by Jordan, G R
“Always the foot,” moaned Kirkgordon.
“Yes, my foot. I can’t walk. I need a babysitter. I’ve been wheeled about by Brown Owl over there!” Austerley pointed to Miss Goodritch. “I faced up to a demon and what did I get? Nightmares and a missing foot. So forgive me, Churchy, if I am somewhat pissed off at the world at the moment. But I am missing my foot.” Tears welled up in Austerley’s eyes. “It might be a flaming joke to you but I am a cripple. I can’t even get to the shops without crutches. I can’t be hauled around by the collar anymore like you used to, dragging my butt out of trouble. Now I’m dependant on someone actually carrying me. Shit, Churchy, I want my foot back!”
“Mind your language in front of the child!” ordered Wilson.
“Shove it up your jacksie, newbie. It’s your kind that got me into this crappy state.” Austerley buried his head in his hands and started to weep bitterly. Father Jonah stood and walked across the silent room, put his arms around Austerley and just held him.
Well, thought Kirkgordon, that didn’t go as planned. “Let’s take a few moments,” he suggested, and he started to wave everyone out of the room. In a few moments, Kirkgordon was left standing looking at Austerley cradled like a baby in the priest’s arms. His crying continued, accompanied by great sniffs. During the whole time, Father Jonah said nothing.
“Sorry, Indy,” muttered Kirkgordon. “I’m sorry I ever let you go to that graveyard up at Gainsborough. I’m sorry you ever came out of the asylum. I’m just sorry. You didn’t deserve to lose the foot. I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Austerley mumbled. “You shouldn’t have had to try and kill me. It was my fault. All of it. I know my curiosity, the trouble it causes. But I love it, the mystery, the power. Dammit, Churchy, it’s how I’m made.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“But it’s my foot!”
Kirkgordon watched Austerley double over in tears again. He felt hollow inside. He felt responsible. Always trying to save everyone, that’s what Alana had said.
“You’re not the only one with a curse,” Kirkgordon mumbled quietly at Austerley as he left the room.
Manhunt
He nearly lashed out. The reflex almost kicked in but something within stopped it. An inner voice screamed at him that he wasn’t under attack, that the bony hand which grabbed his wrist was doing so out of desperation, not malevolence.
“They took your friend. Took him away, didn’t they? He had the brooch by his bed. Is he older now? Has he aged? I used to have looks before they took them. Used to have a body that worked. It’s all breaking down. Everything is stopping, son.”
Kirkgordon realized it was Mrs Moor, the woman Tania had claimed to be unsound in mind. Her wrists felt like sheer bone. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he wished they had stayed blind. The woman’s face was taut across her skull, eye sockets set deep. She didn’t look ill. She looked drained. Drained of life.
“It’s too late, son. I’m just moving on,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll see my Jack soon. That’ll be good. Jack’s waited fifty years for me. Will see him soon, I guess. That’s good.” Her head fell into Kirkgordon’s lap. He sat and stroked her hair gently, and her breathing became more laboured. Each breath drew out longer than the last. After five long minutes, she ceased her struggle.
At least she’s out of here, clear of it all, thought Kirkgordon.
Then the dilemma struck him. He knew what the right thing to do would be but he wanted to carry out the other option. She should be buried. With dignity and respect. Her life noted. Instead, he knew he would leave her body here, and then, who knows? Well, yes, who did know? Why this? You’re sat up in that heaven and You give me this. Why did she die like this? I know there’s evil here but You tell me You are stronger. So why, God, why? Why this suffering? Why am I left to stop it?
Kirkgordon realized he didn’t have time for these thoughts. In reality, he had fifteen minutes now to get in, grab whatever he needed – even though he didn’t know what that was – and then get out and rescue Graham. This wasn’t looking good. But there was no point thinking about it now. It was time to act. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to pay for his ten minutes of compassion.
