by G R Jordan
Kirkgordon wasted no time in taking the book to Austerley. He advised Austerley not to get his crayons on it and received an expletive in reply. On Kirkgordon’s return to the motorcycle, Father Jonah said nothing but drove back to the church, parking in the same spot.
“I guess lunch is off the menu, then. Well, thanks for the book.” Kirkgordon turned to go.
“My house is the one beside the church. You need to talk and there are many questions you need answered. But first we eat the mussels.”
The priest walked off leaving Kirkgordon stunned. How did he know so much about him? And so accurate. It took all his composure not to yell at this crazy man. Kirkgordon followed him into the house.
A young girl, possibly twelve or thirteen, took Kirkgordon’s coat before scuttling back to what was presumably the kitchen. The priest led his guest into a bland sitting room with an old sofa. The cover reminded Kirkgordon of a seventies convention – he swore it should be wearing flares. There was a wooden table on which was a single bottle of supermarket sherry and two large tumblers. The priest poured two generous measures and handed a tumbler to Kirkgordon.
These are no sherry glasses, he thought. And he’s no priest.
Father Jonah waved Kirkgordon towards the sofa. The girl brought in a plate of mussels with a small fork and handed it to their guest. After blessing the food, the priest motioned for Kirkgordon to eat and they sat in silence.
Kirkgordon barely managed to avoid spitting out his food as he realized the mussels were pickled. What on earth is this nonsense, he thought. His tongue railed at the sharp, acidic taste and part of him just wanted his bed.
But Kirkgordon had been raised on good manners and he managed to finish his plate. The girl came back so quickly for the cleared dish that he was sure she had been watching from somewhere. The priest remained mute and produced a plastic tub with some small holes in its lid. Opening the receptacle carefully, he took out a toad and walked towards Kirkgordon. Without warning, the man placed the toad on Kirkgordon’s head and retreated to a distance of about five feet.
This is surreal, just crackers, thought Kirkgordon. Where does Havers get these clowns? Still, I had better see it through. No doubt there will be some strange spiritual significance. There had better be!
Looking straight at Kirkgordon, the priest began to spit at him, drawing up huge amounts of snot through his nose. Several globules landed on Kirkgordon’s clothes before two caught him square on the face. That’s it! That is damn well it, thought Kirkgordon.
“Right, you’d better have a damn good reason for this, vicar. I’ve never smacked a holy man before but you’re going to be the first unless you come up with a good excuse. And fast, too!” raged Kirkgordon.
“Ah, good. So, you are not just one of Havers’ pigeons, then. Sitting there, doing what they are told. That’s good, really good.”
“What are you on about? Are you saying this was some sort of a test? There are other ways. And get me a bloody towel. Gobbing on people is disgusting.”
“Havers’ last man, Wilson, was a true devotee. Sat right through everything I did and never complained once. Nothing to upset the contact. Poor boy. Excuse my language, but Havers is a bastard, a slave to the job. He doesn’t care one jot for his people.” The girl returned to the room and handed Kirkgordon a small towel to wipe himself down.
“I’m a little confused. This was all to see if I was one of Havers’ men? I guess he pays the bills, so I am. And he isn’t totally cold, he just puts the job first.”
“In the stakes of a holy war, people often get neglected or eliminated as a problem, sir. But a holy war is all about people.”
“Holy war? What are you on about? Evangelism?” asked Kirkgordon.
“No. The war that is coming. Why are you here, Mr Kirkgordon? Why?”
“Well, Austerley has this problem with his foot. Actually, with having no foot. On that leg.” Kirkgordon tapped his leg.
“His foot is as much your problem as his. But that’s not why you are here. Havers did not need you to be a nurse.”
“Wilson. You said the previous guy was Wilson. Where is Wilson?” asked Kirkgordon.
“Gone. Missing. Disappeared. That’s all I know, but Havers knows more. Havers always knows more.”
“You can say that again.”
“Now listen carefully, Mr Kirkgordon. When it happens—”
“When what happens?”
“When it happens, sir, he’ll want you to destroy them all.”
