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

by Sarah Sheridan

  36

  Morgana closed the door of the static caravan quietly. Cleansing someone of their evil was a beautiful thing, and she always felt uplifted afterwards. Seeing Celeste’s blood had excited her; it had been the same with Lucan’s. It was a joyous moment to see the flesh break and the wickedness pour out. It was spiritual, sacrificial, a practice that had taken place down the ages for millennia.

  She’d tied Celeste up first, then taken the baby to the church she’d passed minutes before turning into the caravan park. After all, she wasn’t a monster, she didn’t have any problems with the infant, even if she was the spawn of Mona. But the child was an innocent, and she would leave her fate up to God. She knew the baby would either be found or looked after, or she would die and cross over to the gates of heaven. She didn’t really care which. And anyway, the little girl had started screaming and the last thing Morgana had wanted was attention being brought on the caravan before she’d had a chance to finish her work. She’d left the sobbing child on the church steps, memories of placing her on the convent steps in Soho all those weeks ago flooding back to her. Funny how life repeated itself sometimes. Leaving the Destruction tarot card had been a nod towards Celeste, designed to put the trail on to her if the police became interested in the baby’s history. A bit of research had resulted in a link to Sister Catherine, which had been even better. Morgana had always loved riddles, they were so satisfyingly bewildering. Creating a real-life one had been thrilling, and she always enjoyed putting her intelligence to the test.

  She’d helped Celeste write the invitation to Mona – after all, the girl was more beautiful than she was bright – appealing to her to come to Glastonbury, saying how much she missed her sister and wanted to mend their bond. They’d both been surprised when Mona had accepted. Taking the baby from the drugged-up Lance’s care had been easier than she’d anticipated. He probably didn’t even remember her knocking on the door, saying Mona had asked her to bring the baby to her, he’d been so out of it. Knowing what she planned for the triad that took up her beloved king’s thoughts – Mona, Celeste and Lance – she’d needed the child firmly out of the way. Lance’s drug use had been an added bonus, something even she couldn’t have planned on. If he’d been sober, then, well, she’d have had to silence him another way. But as it was, he’d self-medicated himself enough; he’d even forgotten the baby was there, lying silently in her crib, big eyes staring up at the ceiling.

  She’d always planned to start a fire at Goddess World, of course, to burn the witch Mona as Art would have wanted. She had made it look like it was all Celeste’s work, the tarot card, the fire, the killing of Mona. The original plan was that by the time the police caught up with Celeste to arrest her for the carnage created she would already be dead, leaving Morgana and Art to live in blissful, dependent peace for the rest of their lives. The only thing was, she hadn’t reckoned on the two wild cards coming into the mix: Celeste taking the baby and running away, and Art deciding mass suicide was a good way for the knights to now leave the earth.

  ‘You need to be punished,’ Morgana had explained to Celeste on her return to the static caravan. ‘Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt King Arthur by running off? You are a wicked girl. You never stop and think about how you might be hurting other people’s feelings, do you?’

  Celeste, lying on the floor, bound and gagged, had lain still, staring up at her captor with big fear-filled eyes. It had been wonderful to see her so helpless. Morgana had enjoyed leaning forwards and tightening the thin scarf she’d used to muzzle the girl until she could see the edges cutting into her cheeks.

  ‘What’s that?’ She’d chuckled, drawing a whip from her bag. ‘Speak up, Celeste, I can’t hear you. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself for once?’

  She’d relished the flailing of Celeste, and the purging and the beating; all techniques taught to her over the years by her king. The blood had to flow freely for the person’s sins to evaporate, Art always said. If you spare them the pain, then you send them to hell. And what’s the point of that?

  ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ She’d bent down to hiss in the girl’s ear as her eyes had rolled back. ‘You evil little bitch? You’ve made Art go mad. He wants to kill us all now, because he’s lost you. He was meant to be mine now. That’s really why you need to be punished, you shallow cow. You never deserved him. I’ve always known that, you scheming little whore. And now, after I’ve waited for him so patiently, you’ve managed to ruin it all by going missing before I had a chance to deal with you. Can you understand now why Auntie Morgs is a bit cross, Celeste?’ She’d stood up and booted the unconscious girl in the head.

