Sleep refused to come. An hour passed, during which I stared at my ceiling and thought about Gary and Lizzy, unable to drive them from my mind. How had he gotten out of his grave and made the six mile trip to the ranch? By his own account, Lizzy’s coffin was fragile and he had dug down to it twice, so the earth would be relatively loose and it would have been easier for her than Gary to get out. But he lay in a new coffin under hard packed earth.
So how the fuck did he do it? I asked myself again. How?
One could go mad trying to comprehend what had happened and how it could have happened. I shook my head. Unbelievable, just god damn fucking unbelievable. And how had he gotten inside the house without waking us up? Did he just materialize, passing through the walls like a ghost? I immediately dismissed that, told myself it was impossible and then recalled what I’d seen in my peripheral vision when I had sprinted into Lizzy’s room. A light breeze was moving the curtains back and forth. She must have opened the window before going to bed.
‘So that was how the cunt had gotten in,’ I muttered, although the thought of Gary’s corpse climbing up the side of the house seemed ludicrous as well as terrifying.
Then why didn’t he take her out the same way? Why did the sonofabitch have to go through my door like a tank and how the fuck did he do that?
Because he was trying to get away from Mick and Keith, that’s why. They’d driven him out of the room.
I looked at them, fast asleep in their crates, their limbs twitching as if they were chasing something in their dreams.
The longer I thought about the previous night’s events, the more questions it raised, the ones demanding most of my attention being how and why Gary had come back and murdered Lizzy? She had said that the entity couldn’t hurt her and Father Kearney’s blessing and my regular sprinkling of holy water around the property had apparently kept it away. Therefore, I concluded that the entity had sent something that could hurt her, something physical. I assumed that it had elicited Aritenkhede’s help in bringing Gary back and then manipulated his emotions as it had before. As to why he had killed her I could only speculate. Perhaps he was only supposed to torture her as per the entity’s original intent, but when he realized what she meant to me, that I had what he wanted most, then maybe Gary had decided to take Lizzy away. Permanently. I thought it ironic that the entity had sent him after Gary had gone to such lengths to destroy his body and I wondered if he had guessed its intent. His journal certainly gave that impression. As I tried to understand what had happened, my gut feeling told me that I was still in danger and I wondered if Gary would return to North Oak and if there was anything that Father Kearney or I could do to prevent that, such as an exorcism. Then I remembered that the church takes a long time to consider and then either deny or approve each request and even though I thought I could convince Father Kearney that my dead brother had killed Lizzy and that I was in danger, I suspected that he wouldn’t be able to convince the church. They’d think he was a loon. I wouldn’t blame them as it was a bizarre mixture of soap opera and horror movie. I began to despair, cursing Gary and his love of the occult.
I should really burn his books, I thought. Especially that fucking grimoire.
Books.
A Guide to the Old Religion. Richard Beaumont. I had read a few articles about him on the internet and watched some interviews on YouTube. He was an interesting man. One of the things he had said when discussing exorcism, something that he claimed to have performed many times, had stuck with me.
‘If the entity that you’re attempting to exorcise has been around longer than Christianity, then performing a Christian exorcism is not going to work.’ When pressed by the interviewer to elaborate, Beaumont said, ‘Christianity will mean nothing to it because it existed before Jesus was born, before the bible was written, before the religion was founded. It won’t believe in the Christian depiction of God, Jesus Christ, the archangels, none of that. It’ll just laugh at you.’
Gary hadn’t believed in Christianity and it was obvious that, as one of Aritenkhede’s disciples, neither did the entity. The occult dictionary had described the kingdom of Katoremseh as ancient, but I couldn’t remember if it had existed before Christ. I eased myself out of bed and walked into my office. With great difficulty, I opened the cupboard, took out the encyclopedia and turned the pages until I came to a short entry on Katoremseh.
