The Disciple: a gripping psychological mystery (The Sister Veronica Mysteries Book 2)

by Sarah Sheridan

  30

  ‘Now New Avalon really is free from sin.’ Art spoke quietly as he watched a television report about his son, Gareth, being arrested. Grainy CCTV footage showed a skinny, tall man with lank hair being wrestled to the ground by armed police. ‘Stupid, stupid, silly boy.’ He folded his fingers together. So much had happened over the last few days, so much intense unfairness, that Art found he simply didn’t care about Gareth being detained. In fact, the news about him had transported him from the fury he’d felt about the still absent Celeste to a place of absolute inner calm. Because he finally understood what God wanted him to do.

  He’d make no effort to contact the police to see how his son was, he’d just ignore the situation and hope that Gareth had enough sense not to give the police his home telephone number and address. What exactly had the boy been trying to achieve? Yes, all right, so he’d told Gareth to make him – Art – proud. To do something that mattered, something big. But he hadn’t meant to stab an MP for God’s sake. He’d been hoping that his words would give Gareth the push he needed to blossom into a strong knight; make him grow up a bit, become the leader he needed to hand New Avalon on to when the time came. Lobby MPs in writing – sure. Art had been doing that for years, using a remote postal box address in Birmingham for the return replies – not that many came. He’d wanted Gareth to become more manly, maybe have a child with one of the young ladies at New Avalon, not that there were many left now. A grandchild he could mould into a better heir than his sons turned out to be. He wanted Gareth to become a good example to the rest of the group, instead of wafting around like a lost soul. But that would never happen now. Art was surprised at how easy it was to let Gareth go, now that he’d proved what a weak disappointment he was.

  An idea, that had been at the back of his mind for years as a possible escape route if things got bad, had exploded into fruition since he’d first heard about what Gareth had done. God was talking through him again, telling King Arthur the way forward. It was drastic, but he was quite sure it was the only way. And anyway, he’d always known the end would come at some point. He just hadn’t known it would be so soon. It was so hard to maintain a utopia in a corrupt world.

  He’d done his best to rid New Avalon of the sinners, betrayers and traitors; he’d purified his followers the best that he could, preparing them for salvation. It had felt wonderful cleansing Lucan of sin. It had refreshed their souls. The man would probably die where he now lay in his hut, Art mused. He seemed close to it now. But that was okay. God was calling them all home now, he’d sent several signs. God didn’t want Art to have to suffer the indignity of a police investigation – which would surely happen after what his son had done. God didn’t want Art to have to see his beautiful commune and its people ripped apart and analysed on national TV; scorned, ridiculed and misunderstood – turned into the very thing Art hated most; vacuous money-making entertainment for people who couldn’t think for themselves, which was the majority of the British. Nothing but mindless sheep. He would have to act fast though. His plan would have to be implemented very soon.

  And Celeste was gone. Of course, Art had heard about the missing baby, and about the two nosy cows tramping round Glastonbury looking for the dirty bitch, Mona. Of course he’d heard that a body was found in the fire, and that it was Mona’s. Good, he’d thought when he’d heard. She deserved it. One less problem to worry about. ‘See – my prophecy came true,’ he’d told his followers. ‘Mona is burning in hell, she was burning before she even died.’

  Now Gareth was gone too, dead to him. He suspected his son had been trying to impress him through rash actions, trying to live up to his words, but what a stupid way to go about it. And Lance was dead. These were all signs from God, Art knew, that were showing him his time on earth had come to an end, calling him home to eternal salvation. King Arthur’s work was finished.

  He’d been expecting a call from the police at any moment, but it hadn’t come. Bedivere had taken down the New Avalon webpage as soon as the news about Gareth broke, but it wouldn’t take the police long to come knocking at his door. He knew the Avon and Somerset police force were already aware of him, the way they stared when they saw him in town. Distrustful. Suspicious. He could put them off for a while, of course, when they did come, present New Avalon as the peace-loving hippy commune it was, explain that poor Gareth was mentally ill, that they’d had no idea he was going to do such a terrible thing, that he needed to be locked away for his own safety so he couldn’t hurt anyone else, poor soul.