There was another door out of the boiler house leading to the main building. Kirkgordon pressed his ear to it and listened attentively. There was no sound on the other side so he gently opened the door. Given the position of the boiler house, he knew he needed to make a left towards the residents’ rooms. Everything was silent. It was unnerving not to hear the occasional patient wandering about or babbling out loud. Even the quiet conversations and the momentary banter of staff and patients were absent. Last time, the fresh smell of disinfectant had wafted down the corridors but now even that sensual invasion was lacking.
Proceeding slowly and carefully, Kirkgordon checked each room he passed that had an open door. It took him four rooms to find an occupant, an elderly woman sleeping in her bed beneath a floral patterned quilt. He noted her peaceful breathing. She was probably drugged. On the cabinet beside her bed was a small emerald brooch. One item recovered, thought Kirkgordon as he pocketed it.
He was about to exit the room when he heard a wicked laugh. He stretched himself against the inner wall and held his breath. A ghostly green figure walked past the room, oblivious to his presence. Stepping out, Kirkgordon noticed the door in the middle of the complex. It had the sign “Staff Only” emblazoned upon it and a heavy lock. Worth a look, he thought, and he checked the surrounding corridors to make sure he was alone. About a thirty second job to open this, he reckoned.
Taking a small screwdriver from his new trousers, Kirkgordon worked coolly and methodically, always listening to the sounds of the care home. After careful work and a few deft touches, the lock opened and Kirkgordon slipped quietly inside.
There was a small flight of stairs which led down to a dark room. Open shelving with many cardboard boxes of nursing supplies filled the area, looking like a makeshift supermarket. Kirkgordon trod gently, checking every aisle. Delving into the occasional box, only sanitary products and basic healthcare items came to hand: large incontinence pads, lotions, bathing sponges, bed pans, bandages, tape. Nothing untoward.
But something wasn’t quite right. The orientation of the racking looked a little strange. In the far right corner, there was some missing, as if someone hadn’t measured up correctly. There was a space from one rack to the other the width of a person. Also, the opposite end had a particularly crushed look to it and Kirkgordon wondered why the space hadn’t been utilized to relieve the crush.
He approached the exposed wall, intending to check its authenticity by sounding it out with his fist. He raised his hand and went to rap the wall gently. But his fist went clean into the wall. There was no resistance and the fist disappeared. He could still feel his wrist and hand but where it should have been, there was just a wall. Kirkgordon took a random item from his person, one of his lock picks. Kneeling down, he reached through the wall and set down the item. Then he withdrew his hand before placing it back through the wall to retrieve the lock pick. Satisfied, he stepped through the wall.
An illusion, Kirkgordon decided, before his surroundings took his breath away. He had walked into a miniature zoo. The cramped room contained cages of glass and metal arranged in narrow aisles, similar to the racks of care products in the previous room. Spiders and cockroaches, snakes and birds, even lobsters and fish: an array of wildlife was scattered about. Looking into some of the cages, Kirkgordon was taken aback. He remembered the winged snake that had exploded when pierced by his arrow. Many of the cages contained such mutations, but in a much smaller form. The abhorrent nature of the hybrid creatures took him aback but there was something else bothering Kirkgordon. Having reached the end of the first aisle, he was convinced someone was behind him.
Grabbing an arrow, Kirkgordon turned and drew his bow. He struggled to hold his aim at the target’s head.
“Now, now, Churchy, feel free to have a go
od look. After all, it was what you wanted. You’re not telling me you didn’t want to take this flesh of mine?” Stood opposite was Tania, fully naked and tossing her head to one side, allowing her hair to swing round from behind her shoulder.
Oh damn, thought Kirkgordon. Her body was that of a young woman, free from blemish and pert in form. He fought the arousal, reminding himself of the situation he was in, of the warnings his friends had given. But part of him was enjoying the moment, while another part struggled to remain aloof. Oh damn. Her hips were good in jeans, but unveiled… oh damn.
More by habit than decision, his bow remained drawn. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Kirkgordon remembered that if he fired, he had no idea what the arrow would do. Trying to focus elsewhere, he brought Alana to mind, visualizing her in all her glory. The picture was exquisite and tapped his deepest urges.
