work surface and several of the cupboards had been left open. It certainly appeared that somebody had been there recently.
Angela approached the centre table with the candle. There seemed to be something lying on its surface. She tiptoed, not wanting to risk injury by rushing around the unlit room.
Almost 20% of accidents occur in the kitchen.
As she got closer, the object revealed itself to be a piece of paper. Angela was just about to pick it up when somebody grabbed her from behind. She shrieked.
“I’m not sure you want to look at that,” said Tim.
Angela punched him in the arm. “You sod! Almost gave me heart attack. Where were you hiding?”
“Wasn’t hiding. There’s a meat locker back there. I smelt something rotten so I checked it out. Just a bunch of spoiled meat, though; nothing…omen-y or anything.”
“Okay,” said Angela. “So what is this thing that I don’t want to look at?”
Tim pointed at the piece of paper on the work surface. “It’s another one of Sammie’s drawings. Seems like we might have just missed him.”
Angela frowned. “What would he have been doing in the kitchen?”
Tim shrugged his shoulders. “Getting a snack?”
Angela took the final few steps over to the table and reached for the piece of paper. She pinched it between her fingers and thumb, then slid it towards her.
“Oh, how delightful,” she said, clearing her throat of the mucus that suddenly rose up to fill it. “Let’s just hope this isn’t a literal interpretation.”
“You’re telling me,” Tim agreed.
Angela turned the picture in her hands and looked at it from all angles. It was obvious that the four bodies swinging from the charcoal balcony were supposed to represent Mike, Jessica, Tim, and herself. All of them hung by broken necks and their eyes were gouged out and bleeding. The detail was immaculate for a child’s crayon drawing. It was almost as if the colours were dancing on the page and giving life to the flat, waxy images.
“Should we take it as a threat?” Tim queried.
“Definitely,” she said. “But it also means something else.”
“What?”
“If Chamuel is making threats it’s because he’s scared. He knows we’re coming for him.”
Tim laughed nervously. “Either that, or Sammie is trying to warn us about what will happen if we don’t leave this house.
I guess we’ll find out soon enough, thought Angela as she tore the drawing to pieces.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Angela and Tim joined Jessica and Mike in the foyer. When they got there it seemed that Jessica had just about given up trying to get the door open. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled up around the elbows and her sweaty forehead sheened in the moon
light.
Angela decided not to waste any time. “I want to perform another exorcism.”
Jessica didn’t hesitate. “No! Mike told me the last time didn’t do any good so what would be the point of putting Sammie through such a thing again?”
“There are other rituals I can try.”
“Look,” Jessica said. “I’ve had a think about it and, while I appreciate that I was the one who asked you both here, I think our business is done. I don’t believe you can help my son. In fact I feel quite silly for having ever asked for your help in the first place.”
“I can still help you,” Angela protested. “You were right to ask for help.”
“The only help you can be to me right now is by finding Sammie and getting him back to his room safe and sound. You’ll be paid generously for your time, Ms Murs, but I feel it would be best if you left us at dinnertime. Mike will have to drive you if Frank hasn’t returned by then.”
Tim stepped forwards and was actually pulling his hair with frustration. “Are you not seeing what we’re seeing? There’re a couple of concerns I have with what you’ve just said. Number one is that Frank left the house going on twelve hours ago and hasn’t returned from a trip that should have taken him no more than an hour or two. Number two is that your request for us to leave at dinnertime is slightly marred by the fact that no one can get the frickin doors or windows open. I won’t even go into the fact that, according to that moon out there, lunchtime is still a long way away.” Tim took a moment to catch his breath, then continued. “You tried to commit suicide last night, Miss Raymeady, and then you went blind – although only temporarily – and to top it all off, one of your employees is hanging dead out of a hot tub upstairs.”
Jessica gawped at him. “What? Who is dead?”
Mike was the one to tell her, although he seemed reluctant to do so. He skirted over the more gruesome details about how they had found him.
Jessica put her hands against her face and growled in frustration. “Graham is dead? I don’t believe this. How?”
“Somebody cut him and he bled to death.” Tim explained.
“Take me to him. I need to see for myself. Has anyone called the police yet?”
“I tried,” said Angela, “but the phones are all dead. As for seeing him yourself, I wouldn’t advise it. There’s a lot of blood.”
“Try giving birth, Ms Murs. I can handle blood.”
Nobody was in the mood to argue and Jessica was so adamant that they all went back upstairs. As they walked the second-floor hallway, there was a brief flickering of the lights and it appeared that the power might come back on, but it was not to be. After a brief flash of colour and light, making the bright red of the carpet come temporarily back into view, the darkness resumed. In fact it now seemed even deeper.
The door to the spa room had been left open and the tang of chlorine drifted out from the hot tub. Thankfully the chemical odour overpowered the smell of Graham’s blood.
“He’s in there,” said Mike.
Jessica nodded, then passed through the door. Almost half a minute passed before she returned to the hallway. “I don’t see anything,” she said, obviously irritated. “Is this supposed to be funny?”
Angela didn’t understand. She hurried into the room to take a look for herself.
Graham’s body was gone.
Puddles covered the tiles and there was a slight pinkish hue to the water that suggested the presence of blood, but to a casual observer there were no signs of any murder. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “Somebody’s moved the body.”