  Art glanced over at Morgana, who was staring at the television in his study. It was just those two in there, he’d sent everyone else out to hunt for Celeste again. Her giant breasts were heaving up and down as she breathed. He’d suspected for a while that she wanted more from their friendship, but large women – particularly older ones – had never turned him on. Art liked his conquests to be young and pert. And he liked a challenge, a girl with a bit of fire. If someone offered themselves on a plate to him it was just too easy. He’d never tell Morgana that directly, though, just keep her interested enough to be useful. Her intelligence impressed him, her research skills were second to none; he could do with a few more people with brains around here. So he gave her the odd wink, the odd squeeze. It seemed to make her happy. Her face was expressionless as she watched Gareth being escorted away for the ninth time. They’d watched the news on replay many times, as though watching it on repeat would somehow make the awfulness of it – the exposure of their home – go away.

  Art thought hard. Would it be wise to take Morgana into his confidence? Explain his plan to her? He’d have to, he decided. He’d need help implementing it, didn’t think he could do it on his own. All the New Knights loved Auntie Morgs, they’d do what she asked, even if they had doubts about what their king was saying.

  ‘Morgana,’ he said, his voice rich and calm. ‘God has spoken to me this afternoon. He’s passed on a wonderful next course of action to me, for the New Knights and myself. And we all thoroughly deserve to reap the rewards it will bring.’

  Morgana paused the television and leaned forward, a smile breaking out on her face. Since Celeste had gone, she’d been spending more time with Art than ever, and it was wonderful. He’d been increasingly taking her into his confidence, relaxing into trusting her fully, sharing the all-consuming anger and grief he was suffering from inside. She’d been worried about him after the news about Lance, but today he seemed more peaceful, all the anger had stopped, thank goodness, and a strange serenity had taken him over.

  ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘What is it? I’m all ears.’ She gazed at him. Hang on, she thought, Art’s eyes looked strange today. A small, niggling feeling kicked into life at the bottom of her stomach. They were unusually bright and staring, like flashlights that wouldn’t turn off. She’d never seen them like that before. She squashed the feeling down, ignoring it. He was just sad about Lance, that was all, which was completely understandable. Going through different phases of grief, it was only natural. And, of course, he was puzzled about Gareth’s actions, worried about the impact they may have on their wonderful home life. But he’d get over it eventually, with her unending love and support. Everything was going to be okay.

  ‘God has told me that Armageddon is coming, Morgana.’ Art leaned forward. It was so important that he imparted this news in the right way; he’d found that much of the effectiveness of leadership was in his delivery, how he said things. ‘Destruction and disaster are nigh; in fact, they are already in process. Just look around at the state of the world and you will see this. The time is right for us to leave earth now. The Almighty is calling King Arthur and his merry band of knights home. As his ambassador here on earth he’s chosen me to spread this message among you. And he wants you to help lead his chosen people out of a corrupt world, Morgana. God loves and trusts you.’ Art’s eyes widened. He allowed a smile to form on his lips. ‘The good energy is gone from this place now, God has explained everything to me today. The represe
ntatives of the lower powers here on earth – like the police – have begun meddling with our destiny, as the Lord, and even I, always knew they would. What the Almighty has asked us to do, what I am about to inform you, will be the ultimate test of commitment, loyalty, and integrity for our knights. And I know you will stand strong beside me, Morgana, and help me lead and guide everyone through this. The truth is that our mission here on earth is coming to a close, and we are returning to God our Saviour for eternal life.’

  Morgana’s eyes registered the horror that the niggling feeling had quickly morphed into.

  ‘What are you saying, Art?’ Her voice cracked. No, he couldn’t mean what she thought he was trying to say. After all her hard work getting to this point. After the nights she’d spent fantasising about the perfect life they were going to have together. She’d planned everything so carefully, had executed it with admirable precision, and had been slotting into her new role as Art’s closest companion quite comfortably. Surely he couldn’t mean…

  ‘Morgana, don’t be scared.’ Art touched her hand, and despite her growing dismay a thrill shot down her spine. ‘It is time to leave our physical bodies and gain our eternal spiritual ones with the Lord, for whom we will always be knights, his right-hand men. If we stay on earth any longer, our souls will be killed by external worldly dark forces, can you not see? That process is already beginning, and we need to remove ourselves from it. To save our true selves we must aid the transformation from persecuted physical beings to eternal saved knights.’