“But she doesn’t accept you, does she?”
His throat went dry.
“Oh, I know you. Every bit of you. I know your desires, your longings. How she doesn’t like your new friends, how she hates your job. She doesn’t understand your importance, and you won’t tell her lest you frighten her away. Well, I don’t frighten. And this… this is how you like your women, is it not?”
Kirkgordon swallowed hard while taking in the view. There wasn’t a single blemish on her perfect skin. She seemed to be ideal in her proportions, and her forwardness and sheer nakedness set his inner wildness alight. But she was also poison, dangerous, playing on his relationship with Alana. Sweat broke out on his forehead. It dripped down into his eyes, stinging them. He became aware that he was shaking slightly, trembling at the anticipation of what would happen next. His stomach felt hollow. Part of him longed for the temptation to become true, to fulfil his desire to dominate this nymph standing in front of him. Deep inside his mind a voice said no, not worth the risk. But that voice seemed distant, calling from the depths of a chasm.
Gradually, Tania turned around, letting him feast his eyes on her in full. Having hooked her worm, she began to walk slowly towards Kirkgordon, her hips swaying hypnotically, begging to be grabbed. Paralysed by this spell of flesh, Kirkgordon held his bow upright, still drawn. She moved up against his body, letting his back feel the press of her breasts. One hand snaked around him before descending between his legs. Kirkgordon started and involuntarily his hand holding the bow in tension let go.
The arrow raced from the bow and flew at pace off to the right, hitting the wall. Kirkgordon heard the words “Succumb to my touch, have me!” before all sounds were overpowered by a wind that appeared from nowhere. Kirkgordon focused his archer’s eye on the spot where his arrow had landed. The wall became blurry and started to swirl. The cages in the room began to move towards where the arrow had landed and Kirkgordon felt Tania’s grip change from one of seduction to one of panic. Clinging to his body, she struggled to maintain a hold. Her feet whipped round in front of Kirkgordon. Cages began to crash past them, cracking open, and the animals fought to move away from the sucking void.
But Kirkgordon felt no pressure, no drawing force from the hole that was opening. He saw cages fly into the aperture and vanish, gone from sight in an instant. Then he felt something crash into his back and both he and Tania toppled forward to the ground. She was pulled instantly towards the hole. Some racking had blocked it and was bending and straining from the inward pressure. Her naked body crashed into the racking and was left pressed against it with her legs and arms being pulled towards the void.
“Help me!” Tania screamed. “Help me, Churchy. Help me, my love!”
Just let her go. Let her go. She’s brought us halfway to hell and this will put her to bed. It was Havers’ voice in his head, with an echo from Austerley. It was the wise course of action, the correct decision for the betterment of humanity. But she’s a person. Broken, yes, but still a person. You’re not like Havers. This was Father Jonah’s voice. And Alana was echoing it. She would reach out; she would always try to redeem him. And then yet another voice. She’ll be thankful, she’ll be beholden to you. A woman who’ll lay herself at your whim. Look at that body. Kirkgordon’s mind raced with all these thoughts as the racking bent further and Tania’s back slid off the metal. A flailing hand saved her and she swung from the remaining racking, feet dangling into the void.
He knew there was no decision, he had only one option. People with a conscience have to enact the noble course, not the correct one. Putting his bow across him, he reached out with both hands, grabbing Tania by the wrists. Her body was thumped by the racking as it broke and disappeared into the void. Cages flew past his head, animals consigned to whatever oblivion lay beyond. His arms screamed at the pain of her nails digging into his wrists as she put all her effort into escaping the blackness behind her.
Eventually, the void began to close and Tania fell to the floor. Kirkgordon stood for a moment looking at her naked form, part of him wanting to grab and comfort her, and then to love her. Another part told him it was a lie and she wanted to destroy what he was, wanted him only as a body for her pirate. When faced with such decisions, there is only one reaction for a man. As Tania turned her head up to view her saviour, she saw his heels disappearing through the secret door. And she laughed. A cackling, wild laugh, full of glee, lust and victory.
