by Conrad Jones
‘Okay, I understand what you’re saying, but I’m not sure what is real and what isn’t. My imagination is working overtime today. Things have been a little strange, so forgive me if I seem confused.’ I smiled at her.
‘You have a nice smile.’
‘Thank you.’ I blushed.
‘You definitely saw him, didn’t you?’ She lowered her head and looked up at me with those eyes. It was as if she was looking into my mind for the answer.
‘Yes, I saw him,’ I replied.
‘Wait a minute. Who did you see, exactly?’ Peter asked, confused.
‘He saw the feeder; the man who killed Caroline Stokes.’ She looked Peter in the eye. She seemed to be as sane as the next person was.
‘You saw the man who killed Caroline Stokes?’ Peter asked, incredulous.
‘I didn’t kill her, he did.’
‘When did you see him?’ Peter emphasised the word ‘when’ and sounded very sceptical as he looked at me.
‘Just now, in the corridor,’ I confessed. ‘I thought it was the memory of the photographs replaying in my mind or my imagination playing tricks until Fabienne asked me about it.’
‘Really, and now what do you think it was?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘It was your imagination,’ Fabienne butted in. ‘But this time you imagined the truth. You saw what really happened not a story.’
‘Okay, if you believe I saw him, describe him to me.’ I wanted to know if she really knew what I had seen in my mind. I’m as sceptical as the next man when it comes to things like visions or premonitions. People with the power to speak to the spirits of the dead are something that I cannot accept easily, although the weight of evidence would suggest that there is something to it. I can’t explain it and I can’t understand it, therefore it’s not true. My sister, Libby, is a medium and she knows things about our late father that she shouldn’t know. He didn’t bring her up and she had no contact with him from about the age of six, but she knows things about him that that I can’t fathom.
‘Wait a minute,’ Peter interrupted. ‘Write down what you think you saw on here.’ He passed me a pen and a sheet of paper and I scribbled three lines on it. Peter looked at it, making sure that Fabienne couldn’t see it. ‘Okay, Fabienne, what did he see?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘He saw a man in a grey suit feeding on her. He was bald on top with grey hair around the sides and he wore a blue tie with a horse on it.’ She smiled at me because she knew it would shock me. ‘The horse was rearing-up. Am I right, Conrad?’
‘I didn’t see colours, Fabienne,’ I answered, after glancing at Peter for permission to reply. ‘I saw a bald man in a pale suit and tie, but I didn’t see any colours. I saw it in black and white.’
‘Some people only see shades. He was feeding though, right?’ She leant her head to the side childishly.
‘Yes,’ I answered.
‘Was she still alive?’ Fabienne asked quietly.
‘I think so,’ I whispered.
‘That’s what they do, you see.’ She turned to Peter as if he needed an explanation. ‘They believe the ultimate thrill is to look into their victim’s eyes as they die. They capture their soul, their strength and life force.’
‘What is a feeder, Fabienne?’ I asked. I didn’t know how long Peter was going to go along with this, so I wanted answers to the questions that we had asked ourselves repeatedly.
She looked down at her hands and her mind seemed to drift away. When she looked up at me again, she had tears in her eyes.
‘What do you know about the Nine Angels? I know that you wrote some stuff about them in one of your books, that’s why I recognised your name. They’ve talked about you before, you see. They hate you because your book caused them problems. But what do you really know?’
‘I know they were a satanic cult,’ I shrugged. ‘And I know they were fascists and that they were founded by important people.’
‘Why do you say ‘were’, past tense?’ Fabienne asked seriously.
‘Because I believe the founder renounced the organisation, moved to Canada and they disbanded,’ I answered. I wasn’t sure if that was the truth, but I wanted her to tell me about them, not the other way around. I didn’t want to give her anything she could twist into a story. ‘Am I wrong, are they still a functioning organisation?’