  As she drove away from Barnstaple, Morgana’s joy and satisfaction became infused with grief. She knew she’d never have a chance with Art now, he was hell-bent on his mass suicide idea. Well, there was no way she was partaking in that. Her chest ached as she absorbed the fact that her months of careful planning had come to nothing. Everything was ruined. Purging Mona, the fire, the little trip to see Lance as his ‘mother’ the night before he’d died (with a vial of morphine in her handbag, how easy it was to shoot into the cannula when no one was looking), all her efforts were wasted. Getting rid of everyone that consumed Art’s attention had been an exhaustive process but she’d done it for them, both of them, so they could rule a better, purified New Avalon together. He was supposed to depend on her strength, turn to her in his hour of need. But now all he wanted to do was kill himself.

  She’d had to get the annoying triad out of the way, she told herself, because Art was in one way or another obsessed with each of them, Mona, Celeste and Lance, so much so that he never seemed to be able to turn his attention entirely on to Morgana. Mona had to go because Art had always said she needed a fiery punishment, so that’s what had happened to her. Even though it had been nearly three years since she’d left New Avalon, Art ruminated loudly about Mona each day, asking God to bring death and punishment on her. But she never seemed truly out of his head; he was preoccupied with her in a dark, morbid way.

  She’d had to get rid of Celeste because her king loved the girl too much, and she absolutely got in the way of Morgana taking her rightful place alongside Art. Art’s obsession with Celeste actually made her want to be sick at times, it was so all-consuming, so obvious. But he liked Morgana too, she knew he did, what with all the secret winks, hugs, squeezes, and confidential chats. She was more Art’s intellectual equal, Celeste hadn’t been blessed with many brains. And Lance went because his father spent too much time brooding about getting him back, too much time worrying about him, obsessing about the evil Mona having taken his son away. But there was never closure with Art, he never seemed to move on from this, just went on about it every day. Morgana had known a clean slate was needed, and that was what she’d organised. It was supposed to be a fresh start, they could have both grieved, and then all moved on towards a happy future. Together. And now her plans were in ruins.

  She let out an animalistic howl as she sped down the near empty roads.

  But she was a fighter, she always had been, had learnt that skill from the moment she was born. She knew she’d survive this, feel better eventually.

  Her plan was to keep on driving and not look back.

  37

  ‘There she is.’ Sister Veronica darted forward and lifted the quiet baby from the nurse’s arms, hugging her close. Fat tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks as she breathed in Hope’s powdery smell. ‘Hello, Hope. I’ve missed you so much.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s Hope, Sister?’ DI Harding said. ‘Are you absolutely positive?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sister Veronica said, sniffing, as she rolled down Hope’s green-and-yellow tights. ‘She’s wearing the same clothes – the ones Melissa bought for her, and look, there’s the birthmark shaped like an island that I told you about. It’s definitely her.’

  ‘Fantastic, I’m so pleased for you,’ DI Harding said. ‘I was confident it was her, but I couldn’t s
ay too much before you’d positively identified her.’ She gave a quick smile, a warm and genuine gesture. ‘The doctor has taken some bloods and they are being matched with the ones taken in London, just for legal reasons, to officially confirm everything. She’ll be staying here under police protection until we have the results back.’

  ‘Can I have a cuddle?’ Melissa’s eyes were also streaming with tears. ‘I won’t take her from you for long, Sister, I just want to say hello to her again, let her know she’s safe now, that we’ve found her.’

  ‘Of course.’ Sister Veronica passed the baby to her friend, forcing herself to, although really feeling that she never wanted to let the baby go again. ‘You deserve to, Melissa. You’ve been the most wonderful companion with all your help and support recently, and I’m afraid I’ve turned ghastly, rude and moody. I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve to be treated like that.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ Melissa gave the nun a watery smile, as she gently kissed the top of Hope’s head. ‘We’ve both been very stressed. I don’t think there is a “right” way to act in that kind of situation.’

