by Conrad Jones
The smell of freshly cut wood had long since been replaced by must and mould, damp and decay. Armoured grey wood lice in their thousands scurried beneath my feet making the floor look alive. Every footstep seemed to crush a hundred of them, their crunching bodies threatening to give away my arrival. The loft above me was supported by a suspended wooden platform, thick curtains of grey cobwebs dangled from every crack in the floorboards. An antiquated giant bandsaw dominated the ground floor and I had to skirt around it to reach the front of the building.
I heard muffled voices upstairs. All male. Three at least. A rotten wooden staircase was the only access, its handrail splintered into several sections some of which dangled uselessly in the air. The aroma of fish and chips drifted to me. They were having their dinner, which was a bonus. I had hoped that my rescue mission would be simple and straightforward, after all, they weren’t expecting me. I planned to bamboozle them so much that they wouldn’t know what had hit them until it was too late.
I crouched at the bottom of the stairs and pulled on a black ski mask. I took a deep breath and sprinted up the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. I heard the conversation stop and a few surprised expletives were exchanged as my footsteps alerted them to my presence. As I reached the landing at the top, I shouted as loud as I could.
‘Armed police,’ I bellowed. I held the Mossberg tightly against my shoulder and knelt down to make myself a smaller target. ‘Get your hands up in the air now.’
The ski mask frightened them and combined with the dark military clothing which I was wearing, I hoped that they would think that I was part of an armed police unit long enough for me to disarm them. There were three men sat in a semicircle below the only window; the bald man who I’d seen outside, a grey bearded man in his sixties and an old biker-looking guy with sideburns and a ponytail. I couldn’t see any weapons, another bonus. The chairs were arranged around a small screen television, that was perched on an old crate. Ponytail stood up, his chips in one hand, raising his other above his head. His mouth was open revealing the half-chewed contents. I couldn’t take my eyes off them to look for Constance.
‘Don’t shoot,’ Greybeard joined Ponytail and stood up. ‘I can explain everything.’
‘Get your hands up, now.’ I screamed. They jumped visibly and complied; three bags of chips spilled in the dust. ‘Where is the girl?’
None of them spoke but their eyes involuntarily flickered to a point behind me. ‘Get on the floor, face down and do it now.’
Two of them responded quickly but Baldy hesitated and eyed me suspiciously. I fired a shot above him. The lead shot blew a hole in the roof bringing down a landslide of grit and filthy debris. It was more than enough to discourage him from arguing. He hit the floor like a sack of spuds giving me the opportunity to glance behind me. A young girl was sat on the floor tied to a roof support. She was gagged and blindfolded. Her long blond hair hung lankly to her shoulders. She was struggling against her restraints causing a small avalanche of dust to fall from the pitched ceiling, showering her with a powdery grime. ‘Stay calm, Constance,’ I shouted. ‘I’ll have you out in a minute.’
‘He’s not the police,’ Baldy hissed to the others.
‘What do you mean?’ whispered Ponytail.
‘He’s on his own.’
‘Shut up.’ I shouted. I walked over to them and put my haversack on the floor. ‘I’m the man that barbecues Niners,’ I looked at their reactions, ‘one wrong word from any of you and I’ll blow your balls off, get it?’ They nodded that they understood, the colour draining from their faces. ‘Get up, Baldy,’ I aimed the gun as I spoke. He was the mouthy one and therefore the one most likely to cause me problems. ‘Sit on the chair.’
He sat down as instructed. ‘She’ll find you eventually,’ he sneered. ‘You have no idea what she is.’ The look on his face was one of disdain, disgust and an almost perverse superiority. ‘You’re a dead man but you haven’t realised it yet. Do you know what she is? I don’t think you have a clue what she can do to those who cross us.’ His expression of disgust really bothered me.
‘She doesn’t scare me.’ I lied.
‘She’ll eat you alive, you fool.’
‘She hasn’t done so far.’