‘They are very much a functioning organisation.’ She looked at me with teary eyes. ‘There are millions of them and they’re everywhere. They go under many different names and guises, but they are the same.’
‘They began as different groups, though?’
‘Oh yes, many different groups.’ She smiled again. ‘Some are idiots looking for something different in their sad, mundane lives, but some of them are very real and very dangerous. The Nine ‘Angles’ were real and then the Nine Angels broke away from them.’
‘Why?’ Her use of the word ‘mundane’ hadn’t gone amiss, although it didn’t register with Peter.
‘Power.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow.’
‘The founder of the Angles left for America, where people are easier to find, if you know what I mean.’
‘Not really.’
‘They need followers to join their sinister and they need the mundane to sacrifice and feed on.’
‘The mundane being anyone not in the group, yes?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Do they worship Satan?’ I asked. Some experts that said the Nine Angels were a Gnostic religion, not devil worshippers, but their websites told me a different story.
‘Yes, they worship Satan, sex, violence, and money. They believe humanity is heading for extinction on this planet and that their beliefs will make the shapeshifters and planet-jumpers take them with them. They have a different way of life,’ Fabienne began.
‘Shapeshifters and planet-jumpers?’ I looked at Peter briefly. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. Satanic cults were difficult enough to believe, but planet-jumpers and shapeshifters were too far from his reality to entertain. ‘Let’s say Peter and I don’t accept that side of things. We need to know about what the human members are doing.’
‘Trying not to be human, basically.’ She laughed.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You must see how those spoilt little bitches go mad for the Twilight vampire and his nemesis the werewolf? Their panties are wet for them.’ She made her fingers into a claw shape and laughed. ‘They want a real handsome bloodsucker to fuck them and change them into immortals, don’t they?’
‘I suppose they do, in a romantic way.’
‘These people have the same desire. They want to be more than human, and they genuinely believe that they are, too. Some of them are.’
‘Tell us about it.’ I sat back fascinated by her eyes and her voice. I didn’t know whether what she was saying was true. It didn’t matter to me. There was an underlying truth in her analysis of the human mind. ‘How will the things they do here, save them?’
‘The Nine Angels believe civilisation as we know it will end in a world war, centred in the Middle East.’
‘Like in the ‘Book of Revelations’?’ I asked.
‘Yes. They think the world will go to war over oil and the West will grind to a halt. Anarchy will reign and only the organised will survive. That’s what they do. They organise. They’re building a global network so huge they’ll be able to rule when Armageddon comes. They’ll use the mundane as slaves and treat them like sheep waiting for the slaughter. The feeders think human blood will take them to another level and bring them closer to dharmakaya.’
‘What are feeders for, exactly?’ I repeated the question. I could understand the concept so far, but not all of it. I hadn’t heard the word dharmakaya before in any of my research. I had no idea what dharmakaya was. I had to pick it apart one thing at a time.
‘Feeders are trusted by the nexion to which they belong. They have proven themselves to be trustworthy by embracing the sinister and living by it
s code. Sacrifice and blood, enables them to be taken to the next level.’
‘What was that word you used, ‘dharmakaya’?’ I pretended not to remember it properly to prompt an explanation.
‘it’s the meaning of cosmic evil. As some believe in an almighty good, they believe in an evil which runs throughout the universe.’
‘And if they gain the trust of their nexion?’
‘They promise all the pleasures that society finds taboo. Sex with anyone you want, no matter what their age or if they’re consensual. They practice indulgence, not abstinence. They give money and power in return for loyalty. They do not tolerate other cultures or religions, and they encourage the ultimate sin: murder. The feeders are the members they use to assassinate those who get in the way of their plans. They kill their victims and drain their blood. They do it for effect to frighten others. That’s how they maintain their secrecy.’ She pressed her finger to her lips and made a gentle sshhh noise.
‘Do you believe that?’ Peter asked.
‘Do you?’ Fabienne snapped her reply.