“Havers will?”
The priest nodded. “But remember mercy and restoration and forgiveness. Remember them well.”
“Why? And for who?”
The priest turned and exited the room.
“Father is done now. Please take heed of what he says,” said the girl.
“But what’s coming?”
From behind her back, the girl produced a man’s necklace with a solid dangling cross on it and handed it to Kirkgordon. “Here. So you remember. God bless.” Then she opened the door that led out of the house.
Kirkgordon tried to speak but the girl didn’t even look at him, she just held the door open. His time here was clearly finished. I want a normal life, he thought. And the next time someone gobs on me I will floor them. I don’t care who they are.
Kirkgordon stepped back out to the church car park and started to walk back to the care home. His stomach rumbled so he detoured via the nearest pub for some lunch. Things were getting strange. I need Austerley, he thought. If I’m in the kingdom of madness then the crown prince should be able to furnish me with some details.
The Offensive Side of Havers
Something wasn’t right, thought Kirkgordon. It might be Sunday afternoon and Austerley might have had a big lunch but there was no way he would be sleeping after having got his hands on that book. He had been so insistent about getting it and had really thought he was onto something. No, this would not do. Something was wrong.
Turning around, Kirkgordon left Austerley lying asleep in his room, snoring loudly on his bed. Kirkgordon needed answers and someone was going to have to explain what was going on. In his haste, he nearly knocked an old lady over. Standing in just a pink nightgown, she stared at Kirkgordon for a few seconds before grabbing him by the wrist.
“It’s okay dear, I’ll just get someone to help you,” he told her. “Nurse! Little help required, nurse!” The old woman tugged hard at his arm. “Okay dear, what is it?” He noted the deep wrinkles on her skin. She was leathery, as if she had been soaked and then left to wrinkle in the sun. Kirkgordon reckoned she must have been close to a hundred.
For all her supposed age she seemed to have the strength of six good men. In fact, her nails were digging into Kirkgordon’s arm but he ignored the pain and let her lead him. She stopped at a doorway and pointed inside. Looking in, Kirkgordon saw a gentleman of maybe fifty years lying asleep on his bed. He was covered up by a drab blue quilt and there was a glass of water by his beside. Also by the bed were some family photos, a Gideon’s bible, a jug of water and a bottle of a golden energy drink. And one other object, which the old lady began to point at.
It was an emerald brooch encircled with diamonds and rusted clasps. It looked rather unremarkable to Kirkgordon but the lady was making a big fuss about it. Getting agitated at Kirkgordon’s lack of interest, she pointed back and forth from the brooch to the sleeping gent.
“There, there, Mrs Moor. Are you after that brooch again?” It was Tania, complete in her scrubs.
Damn, she looks good in those, thought Kirkgordon.
“Sorry about this,” said Tania, “but Mrs Moor has a thing about that brooch. Reckons it’s hers. I’ll just get her back to her bed.”
“Thanks, Tania,” said Kirkgordon, his gaze dwelling just a little too long on her tight-fitting attire.
As Tania tried to lead Mrs Moor away, the old lady grabbed Kirkgordon’s arm again and held on so tightly that her nails drew blood. As her grip eventually slackened h
er eyes went wild and she blurted out, “I used to have life. I had my life. Now they have it. They have it.”
“Yes, Mrs Moor, us young ones certainly are having our day aren’t we?” Tania chirped in quickly and hurried her out of the room.
There’s something attractive about a caring woman, thought Kirkgordon. He told himself he was just watching Tania help the old lady, appreciating her professional vocation, but when his mind conjured up the image of a thong, Kirkgordon realized his old habits were surfacing all too readily.
Feeling a bit stuck for action, Kirkgordon hovered by the room entrance, hoping Tania would return. After five minutes he recognized her scrubs coming back around the corner. Her smiling face sent a pleasing wobble into his stomach and he began to beam.
“Sorry about that. Mrs Moor is a bit mad on other people’s things. Always reckons they belong to her, from her dodgy past, no doubt. Poor old dear,” said Tania.