“Mine! You’ll be mine, Churchy!”
Only a Foot
Okay, huddle up everyone, it’s time to make a plan.” Kirkgordon had reconvened his meeting in the lounge and this time he was determined to leave with a plan of action. “Austerley, lay down the situation for us as you see it. Everyone else shut up. We need to get moving soon, so we can’t be doing with interruptions.” Austerley nodded and Kirkgordon’s stare swept around the room to declare that any disobedience would be swiftly dealt with.
“Right then. Sorry for earlier,” said Austerley. “As I said before, this is all subterfuge. Dillingham is still where it always has been. The GPS signal told me so. The fire in the sky is an illusion. Something is protecting the town from the outside world, but I don’t know what. If there were no shield or blockage then Havers’ people would be here by now.
“The ghosts are not an illusion but neither are they spirits of the dead. Rather, they have been summoned by someone, namely Tania, the care home worker, who is also a witch. She comes from a long line of witches, according to Miss Goodritch’s museum records, and is very powerful, especially for one so young. However, I understand her magic now and there are several defences I can use against it.
“I realized her deception when I saw the drawings at the museum. The ghosts, including Captain Smith, look exactly like those drawings, but they weren’t created until two hundred years after the event. There should be differences between the drawings and the real thing, but there aren’t any differences with our ghosts. Also, they show no surprise at modern technology, none at all. Therefore, they must have been conjured from a modern mind. The creatures are another matter. They seem to have been created by fusing different animals together. They are real and can be struck without requiring spiritual weapons.”
“They are Tania’s creations as well,” interrupted Kirkgordon. “I saw her little zoo at the care home. It’s destroyed now. There was a tiny accident with an arrow causing a vortex.”
“You let go a vortex arrow in a confined space? Are you mad? The instruction manual specifically says not to,” said Father Jonah, jumping to his feet.
“What instruction manual?” asked Kirkgordon.
“I told you to look inside the quiver. It’s all there, everything you needed for your bow.” Father Jonah was indignant.
“Where?” Kirkgordon was bemused.
The priest walked over to Kirkgordon’s quiver and pulled out a small piece of paper stuck on the inside.
“That’s it? Those are my instructions? No disrespect to you, Father, but that is totally inadequate.”
The priest shook the paper in his hand and before everyone’s eyes it swelled into a manual of at lea
st a hundred pages. Handing the book to Kirkgordon, the priest sat down, his face thunderous.
“I’ll continue then,” said Austerley. “I believe Farthington engaged Tania’s services in order to lure Havers, Kirkgordon and myself here. His intention was to bring our colleague Calandra here too but he miscalculated, and with things already in motion, he ran with what he had. He also didn’t appreciate Father Jonah’s powers. The sanctuary meant that we were safe from him. Since then, he has been waiting for our move. He has Havers and I suspect he will call our bluff. I think he will flaunt Havers in front of us and declare that he will kill him unless we come forward.”
“Then you can stay here and I will go,” said Wilson.
“He’s banking on Churchy there charging to the rescue. Unlike Havers, Kirkgordon will never leave someone behind,” said Austerley.
“He’s right, Wilson,” said Kirkgordon. “Havers may kill me himself for it but we will rescue him. But not before Indy here levels the playing field. Showtime, Indy. Let’s see what you’ve got from Miss Goodritch’s shopping trip.”
Austerley stood up on his good leg and Kirkgordon moved in beside him to act as a crutch. At Austerley’s instruction, Miss Goodritch brought in a bowl, some pots, some cups and a small table. Nefol brought in the items Miss Goodritch had collected and placed them on the table.
“I am going to do three things now,” said Austerley. “Number one, I will ascertain what is causing the shielding of Dillingham and whether we can destroy it. Two, I will try to find Havers. And three, I will eliminate all the ghosts and Captain Smith.”
When he’s not in a trance, drugged or in a bad mood, he’s devastatingly good at what he does, thought Kirkgordon. Which is just as well, because without Havers, I really need pointing in the right direction.