  A voice came crackling over DI Harding’s radio.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to both of them, before turning and striding towards the door. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  Sister Veronica stared at the sedate but smiling baby girl in Melissa’s arms. She couldn’t believe it was her, after all this time. The terrible angst, the sleepless nights, the gut-wrenching worry. Yet here she was in front of her, fresh and healthy, although not as exuberant as usual, but that was to be expected, all things considered. She took in every aspect of the baby, drinking in her smattering of fluffy auburn hair, her chubby pink cheeks, her rosebud mouth. The sense of wonder and relief in her heart grew until she was sure her chest was going to explode. Had she been harmed at all? she wondered. Had she been fed and looked after? A baby could never tell you these things, of course. The most important thing was that at last the nightmare was over.

  ‘Would you like her back, Sister?’ Melissa said, turning. ‘I don’t want to let her go, but I think she wants to come to you.’

  Hope was indeed sticking her arms out towards Sister Veronica, and as she carefully took the baby again, her heart did a backflip of joy.

  A nurse came bustling into the cubicle.

  ‘All reunited, I see?’ she said, grinning.

  ‘Yes, thank God.’ Melissa smiled. ‘Where was Hope found, do you know?’

  ‘All I’ve been told is that she was found on the steps of St Peter’s Church in Barnstaple,’ the nurse said as she popped the tip of a thermometer into Hope’s ear. ‘We’ve been monitoring her since she got here and she seems perfectly healthy. Bit quiet, but generally fine. Ah, perfect temperature. I think she’s just a bit shocked by everything that’s happened to her over the last few days.’

  ‘And who can blame her. Great Saints, so she was left on the steps of a religious place again?’ Sister Veronica’s voice registered her surprise. ‘Surely that has to be by the same person who left her on the convent steps the first time? Or at least a person in cahoots, or someone with knowledge of what happened?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Melissa said, stroking Hope’s hand. ‘I still can’t believe she’s back. It’s a miracle.’

  ‘We can’t get over her beautiful blue eyes,’ the nurse said, filling in Hope’s chart. ‘We’ve all had lots of cuddles with her. She’s going to break many hearts when she’s older, you know.’

  ‘Yes, she’s absolutely precious.’ Sister Veronica rocked the baby to and fro. ‘An absolute darling.’

  ‘Bless her, she’s going to sleep,’ Melissa said, sitting down in the chair next to Hope’s cot. ‘Look, her eyes have gone all droopy.’

  ‘She thoroughly deserves to,’ Sister Veronica said. ‘She’s been on quite an adventure, haven’t you, young lady? If only you could tell us with who.’

  DI Harding came back into the room, her face serious.

  ‘News has just come in,’ she said. ‘Two residents from New Avalon have been taken into intensive care at Yeovil Hospital. They’re in a pretty bad way, apparently horrifically abused by followers of the professed King Arthur.’ She paused, sighed, and shook her head. ‘I’ve got to go over there now. If any connection comes up between New Avalon and whoever took Hope I’ll keep you informed.’

  38

  DI Harding sipped her water. Strictly speaking, guests weren’t allowed to eat or drink in the intensive care unit, but she’d been so parched after her hasty drive to Yeovil a nurse had taken pity on her.

  ‘Don’t rush,’ she said, as gently as she could. ‘Tell me in your own time.’

  Lucan could only move his eyeballs without his body hurting. Every other body part had to be kept absolutely still. His jaw felt paralysed and he couldn’t speak properly. When he tried his words came out all thick and distorted. The doctors had told him he had internal damage to his liver, one of his lungs was punctured, many of his ribs were broken, his pelvis was cracked and he had three skull fractures. Oh yes, and a broken arm and leg. He was lucky to be alive, they said. But he was desperate to tell the detective what he knew. It would just take time and patience, mainly his.