“Is she okay?” asked Kirkgordon.
“Yes, she’s fine. I enjoyed last night by the way.” Kirkgordon felt Tania take his hand. She rubbed it gently on the outside with her thumb. “Was a shame to have ended it that way. I would have preferred to have shown you the sunrise.”
“I’m sure the view would have been great.”
“It would have been. My flat’s got a small balcony, very secluded. And the sun shines right into it as it breaks the horizon. There’s nothing like the feel of the first rays chasing the cool night from your bare skin.”
Kirkgordon felt slightly weak. That’s just unfair, he thought. Totally horny, but unfair.
“Next time,” said Tania, “next time.” She held his gaze and noticed his jaw drop slightly as he glanced at her necklace. She leaned forward slightly. “I don’t think it’s my necklace you’re wanting to look at,” teased Tania.
Actually, thought Kirkgordon, it is. Why have I got Austerley’s mad ramblings racing through my head at a moment like this? Damn him.
“What happened to Austerley? He’s sleeping like a log,” said Kirkgordon, to break the moment.
“Oh, your friend,” chirped Tania, reverting to a more upright pose. “They had to sedate him. For his own good, the notes said. Apparently he was getting into a right state so they decided his body needed a rest.”
“Why wasn’t I informed? The arrangements were that I was to be notified if he started to get agitated again.”
“I guess they knew you were out last night and decided to let you sleep. Pretty decent of them, really.”
“Maybe so, but I need to know all his issues when they happen. Can you reiterate that to them?”
“Of course. But I suggest they keep him sedated tonight.”
“Why?”
“You don’t want to miss the sunrise.” Tania turned away almost skipping, letting her long hair bounce freely.
Such a tease, thought Kirkgordon but then corrected himself. A tease would be fine. A little excitement but no real chance of doing anything I shouldn’t. No, she’s playing for keeps. That’s not fair. He tried to focus on Alana but her hair got interchanged with Tania’s and then the faces blurred. In fact, every time he tried to think of a deep, loving moment with Alana, Tania’s face and body would appear in that moment. I need a shrink, he thought. Or a good crack across the skull.
Stumbling slightly, Kirkgordon managed to get himself to the front door before falling to his knees outside. He drew in the salt air in deep mouthfuls but the nauseous state persisted. He decided to walk back to his accommodation. Maybe I have just been up too long, he thought.
Over the next hour he pitched haphazardly, but on a reasonably direct route, to the front door of his guest house. On seeing the state he was in, the lady of the house took him by the hand and helped deposit him into his room. Kirkgordon managed to undress himself and clamber into bed. He closed his eyes. Tania was beside him. And the sun was rising.
When you needed privacy, Havers found the best way to clear an area was to be as offensive as possible without speaking. So he wasn’t dressed in his usual crisp suit and bowler hat but instead continued with his tramp disguise. On reaching the viewpoint known as Gibbet Point, he had observed a number of couples and individuals enjoying the day. The scene was calm and peaceful and he felt slight remorse at ruining Sunday afternoon for these good people. But this was where the signal had come from. The tech crew had confirmed it and now he needed to work the scene.
Sidling up to one couple, he sat down beside them without a word. The reaction was instantaneous.
“Bloody hell, brother, get a bath!”
Soon the area was almost clear. Genuine manure always worked well. The stupid tramp, sleeping in the wrong field. But then he struck a problem. The last remaining person, an older lady on her own, actually undid her flask and handed him a cup of tea. Havers took it and spat the tea into the air.
Undaunted, the lady started asking questions. Did he have accommodation? Did he know where he could get help? Had he been homeless for long? These types were the hardest, thought Havers. Caring people are the hardest to move.
But then the woman left in a hurry. Someone urinating at her feet was just too much. Who knows what a man like that could do next? She was a woman alone, after all. He’d already cleared everyone else away. As she sped down the hill, she tried to dislodge the image from her head.