‘Do you have any idea how many of us there are?’ he scoffed like a schoolboy bragging about how big his dad is. ‘Taking your daughter is just a message. It’s nothing to what we can do to you. You do not understand what we are capable of.’
‘Maybe not but the mistake that you’re making is not understanding what I’m capable of.’ I saw fear in his eyes as I raised the gun. I pulled the trigger twice and blew the annoying expression off his face, along with his head. Ponytail whimpered like a wounded dog and Greybeard retched. Blood and globules of grey matter splattered their faces. Constance let out a scream, the sound muffled by the gag. ‘Constance,’ I called, ‘I need you to stay still and do not panic, no matter what you hear. I’ll come and untie you in a couple of minutes. Do you understand me?’
She nodded silently although I could see her legs were trembling and a puddle of urine began to spread beneath her. I turned my attention back to the horrified Niners. ‘I was going to tie you up and leave you here until the police arrived but I’m beginning to get the impression that you lot think that I’m some kind of cockroach running and hiding under a rock somewhere.’
‘I don’t think that,’ Ponytail stuttered.
‘I’m not hiding from you perverts,’ I explained calmly. ‘I’m hunting you.’ I smiled, but they didn’t return the gesture. ‘I guess I’m going to have to spell it out to that bitch and the rest of you, that if you try to hurt the people that I know or my family then you’ll pay tenfold with your lives. Get up, Ponytail.’
He put his hands together as if in prayer. ‘Please don’t kill me.’ His eyes were closed so that he couldn’t see the ruined body of his friend. ‘I’ll do anything you ask if you let me live.’
‘Okay, let’s see shall we,’ I tossed a bundle of cable ties onto the floor in front of him. ‘Tie him up with those, two around the ankles and two around the wrists.’
Ponytail scurried off on his hands and knees. His hands were shaking so much that he fumbled clumsily with the zip ties. He avoided looking at the headless corpse which was still sitting upright on its chair. The cloying smell of excrement mingled with the coppery smell of blood. Baldy’s bowels had relaxed upon death, releasing his waste into his trousers. ‘Your friend is starting to stink already,’ I commented on Baldy’s deterioration. ‘Do you think he’s gone to help Fabienne’s boss on the dark side?’
Ponytail just stared at me his lip shaking like an epileptic pink slug beneath his moustache. He obviously didn’t have an opinion to share with me. ‘I don’t think he’s gone to hell to be a dark angel,’ I offered mine regardless. ‘I think he’s just a dead paedophile with shit in his pants.’
Tears ran from Ponytail’s eyes.
‘Was he married?’ I asked.
Ponytail nodded.
‘Kids?’
Another affirmative nod.
‘I feel sorry for them, don’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Not because their father is dead,’ I said making sure that he understood my point, ‘because they’ll find out what their father really was. That’s the sad part. You see, I don’t get it,’ I kept the gun on him and crouched down to his eye level. ‘How can you have kids of your own but abuse someone else’s child?’
Silence.
‘Take his phone off him,’ I ordered once the bonds were fixed to Greybeard. Ponytail rummaged through his pockets and brought out a Samsung. ‘Put it on camera mode.’ His hands shook as he scrolled through the apps until he found it. ‘Select video mode.’ His eyes widened in shock as the realisation of his dilemma dawned on him. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you want anyone to realise what you’ve done? Family, wife, kids, boss, workmates?’
‘I’d rather die.’ His eyes glazed over a
nd he stood up. He dropped the Samsung onto the floor and stamped on it with his right foot. The screen split and the casing clattered across the dusty boards in several pieces.
‘Okay.’ I sighed. His eyes focused on me as the enormity of what he’d said hit home. I squeezed the trigger twice more blasting him off his feet, two bloody rents in his chest pumped his life fluid onto the floor. His lacerated lungs hissed like a punctured balloon in a bath of water. ‘Some people just don’t like disappointing their loved ones, eh?’ I said to Greybeard. ‘How do you feel about it?’
‘I don’t want to die,’ he croaked, his voice breaking. ‘I tried to get out of this, years ago.’