Katoremseh was an ancient African Nubian kingdom that existed between 1710 BC and AD 157. Situated on the confluences of the River Atbara, White Nile and the Blue Nile, at its peak, the Katoremsien empire ruled over what is now Jordan, Israel, Egypt and northern Sudan.
I hadn’t expected much from an encyclopedia that was devoted to the occult, but was still surprised by the scant information it contained. Wikipedia would probably go into greater detail, but with burnt and bandaged fingers trying to use the PC would be painful, infuriating and difficult. I put back the encyclopedia and sat on the floor, thinking.
If Beaumont’s opinion was correct – and I was beginning to believe it was - then Father Kearney’s blessing hadn’t worked, which would explain why Gary had gotten onto the property but didn’t explain why we hadn’t seen the entity. If that was the case, then I needed an expert on the occult, like Beaumont. As much as I liked Father Kearney, I was beginning to wonder if the Catholic Church’s understanding of the occult was as accurate or as knowledgeable as I’d been led to believe. However, in order to contact Beaumont, I would need to find his details online and then either email or call him. Heather could do that for me but it would generate questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer, at least not yet. The other possibility was to ask Father Kearney, but then I’d have to admit that the blessing hadn’t worked and that I didn’t believe the church could help me, which would be an insult to a kind hearted man and his faith.
I sighed, stood up, ambled downstairs and took some more painkillers, which Jack had placed in a saucer for me to hoover up, a glass of water with a straw beside it. Then I sat at the kitchen table and tried to think of a solution to my dilemma, eventually deciding that I’d ask Heather to find Beaumont’s contact details for me and just put up with the questions. After that I stared at the wall, trying not to think about Lizzy and failing. Tears streamed down my face and I felt a canine jaw rest itself upon my thigh. I looked down to find Mick’s soulful eyes staring into mine. Tentatively placing my hand on his head, I told him he was a good boy and repeated myself when Keith also demanded attention. Remembering that I’d last fed them the day before, I got up and tried to open a bag of dried dog food but could barely grip it. I swore and wondered what I was going to give them, then recalled that Jack had made sandwiches, which I’d barely touched. We were halfway through the third one when Heather arrived carrying five bags of groceries, knocking on the front door and then walking inside.
‘Hello?’
‘In here,’ I called from the kitchen.
‘I didn’t know what you had in the house,’ Heather said as she strolled into the room, her eyes widening when she saw me. ‘Holy shit! Dad said it was bad, but … man. You’ve got bandages all the way up to your goddamn armpits! And Mick! Jeez!’
‘He tell you what happened?’
‘Uh-huh,’ Heather said as she carefully hugged me. ‘Hope they catch the fuckers.’ She looked at the unopened bag of dog food on the floor and then at the sandwiches on the table. ‘When did the pups last eat?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Okay. What do you want for dinner? I got steak or fish. Take your pick.’
I chose steak.
Heather walked over to the fridge and stopped in front of it, staring at the door. I’d forgotten about the photographs that I had Blu-Tacked to it: a selfie of Lizzy and me making silly faces and below it, a shot of Lizzy hugging Mick and Keith. Jack must have seen them, along with Lizzy’s stuff that was scattered around the house, but he’d made no comment, which was typical of him. We only discussed my romantic life if I
brought it up first.
Heather turned and looked at me, glanced at Lizzy’s coat, which hung on the rack near the door and then at her hiking boots, sitting next to mine on the doormat. She jerked a thumb at the photographs. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Maddie.’
She waited expectantly.
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Heather looked at me quizzically. I wasn’t in the mood and it obviously showed in my face because her expression softened and she smiled.
‘Okay. If you change your mind, let me know.’
I nodded and gave her a weak smile, but it wasn’t going to happen. Not ever.
She fed Mick and Keith, unpacked my groceries and then began chopping up vegetables, the sounds and smells of cooking reminding me of Lizzy. Tears filled my eyes and I hastily wiped them away before Heather could notice. Thirty minutes later, she put a plate in front of me, the food cut into small, easy to manage pieces.