Havers, having adjusted himself back to decency, began to bring out some devices from under his coat. He wasn’t entirely sure how they worked. That is to say, he could operate them but he didn’t know why they functioned like they did. In his job, science, magic and the paranormal world all blended and you had to be beyond yourself to understand it all. But Havers was the controller so he couldn’t go there. He needed a dispassionate, cool and untainted head. Keeping his delvers-into-the-strange-happenings close meant he had access to all the tools without the risk of attachment.
A grey box with a whirling antenna began to beep. A black stone on the ground changed to a purple tint. And a small mirror, over which Havers had watched a colleague recite an unknown incantation, showed a green outline, shimmering. Confirmed, then. Something was being brought here.
Havers quickly gathered the objects back into the concealed pockets of his coat. He needed to find out who was doing this. Wilson hadn’t sent back much information and the initial comments from the priest had hardly been conclusive. A “strange evil presence” wasn’t much to go on. If he hadn’t known Father Jonah personally, he wouldn’t even have sent Wilson. Havers stumbled like a drunk across the area, looking for anything else of note.
There was blood on that grass. Old, certainly. But blood. Reaching down, he plucked a few blades of the grass from the ground. His other hand reached inside his coat and pulled out a tiny black box. He opened a small drawer and placed the grass inside. Scratching his ear, he opened up the communications link with headquarters.
“Caretaker here,” came the response from his earpiece. “Alpha four X-ray papa niner seven two delta Charlie.”
“Prime. Romeo Fife tree Juliet foxtrot Lima wun ait niner sierra. Sample in for analysis. Is it his?” Havers wandered over to the lookout point. There had been no further contact from Wilson. He had sent a panic distress signal and then disappeared. It didn’t look good.
They all assumed he didn’t feel anything. Mr Cold, the Iceman, they called him. The one who would always do what was necessary, even if that meant killing one of his own. And he would. He knew that. But it didn’t mean he liked it or that he didn’t think about it. I lose a bit of my soul every day in this job, he thought. Wilson might be better off having not climbed the ladder. Even dead, he probably still was. Still, it won’t comfort his parents. George and Anthea. Their only son, too.
“Prime?” asked his earpiece.
“Here,” answered Havers.
“Affirmative.”
“Prime changing to aggressive observation. Alert the standbys. This looks like trouble.”
“Roger.”
Havers look
ed out to the sea. His intuition was screaming at him but he wasn’t sure what it was saying. Perhaps the priest could help. And Austerley might know. He was a receiver, after all. Austerley always received dreams or visions when there were supernatural or occult happenings afoot. An enormous sense of dread came over Havers as he looked out to the sea. Time to find out more about the history of this place, he thought.
Delivery and Collections
A parcel van pulled up outside the care home, much to the surprise of Graham. He had worked as the manager for over a year and no delivery had ever happened on a Sunday. Especially not a Sunday evening. Still, he thought, I’m here working so why not anyone else?
A uniformed driver stepped out of the van, entered the building and approached Graham at the front desk. “Hello. It’s been a heck of a day, sorry it’s a bit late,” said the driver.
“It’s fine. Sunday working, always a joy to do. I understand perfectly.”
“I’m looking for a Mr Austerley. Have a special delivery for him which needs to be delivered in person.”
“Ah,” answered Graham. “That could be a problem. Mr Austerley is not in a fit condition to sign anything.”
“Oh. Well, do you mind if I take this up to his room? It’s a celebration package and I’ve been instructed to set it up for him. Shouldn’t take too long.”
“Well, Mr…?”
“Gavin, call me Gavin.”
“Gavin. Well now, Gavin, that could be awkward. We’re a little low on staff at the moment and I can’t really leave the front desk,” said Graham.
“I get what you’re saying, governor, but it’s quite a special thing, this. Especially for people about to go to hospital. That’s what it says, anyway. Just a wee balloon thing. Do you mind? I’ll go there myself and that. If you don’t mind.”
Graham thought for a moment. Then he broke into a large smile.
“Look, okay. Just because of what it is. Mind you don’t hang about. Also, if Mr Austerley wakes up, don’t speak to him or anything, just come and get me. He can be a wee bit temperamental. That’s one disease that can’t be cured, unfortunately.”