  ‘Art did it,’ he said, his words coming out muffled, almost incoherent.

  ‘Art?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What did Art do?’ DI Harding had known about New Avalon’s leader for years, oh yes he’d been on her radar all right. She’d heard things about him, rumours and gossip about abuse, beatings, coercion, but nothing ever concrete enough to investigate and no witnesses prepared to give statements. But now, it seemed, the man had gone too far. Her colleagues at the station were already in the process of organising a search warrant for New Avalon, and she was going to enjoy tearing that place apart as soon as she’d finished this interview.

  ‘He said they had to cleanse New Avalon of my depravity and purify my soul,’ Lucan managed. It was hard for him to have to think back, relive those awful moments. DI Harding had to ask him to repeat his sentence several times before she fully understood his words.

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘So what did Art’s followers do when he said that?’

  ‘They beat me.’ Tears began to flow down the sides of Lucan’s face. ‘They kicked and stamped on me. For a long time. Even the children. And he just kept encouraging them, willing them on, saying that New Avalon was now saved.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Lucan,’ DI Harding said softly. ‘That must have been awful. You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves to be treated like that. Especially by people they trust.’

  Lucan continued to cry. It hurt him to do so but he couldn’t help it.

  ‘Would you be prepared to make a statement about what Art and his followers did to you?’ DI Harding asked, when Lucan had become calmer, his silent sobs spaced further apart. ‘It seems to me that he needs to face justice for what he has done to you and Kay.’

  ‘How is Kay?’ Lucan said. The doctors had told him it had been Kay who’d called the ambulance to New Avalon, had saved his life before collapsing herself. He knew she was somewhere in the same hospital as him and that made him feel a little bit comforted, to know his saviour was close by.

  ‘She’s stable.’ DI Harding wondered how much to tell Lucan. She didn’t want to upset him more than necessary. ‘She’s sleeping at the moment.’ Still unconscious, she thought to herself. So thin, poor girl, that her skin looked blue with veins. No one knew if she would wake up, her body was so undernourished her organs had started to shut down.

  ‘That’s good.’ Lucan relaxed a bit. He wanted to thank her, when he could. Express how much it meant to have one person care about him amid the betrayal and atrocities of his other former ‘friends’. But then they’d only done what their leader had told them to. He’d done awful things to heretics before, many years ago, under Art’s instructions. Back when he fervently believed it was the right thing to do. Now he knew how it felt, had had a taste
of his own medicine. That was why he hadn’t tried to fight back, knew it wasn’t worth it, that they’d always beat him down. But also because he felt he deserved it, now he understood how wrong it was to hurt others like he had in the past. All because Art said so. He wondered if the people who had damaged, hit, kicked and stamped on him felt bad about it? Probably not, not yet, they were too fearful of doing something wrong that would lead them to the same fate. Maybe one day they would.

  ‘Would you be prepared to make a statement?’ DI Harding repeated, staring into his swollen blue eyes, now tinged red with burst blood vessels.

  ‘Yes.’ Lucan tried to nod, then winced, a spasm of pain spiralling through him. ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘That’s great news.’ DI Harding exhaled. ‘Well done, Lucan. You’re being very brave.’ Finally one of the cult members was going to speak out against the so-called King Arthur, she thought. And it took this to happen before they did. Near death. But that’s the way of it sometimes, you have to hit rock bottom for things to change, before you have the emotional strength to go against someone who has put the fear of God into you. She knew she was going to do everything in her power to get justice for Lucan; if there was one thing she hated most in life it was a bully, someone who made others feel small just so they could feel big and important. It was the height of cowardice, she thought, to treat someone like that, especially to encourage a mob attitude that he couldn’t possibly have had a chance of escaping. New Avalon was clearly a dangerous place and it needed to be shut down as soon as possible before things there escalated even further out of control. And she would take great pleasure in seeing that happen.