‘You didn’t try hard enough,’ my sympathy was non-existent. I searched Baldy’s pockets and took his Blackberry. The stench was now palpable. ‘I’m going to call the police now and when I’ve explained where we are, you’re going to tell the operator who you are and what you’ve done. Understand?’ He closed his eyes and nodded. I dialled 999 and asked for the police. ‘I need the police at the saw-mill near Benllech,’ I paused, ‘Constance Bonner, the kidnapped girl from the Midlands is being held here. There have been gunshots and there are two dead.’
The operator began asking a stream of questions, but I placed the phone on the floor next to Greybeard’s head. ‘Tell them who you are and why she was kidnapped,’ I aimed the gun at his head. ‘If you lie once, your brains will be all over that wall.’
‘My name is David Moor and I’m involved in the kidnapping of the girl.’
‘Tell them her name,’ I ordered.
‘Her name is Constance Bonner.’
‘Tell them why.’
‘She was kidnapped because she’s the daughter of Conrad Jones.’
‘Tell them who you belong to.’
‘I’m a member of the Order of Nine Angels.’
I left him sobbing in the dirt and ran to Constance. I cut through her bonds and lifted her to her feet. I removed the gag and pulled off her blindfold. Her eyes showed terror in them. I realised that I still had the ski mask on. Pulling it off, I reached for a bottle of water and put it to her lips. She gulped thirstily from it. I could see her mother in her features, but I didn’t recognise any of mine. Not that it mattered now, but I knew there and then that she wasn’t my blood. I kept my body between her and the carnage behind me. ‘I want you to close your eyes while I carry you down the stairs, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she said her voice a whisper.
I lifted her like a doll and carried her quickly down the creaking steps. The double doors were unlocked, and I put my back against them and pushed them open. The fresh air was invigorating, a stark contrast from the reek of death. I put her down on the weed strewn tarmac that led to the road. The sound of the first responding police car whined in the distance. ‘Now I need you to trust me okay?’
‘Okay,’ she whispered again. ‘I want my mummy.’
‘The police are coming,’ I cocked my head and smiled. ‘Can you hear them?’
Constance nodded and bit her lip. ‘I thought you were the police.’
‘No, but I had to tell the bad men that,’ I shook my head. ‘Now listen to me. I need you to run down this road until the police car reaches you, okay?’
‘I’m scared,’ she tightened the grip on my hand. ‘I want to stay with you until they get here.’
‘I know you’re frightened but I’m going to stay here and make sure that none of the bad men follow you, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Now run.’
Constance took one last teary look at me and then bolted down the road. She moved quickly for one so young. I waited until a curve in the road hid her from view and then I sprinted into the rapeseed and headed back the way I’d come. I knew that she’d be safe now. My hunt for Fabienne Wilder would continue but I knew then that I had to intensify my search for her before she got to my family and friends again. Once she was dead, I could try to restart my life somewhere. That was my plan, but as usual my plans would turn to dust in front of my eyes.
CHAPTER 1
With Constance safe, I had to reassess how to find my target. Their belief that Fabienne was indeed a goddess was undoubtedly the root of their loyalty. They feared her and revered her too. She’s their living Jesus. I didn’t believe that she is and my goal was to remove her from the face of the earth. When I found her, I planned to kill her very publicly so that her followers couldn’t fail to know that she was dead and gone. I wanted to make sure that pictures of her dead body were broadcast across the world so that they would realise that she was nothing more than an evil bitch with a sick twisted mind.
***
That was the plan then and things went quiet for a while. In my search for her, I’ve moved from one place to another running from the law and hunting her followers along the way. The Order of Nine Angles is the most depraved religious tract on this planet and because I’d exposed some of their members in a book, they’d tried to kill me. I am both hunter and hunted. Up until a few months ago, there was no sign of Fabienne and her Niners, as they like to call themselves. I’d almost given up finding her until I met Max Blackman.