  ‘No, Art,’ Morgana whispered, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I think you might have misheard what God was trying to say to you.’ No, she repeated again to herself, this can’t be happening. Not after I’d just made everything so perfect. We are supposed to spend the rest of our lives ON THIS EARTH TOGETHER, Art, why can’t you see that? Of course, she couldn’t say the words out loud. Her cherished king wouldn’t understand them yet. Her plan had been to give him time to digest his recent tragedies, before slowly but surely encouraging him to rely and depend on her – the most loyal and caring knight of all – until they were one unit, inseparable, tied together forever within the bond of grief, recovery and dependency.

  ‘Of course, you’re shocked.’ Art smiled, rubbing her hand. ‘I was surprised, too, when God told me about it, when He revealed our next and final mission on this physical plane. But it makes perfect sense, Morgana. You’ll come to see that soon. And it’s a plan we must put into action without delay. I will need your help, and I know that I can count on it, can’t I? You’ve never let me down before.’ His saucer eyes stared into hers; encouraging her, willing her to agree.

  ‘But, what about Celeste? We haven’t found her yet, we can’t leave her behind, surely?’ Morgana had changed tack and played her trump card, knowing the girl was his one weakness, his only apparent Achilles heel. She had personally always found the annoyingly beautiful, skinny, self-centred child an irritation, however good she’d been at hiding her feelings, and it was galling to see Art’s constant obsession with her. In any case, she’d been intending to tidy up that loose end soon. She’d just had to change direction with her plans a bit, after events had taken an unexpected turn when Celeste didn’t return home.

  It hadn’t been hard to track the girl down, after all, Morgana was excellent at research. Celeste was so like her mother it was unbelievable. Did she really think no one from New Avalon would search the caravan parks after what her infamous parent had done? Morgana could remember the day that Jemima – Mona and Celeste’s mother – had been thrown out of the commune by Art. She’d been a lost cause by then, vacant and useless, dependent on drugs rather than on King Arthur. Art had relished the thought of having Jemima’s two daughters to himself, of moulding them into perfect knights. The woman had left the compound, taken a bus to a cheap caravan park on the outskirts of Bristol, and shot enough heroin into her arm to kill a horse. When the caravan park manager eventually unlocked the caravan door, after repeated attempts to contact Jemima to ask her to pay her bill, she’d been dead for days.

  For Celeste, who’d been born and brought up at New Avalon, her mother’s example of how to leave the commune, where to go, was all she knew, the only behavioural model she had to base her own on. She might think she was sassy and strong and had the world at her feet, but in reality she was inexperienced and unworldly. Admittedly, she’d chosen a different area to her mother’s, Morgana had been mildly impressed about that, but a few phone calls had located her in less than an hour. Perhaps without knowing it, Celeste had chosen the place where her mother Jemima had been born. She doubted whether she consciously remembered it, she would never have willingly left a trail to herself and the baby, she thought. But something in her had remembered, and it had helped Morgana no end. ‘I’m looking for my daughter,’ Morgana had said, describing Celeste’s hair, her beautiful golden skin and her striking Renaissance clothes. ‘She has a baby girl with her, but she’s suffering from postnatal depression and I’m so worried. Please, is she at your park?’ ‘Yes,’ the young lad in Barnstaple had said. ‘We have a young lady and baby here who match your description.’ ‘Don’t tell her I’m coming,’ Morgana had said. ‘She’s not well, I don’t want her to do anything stupid. I’ll surprise her, it will be for the best.’

  If mentioning Celeste made Art reconsider his crazy plan then she was prepared to talk about the girl all night until her beloved came to his senses. She’d bite down her bile, her anger, and become lovely, motherly Auntie Morgs again, who cared about the girl she’d helped raise. She hadn’t always hated her, had seen potential in the child who had been so obedient, so much more compliant than her wild sister. But then Art had got his claws into her and hadn’t let go, because Celeste knew how to play him, knew how to use her feminine wiles to always keep him wanting more. And that was no good, it really wasn’t.

  But as soon as he heard the girl’s name, Art withdrew his hand from Morgana’s, his eyes turning dark, his breathing turning faster, shorter.