‘Of course not.’ Peter sounded flustered. This was not the type of interview that he was used to. ‘It’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard.’
‘Are you a Christian, Sergeant?’ She tilted her head and looked into his eyes.
‘Yes, sort of.’
‘Then you will know that the Lord God accepted human sacrifice from the Jews.’ She smiled. ‘In the ‘Old Testament’, the ‘Book of Judges’, the Israelite warrior Jephthah is about to set off to make war on the Ammonites. In payment for victory, Jephthah promises God he’ll sacrifice the first ‘whatsoever’ that comes from his house to greet him upon his return. His daughter greeted him first.’
‘What has that got to do with anything?’ Peter snorted.
‘I’m trying to explain to you that human sacrifice to whichever god you believe in is as old as the hills.’
‘So, do you believe that their sacrifices and rituals are acceptable?’
‘No, don’t be ridiculous,’ she said sharply. ‘They’re perverts who justify their behaviour by saying that they believe. I’m giving it to you from their perspective. They farm us for their rituals.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. All of a sudden, she was associating herself as a victim. I’d believed all along that she was innocent and now she gave me something to latch on to.
‘They groom us as children. They scour the care homes, correction facilities, special schools, and hospitals for potential prey.’ She made her fingers into claws and laughed. ‘They groom children to take to their little services. They groom the children for their orgies, and when they grow up, they become like them.’
‘Did they groom you?’ I felt sick inside. I can’t abide paedophiles. I would gladly put a bullet into the back of their head rather than release them from prison. ‘Were you involved in their rituals?’
‘Yes, from a very young age. They had some of my brothers and sisters too. We were all in care, you see,’ she replied calmly. Her eyes reflected the sadness inside her as she thought about her siblings. I wanted to hold her tight and keep her safe. ‘‘They’re intelligent people with normal personas. They do not walk around with horns on their heads or tridents in their hands.’
‘They befriended you first?’ I asked the obvious, but I wanted every detail.
‘Yes, of course.’ Fabienne frowned. ‘Do you think we would have let them abuse us just because they wanted to?’
‘No,’ I stammered, embarrassed by my clumsy question. ‘Who were these people, Fabienne?’
‘I don’t know their real names.’
‘Where are they, then?’ I wanted them locked up. ‘Tell us where they are.’
Peter kicked me under the table. He was investigating Fabienne on suspicion of murder and I was trying to find out who had allegedly abused her. She could have been making it all up, but I doubted it. He wanted me to steer the conversation back to the murder.
‘Let’s get back on track. You said the feeder killed Caroline Stokes,’ Peter asked impatiently. He was annoyed. She’d hypnotised me to the point that I had forgotten he was there.
‘They did.’ A tear ran from her eye and rolled down her cheek.
‘How do you know?’ Peter pressed.
‘They wanted me to become a feeder because I see things, but I refused.’ She tried to wipe her eye, but the straps held her. I took a tissue from a box on the table and leant over. As I wiped her eye, she smiled. She was no killer. I could see a little lost girl in there behind the mask. ‘They have controlled me all my life, but I refused to join them completely and so they killed her.’
‘They killed Caroline as a warning to you?’ I asked.
‘No, she was sport.’ She turned to Peter defiantly. ‘I saw the mark on her. She was cut with the culling mark, wasn’t she?’
Peter didn’t answer her question. ‘Are you telling me that this cult, the Nine Angels, murdered Caroline Stokes as a warning to you?’
‘No, you idiot.’
‘Then who did they kill as a warning and why?’ Peter asked angrily.
‘They didn’t want me to run away and follow her.’ She sounded like a little girl. Another tear ran from her eye and trickled down her cheek.
‘Follow who?’ I asked.
‘Pauline Holmes,’ she sobbed, and her voice broke. Peter looked at me and raised his eyes to the ceiling as if he didn’t believe her. Then she dropped a bombshell: ‘Pauline Holmes was my younger sister.’