Although I was becoming expert at tracking them down using the mobile phones I took from the dead ones, I hadn’t had a sniff at the whereabouts of Fabienne Wilder for months. She’d sent me a message, months before telling me that she was carrying my child, but I’d heard nothing since then. Looking back, some may say that it’s because she told me that she was pregnant that I’m plagued by my recurring nightmare, but I know the dreams began months before she called me. Maybe I knew that she was pregnant. I don’t believe that she’s immortal but there was definitely a mental connection between us. I’m forever sceptical about such things but then I’m always sceptical about things which have no plausible scientific explanation. Whatever it was, my search for her had gone cold.
It was quite by accident that I stumbled across Blackman, although the circumstances in which he became infamous had sent ripples of fear across the world. The newspapers and television were plastered with the news of the arrest of a Welsh man called Dewi Critchley. He was originally arrested for the kidnap and rape of a young man who lived locally but when the police searched his farmhouse, the dismembered remains of numerous unidentified males were found. Human organs were found in the fridge and freezer and Critchley was in the process of cooking a human liver in the oven. They’d discovered the lair of a serial killer that they did not know existed. Echoes of Dennis Nilsen and Jeffrey Dahmer sounded across the Western World, another cannibal killer discovered by accident.
Critchley was big news, but the story only began to interest me when it became clear that he was an occultist. The more the evidence was uncovered, the more convinced I was that his murders were committed to satisfy his ritual fantasies. Initially, there was only a drip feed of information from the police, but I was immediately suspicious that he was a Niner. An altar had been discovered in his cellar along with human remains and ceremonial paraphernalia. Ornately carved goblets contained congealed human blood and a selection of razor-sharp ceremonial knives were collected and sent away for DNA examination. I saw television pictures of the cellar under forensic examination. They’d sprayed luminol, a chemical that exhibits chemiluminescence, creating a striking blue glow when it comes into contact with blood trace. It reacts with iron found in haemoglobin. The glow lasts for about thirty seconds, but the effect can be documented by a long-exposure photograph. The cellar floor was awash with blood splatter. Investigators said it was equivalent to testing the killing floor of a slaughterhouse.
Dewi Critchley had converted the cellar beneath his farmhouse into a full-blown satanic temple. His farmhouse was situated on the green slopes of the Dee Valley, close to Snowdonia on the outskirts of a village called Carrog. The village consists of a few dozen houses, a post office, a church, a primary school and a pub, all clustered around a 17th century stone bridge spanning the river. Wooded slopes rise steeply on either s
ide, turning into dramatic rocky crags near the summits. The surroundings are picture postcard and the beautiful setting is the last place that you would expect such evil to be cultivated. The truth is that buildings and places are not evil it’s the people who dwell there that manifest its power.
When I searched the Internet for historical news of occultism in the area, a string of reports in the local papers reported the desecration of churches and graveyards going back to late 1980s. The more I searched, the more I found. As I’ve said many times, google it if you don’t believe me. Search for ‘witches in North Wales’ and a dozen articles appear on the first page. The spate of vandalism was put down to a handful of bored teenagers, but the more I looked into them, the more it was obvious that the vandalism and daubing of occult symbols on churches was only the tip of a black iceberg. Satanism had a foothold in the mountains and valleys of North Wales.
Over the following weeks, the police released numerous updates about the gory findings at the farmhouse and photographs of Critchley were published as his neighbours scrabbled to earn a few pounds from the ravenous press, by rooting out their old pictures. They ranged from class photographs at school, to images of him in the background at family functions. One of them pictured Critchley dressed in a goatskin robe during some kind of fancy-dress party. The numeral 9 was painted below his left ear in what looked like blood. The Press assumed it was an upside down 6, as in 666, the mark of the Devil, but I recognised it as the mark of a Niner. That was all the proof I needed to convince me that he was a member of the Order of Nine Angels. My ears pricked up when I realised that he was definitely involved with the cult and I followed the news closely as I packed up my meagre belongings.