‘Think you can handle a fork okay?’
‘I’ll give it a go,’ I said, looking at my right hand. Flexing it was a definite no no. Major pain. I wondered if I could wedge the fork between my thumb and forefinger. I tried. Didn’t work.
‘Here, let me,’ Heather said and sat down beside me. She skewered a forkful of steak and vegetables. ‘Now open wide for Mommy.’
I frowned at her.
She grinned. ‘Come on, or you’ll not get dessert.’
‘Fuck off.’
The grin widened. ‘Stop being a miserable pussy and just open your fucking mouth will you?’
Unable to stop myself, I grinned back and she took the opportunity to load the fork’s contents into my mouth. I chewed for a moment, looking at her. ‘It’s a wonder that a classy lady like you is still single.’
‘I know. I’m too high-toned for the guys around here.’
Heather speared another forkful of food and aimed it at me. I opened my mouth.
‘You need someone to come in and take care of you,’ she said.
‘I’ve hired a nurse.’
‘That’s gonna cost.’
‘Yeah, well, what else am I gonna do?’
She shrugged, sighing. ‘True. What about cooking and cleaning?’
‘Hadn’t thought about it.’
‘I’ll ask around, see what I can do.’
‘Thanks.’
‘When is the nurse coming round?’
‘Five.’
‘I’ll stick around, check her out.’
‘You’re over protective.’
The grin returned. ‘Of course. And so are you.’
I looked at her in surprise. ‘I am?’
Heather nodded. ‘Yup. Remember when we were kids and Roddy O’Kelly was teasing me because the other girls in my grade had started growing boobs but I hadn’t?’
I thought for a moment, the memory returning like an old and faded movie. ‘Oh yeah, vaguely.’
‘You punched him in the face. He went down like a sack of potatoes. One punch. He was bigger than you, too.’
‘Sonofabitch deserved it.’
‘Your dad went ballistic, although I think he was secretly proud of you.’
‘Yup. Happy days.’
Heather did as promised and quizzed the nurse when she arrived, surprising me with un-Heather-like subtlety, then turned to me and said, ‘I’ll come over tomorrow morning around eight. Feed the dogs and fix you breakfast. Gotta run some errands in town anyway.’
‘You’re a star.’
She grinned again. ‘I know. I hate to leave you.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Sure?’ She wasn’t convinced. ‘What will you do with yourself when Naomi here-’ Heather gave the nurse a dazzling smile. ‘-goes home?’
‘Try and sleep.’
‘Okay, good. You need it. Well, call me. For anything. Even if it’s just for a chat.’
‘Sure. I’ll get one of the pups to dial your number. About time they learned to use a phone.’
Heather glanced at my hands and then gave me a chastising look, but she was smiling. ‘Yeah yeah yeah. Sarcastic sonofabitch. I forgot, okay?’
I smiled back. ‘Sorry. Not at my best right now.’
She dismissed my apology with a wave of her hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep.’
Heather kissed me on the cheek and then I watched her walk outside. I missed her already.
~
At eleven-fifteen I woke up covered in sweat, my hair wet and sticking to my scalp, the sheets soaked. I felt disconnected from reality, the world around me feeling incorporeal. Lizzy’s murder had taken on a hazy, distant quality and seemed so ridiculous, so unlikely, that I was convinced I had dreamt the entire event. The conviction was so strong, I got up and walked into Lizzy’s room and turned on the light, expecting to see her in bed, fast asleep. The evidence of Gary’s visit tore that conviction away with a violence that shredded me. I stared at the dent in the wall were Keith had hit it. The rumpled sheets and at Lizzy’s copy of Mansfield Park, which still lay on the floor. A photograph of Lizzy with her sister and mother, also lying on the carpet. Joe Hyams had included it in his biography and I had scanned and then printed it, bought a frame, wrapped it up and presented it to Lizzy. She had cried and hugged me fiercely. Lizzy told me that one of the studio’s photographers had taken it shortly after her mother and sister moved to Los Angeles. I sat down on the bed and gazed at it for a long time, tears trickling down my cheeks, then left her room, wandering aimlessly around the house, unable to sit still for more than a few minutes, the urge to escape the memories that each room generated causing me to move on. Lizzy was everywhere. A cardigan draped over the back of a chair. Her rapidly growing collection of P. G. Wodehouse books in the living room. Knick-knacks she had picked up during our numerous rambles around Bronson County.