CHAPTER 11
The Order of Nine Angels
When I left the asylum, I headed home in a state of shock. Fabienne had remained rational throughout the interview and the information she gave us was mind-blowing. If it was true, then organised evil really did exist on our doorstep. I wasn’t sure back then how much credence I should give to the Niners, but now I’ve no doubt in my mind that they’re powerful and dangerous. I listened to Fabienne with an open mind, knowing she may be delusional but not believing that she was a killer. After speaking to her and listening to her story, I was convinced that she was both innocent and sane.
Peter followed me home and we arrived at the same time as my partner. She’d finished a long day at the office and seemed surprised to see Peter. They’d worked together many years before. She looked smart in her business attire, both professional and attractive. Her long dark hair was pulled back from her face and fastened in a bobble at the back. All the reasons that I was with her flooded back to me in a wave of emotions, tinged with sadness because I hadn’t tried as hard as I should have to keep the relationship alive. I had taken her for granted for far too long.
‘Hello, Peter.’ She smiled. ‘Is he in trouble again?’ she added, eyeing me coolly. My night in the cells had not been explained away yet and she wanted answers.
‘No, it was all a misunderstanding.’ Peter patted my back again and I winced with pain. ‘Conrad is helping me with a case. It’s all above board, honestly. He gets to follow an investigation and I get to pick his brains.’
‘I see.’ She walked in through the side gate and upstairs to the flat without saying a word to me. ‘You’d better be careful what you pick from his brains because I don’t know what’s been going on in there lately. His head is full of nonsense’
Peter looked at me and grimaced at the dig, which had been aimed at me. ‘Look, if you’re going to have a domestic, I’ll leave it until tomorrow if you like. Do you need some time alone?’
‘She’ll be fine,’ I whispered, so that she couldn’t hear me. If the truth be known, I thought that his presence would avert any fireworks, for a while anyway. We followed her into the flat and I closed both front doors behind us, ensuring that Evie Jones didn’t bolt for the beach in all the excitement. She didn’t know who to say hello to first, running from one person to the other, her claws skidding on the laminate, trying to find purchase.
‘Are you setting up your laptop?’ she shouted from the kitchen.
‘Yes, we’ll be in the dining room if that’s okay,’ I replied, making a fuss of the Staffie. ‘Come through here.’ I invited Peter into the back room.
Peter followed me into the dining room, which led off the hallway. It was a through room which led into the kitchen. A large picture window looked out onto the mountain, and the long oak dining-room table, which we never dined on, took up the centre space and doubled as a desk. We used to eat there in the early years of dating and share our tales of the day at work over a bottle of wine. It had been a long time since we had done that, and a twinge of guilt gripped me. I spent too long working or on the golf course and in the pub nowadays.
‘Do you want a beer while you work?’ she called.
‘Yes please.’
She walked in and plonked two bottles of Bud on the table. ‘I’m going to have a shower and clear some e-mails,’ she half smiled at me. ‘I presume you’ll be sleeping at home tonight or are you planning on assaulting anyone else?’
‘Yes, I’ll be sleeping here.’ I smiled back, although another spike of guilt stabbed me. I’ve been a fighter all my life, and I’ll be the first to admit there have been occasions where I’ve used my fists first and ended up in trouble. She hated that side of me. The truth hurts sometimes. ‘I’ll explain everything later as best as I can.’
‘You better had.’ She left and I could hear her padding up the hallway with the Staffie bouncing along behind her.
‘Sounds like you’re in trouble.’ Peter winked.
‘I’m always in trouble,’ I replied, swigging half the Bud in one go. ‘It’s the secret of a good relationship.’
I fired up the laptop and began searching for information. We talked in hushed voices as my partner worked in the next room. I didn’t want her frightened by what had happened over the last forty-eight hours. We found page after page of satanic blurb and I tried to explain their mindset to Peter in the space of a few hours.