“Who?” Mike asked. “I’ve been with Jessica the whole time. If there’s anybody who could have moved Graham’s body it’s you and Tim.”
“Hey!” Tim protested. “There’s no way you’d catch me fondling a naked dead guy.”
“We didn’t move him,” Angela stated firmly. “Somebody is playing games with us.”
“This whole thing is a game,” said Tim. “We can’t be sure that we haven’t been played since the very start.”
“What exactly are you accusing me of, Mr Golding? I’d be very careful,” Jessica warned Tim. “I brought you here in good faith and things have only gotten worse since you arrived. If anyone is to be suspicious of a ruse, it is me. This is my home.”
Angela put a hand up in deference. “Tim doesn’t mean any offence, Jessica. We’re just as confused – and as frightened – by this whole situation as you are. You’re right, things have gone from bad to worse since we got here, but I assure you that Tim and I played no part in that.”
Jessica softened up a little, let loose a sigh. “I just want to know that my son is safe. Is that too much for a mother to ask? I just want to know that my Sammie is okay.”
Angela looked left and right. “Then let’s go find him.”
Somewhere nearby was the sudden sound of voices.
Tim’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Who the hell is that?”
Jessica was the first to get moving. Angela and the others hurried after her.
The voices were coming from a couple doors down. As Jessica rushed, she explained to them that the room contained a small lounge.
“Do you think that Frank could be back?” Angela asked, but didn’t believe it was a possibility. Why would he come back and not tell anyone. Besides, she could hear more than one person’s voice. In fact, it sounded like there were several.
Jessica turned around and called back to Mike who had fallen several steps behind. “Michael, open this door.”
Mike nodded and strolled forward. He seemed in no rush.
“Hurry up,” Jessica shouted.
Mike opened the door and poked his head inside. Angela held her breath. The voices inside the room continued and even got louder. There were other noises too. It almost sounded like…
“Is that a television?” Tim asked.
“I think so,” said Angela, relieved and disappointed at the same time.
“But that’s impossible,” said Tim. “There’s no power.”
Angela stepped into the room and examined her surroundings. The room was bathed in shadows, just like the rest of the house, but there was a glaring source of light at the far corner. A television mounted to the wall there was switched on and working.
“Isn’t that…South Park?”
Angela didn’t know the program well, but she recognised it as the same cartoon that Sammie had been watching the day he attacked her for switching it off.
Jessica called out. “Sammie, are you in here?”
There was no answer; only the sound of coarse-mouthed cartoon children. Angela rubbed at her shoulders. The room was freezing.
“Sammie must have been here recently,” Jessica said. “We need to find him quick. Mike, switch that television off.”
“But I don’t even think it’s switched on. The power is off.”
“Maybe it’s a power surge from the weather or something. I don’t know, just turn it off.”
Mike scuffled over to the television. He reached up to press the power off, but paused. His fingers hovered half-an-inch above the button.
“What is it?” Angela asked.
“I…I don’t know,” said Mike. He stared into the screen as if he was mesmerised by something. His face moved closer. “I thought I could see a…I don’t know…a-”
Something exploded.
The television screen shattered, splintered, exploded in a shower of wicked, glass shards. Mike twisted and fell to the floor, letting out a muffled scream.
Jessica ran over to him. “Heavens, Mike. Are you okay?” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and ushered him away from the litter of broken glass.
Tim held a candle in his hands and thrust it out to illuminate the scene. It was clear that Mike was in a bad way.
Tim’s face wrinkled in horror. “Oh, shitballs.”
Angela had the same reaction. Mike’s left eye was a jagged, red slit, embedded with shards of glass. Blood ran do
wn his cheek in grisly tears and dripped from his chin. Despite the horrific injury, Mike did not cry out or scream. He was calm.
“Jesus, what do we do?” Tim asked.
“I’m fine,” Mike said, trying to open his eyelid. “I don’t think it got my eye; just the skin.”
After a short bout of fluttering, Mike’s eyelid managed to open and reveal the watery orb beneath. He’d had a lucky escape.
“Thank Heavens,” Angela said. “I think your eye is okay. You should get yourself cleaned up, though. There’re still bits of glass that could get in there.”
Jessica told them she’d take Mike to the nearest bathroom. “But you two stay here,” she added. “I don’t want anyone wandering around.”
Angela folded her arms. “Fine.”
Tim took a seat on the room’s sofa opposite the broken television. Angela was shaken-up and decided to join him.
“The weird shit just doesn’t stop around here, does it?” said Tim.
“It certainly doesn’t.”
“Funny, but that’s the third eye injury in this house since we’ve been here – if you count Jessica’s blindness and my experience at the pond – and there was one before too: the gardener or something.”
“What’s your point?”
“Don’t know. Guess I’m just wondering if there’s any religious significance to eyes.”
Angela thought about it for a moment. “Well, God sees through all of us, so to injure a person’s eyes is to try and reduce God’s awareness of our sins. Serial killers sometimes gouge out their victims eyes for the same reason – so that God cannot see their crimes.”
“Hmm, interesting. Wonder if we’re being sent another message.”
There was a shuffling on the carpet in front of them. Angela flinched and pulled her feet up onto the couch.
God help me, I’ve dealt with a lot of things in the last forty-eight hours, but if that’s a mouse…
Sam Page 17