I shuffled into my bathroom to use the toilet, starting when I caught sight of a hollow eyed unshaven stranger in the mirror, looking away quickly when I realized it was me. Every room felt freezing cold even though I’d turned up the thermostat to eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit and I wandered around, shivering. At one point I found myself in the kitchen staring into my fridge with no memory of walking into the room. I wasn’t hungry anyway. I shut the fridge door and went into the TV room and using my foot, managed to turn on the television, the channel already tuned to TCM. I watched a Laurel and Hardy movie and then a Fred MacMurray comedy without really seeing or hearing what was going on, still unable to get warm despite the thick rug I’d draped over myself.
When the Fred MacMurray film ended, I went back to bed and lay there wondering how quickly Richard Beaumont could-
Shit.
I had forgotten to ask Heather to Google him and then dial his number for me.
Oh well, I thought as I drifted towards sleep, I’ll ask her in the morning.
I awoke a few hours later, sitting up with a jerk, a loud noise from outside yanking me from a light sleep, and looked at my clock radio. 4.21 a.m. I got up and using my elbow, turned on the light and then listened, not daring to breathe in case it muffled another sound. I looked at Mick and Keith. They were sitting up in their crates, ears pricked, staring at the window.
Fear twisted my stomach into a tight knot.
Oh God no not again, I thought. Not now, not before I’ve had a chance to speak to Beaumont.
Without my hands, I wouldn’t be able to protect myself and my medication made me feel groggy. Mick probably felt the same and was in no state to protect his master, which left Keith. On his own, his chances against Gary were slim, none existent if it was the entity.
I listened for a few minutes, but the only sound I heard was an owl hooting outside and then a coyote howling a mile or so away. The owl hooted a few more times, then stopped.
Total silence.
I called Keith, Mick rising too, and went over to his crate, rubbed his scalp with my foot and told Mick that he was a
lovely, brave fella but he had to stay put, then walked onto the landing, turned on the lights and peered over the bannister. Light fell down the stairs and cast a second-hand glow across the reception hall. I stood completely still, listening, but heard nothing. Keith stood beside me, ears still pricked. He looked calm, merely curious about the noise outside, which reassured me. We walked around the house and checked the locks – not an easy task with bandaged hands - and returned to my room, Mick’s tail thumping against his bed as we walked inside.
‘False alarm, boys,’ I said. ‘Probably a raccoon.’
I was climbing into bed when someone knocked on the backdoor.
‘Fuck’s sake!’
Muttering additional expletives, I hauled myself out of bed and walked downstairs, the knocking growing louder and more insistent.
‘All right all right!’ I yelled as I entered the kitchen. ‘I’m coming! Just gimme a minute!’
As I wasn’t expecting burglars to announce themselves by hammering on my door, I didn’t feel threatened, neither did it occur to me to ask who it was. In my drugged, half-asleep state, I assumed that it was either Jack, Heather or Tony.
I switched on the porch light, mumbled, ‘This is gonna fucking hurt,’ then gripped the door key, which was still in the lock, and turned it. Pain screamed up my arm, then briefly downgraded to an angry shout while I gripped the handle between my left elbow and right wrist. More screaming pain. On the second attempt, I managed to get it open a few inches, then a few more until the door’s weight took over and it slowly swung towards me.
‘This better be-’
Lizzy stood on the porch, and apart from a gash in her forehead, she was as whole and as unhurt as she had been before Gary had crawled into her room.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Black Rite Page 18