  ‘She’s made her choice,’ he said. ‘It turns out she’s just like her older sister after all.’ He sighed. ‘And I thought she was so perfect. I thought she was all mine. Morgana, Celeste leaving is one of the reasons God has given us this new mission. He knows that my body needs hers, and I that can’t go on without her at my side. Celeste leaving is a sign. God wants to end my pain through this one last challenge, as well as saving all our souls, do you see? I can no longer lead New Avalon if she’s not here, I just can’t. I never thought she’d go. She was my light and my guide. She could calm me down and she could bring me up. Her and only her. But I see now that her disappearance is symbolic of what needs to happen to us all. It’s a sign, can’t you see? We all need to disappear, she was showing us this through her actions.’ He paused, his brow wrinkling, a deep sigh. ‘I know you’ll understand as you loved Celeste like a daughter, didn’t you?’ He didn’t look at Morgana while he was talking so couldn’t see the venom in her eyes. ‘Of course you did, everyone loved Celeste. I never realised how much I did until she chose to go. But she’s gone now, made her choice to leave and now she’s on the path to hell. And that’s broken me, the thought of her suffering forever. But by cleansing ourselves we will be helping her have one more chance at salvation.’

  The white-hot rage in Morgana’s head was ballooning out of control. She couldn’t believe this was really happening. Even in her absence, stupid fucking Celeste was coming between her and Art. For the first time ever, she saw that her king’s eyes were wet. Never, in all her years at New Avalon, had she seen Art cry. Not when Mona said those terrible lies, not when Lance died, and not when Gareth left – silly boy that he was. She doubted Art would ever want to see him again. Celeste had got through to Art in a way she – Morgana – seemingly couldn’t. She’d captured his heart, and she didn’t deserve to, not one bit. And Morgana hated her for it, felt a bitterness and vengeance that was as terrifying as it was all-pervading. And now she was supposed to kill hers
elf to save Celeste’s soul? There was no way that was ever going to happen. You must be joking. Someone would soon be sacrificed to make New Avalon pure again, she knew, but it certainly wasn’t going to be her.

  ‘Let me think about it.’ She forced her face into a smile. It was important that Art never suspected how she felt about his protégé or he might guess she knew more than she was saying, torture the truth out of her and go and save the bitch. ‘I need to go out for a bit, Art, get some fresh air. What you’ve said is so overwhelming and amazing, I just need some time to let it sink in.’

  He nodded, understanding.

  ‘Don’t be too long,’ he said. ‘I’m going to start getting the medicine ready.’ He smiled, his face beatific, radiant. ‘God will guide me through the process. He’s already told me where to start.’

  Morgana left Art’s study, grabbed a set of car keys from the rack in the corridor, and marched back to her hut. She quickly changed out of her bodice and skirt, pulling on a T-shirt, jumper and jeans. Her ‘external’ clothes, as she thought of them. She dragged her special bag out from under her bed, the one no one knew about, made sure everything was in it that should be. As she slammed the door and set off, her face was a contortion of unbridled hatred. That bitch had ruined everything she’d worked so hard to put into place. And now she deserved a little visit from Auntie Morgs.

  31

  Kay could see the petrol station. It was about two hundred yards away from where she lay, cars driving in and out of it. She was tired, so weak. She’d gone through hunger and out the other side a long time ago. No one had brought her any food for three days and she knew she’d get in trouble if she asked for any. She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near the Food Hall or the Great Hall, most of the residents seemed to have already forgotten she existed. She’d had some stale water before she left, some rainwater that had collected in a broken gutter, but had no bottle to bring any with her for the one and a half mile walk to the garage. It had taken hours to build up the courage to leave, but after what she saw the other night – standing there peeping through the doorway to the Great Hall while her ‘friends’ had beaten Lucan senseless, blood oozing from his ears, eyes and nose, his arm bending the wrong way – she knew she had no choice. She’d heard the commotion going on, the screams, and she’d had to have a look, the noise was too terrible. She hadn’t intervened, knew she’d be killed if she tried, and that would have been no use to Lucan at all. But she’d crept into his hut last night, gone to his bed where the men had deposited him after the attack. He was unconscious, barely alive, his breathing shallow and erratic. She also knew her life would be over if Art or Morgana caught her leaving the compound, but hey, she was probably going to die anyway so it hadn’t mattered by then. Lucan had always been kind to her, one of the few that had. The effort of walking with her starved body was hard, she’d had to stop several times and sit down. This time she’d lain on the grassy verge by the road, she didn’t even have the energy to sit anymore. She was so close, she just needed to get to a phone, to call help for Lucan. If he didn’t get to hospital soon he would die. If he hadn’t already. He was her friend, she had to help him. She would close her eyes just for a minute, she thought. If she rested just for a little bit she might get enough energy back to reach the garage.