Angels Bleed (Fallen Angels Book 1)

by Max Hardy

  Tiny slivers of light from the Security Lamps on the tower squeezed through slits in the boarded up windows, their beams alive with dancing dust as he walked down the corridor, his torch exposing glimpses of abandoned offices to his right. He let the beam investigate each room as he passed, searching out any sign of occupancy before moving onto the next. Tiles gave way to ripped up parquet flooring as he went further into the hospital, the torch beam picking out some scuffed dirt heading off to an opening on the right. In the opening was a door hanging off its hinges leading to a descending stairwell. It was in complete darkness. He shone the torch onto the steps just as a large rat scurried down them. He stepped through the broken door and headed down the circular stairs, the darkness engulfing him from behind as he moved further away from the rivulets of lights coming through the upstairs windows. The sound of the chattering trees also abated, leaving him surrounded by silent nothingness, only the iris of the torch shedding light into his world. The circular beam charted his course all the way down the stairs into another corridor which led away to his left. In the distance, a gentle light oozed from a door that was slightly ajar. He cautiously walked towards it, torch beam on the ground to ensure he didn’t trip over anything and make a sound. He stared at the floor, noticing tram marks in the dust and the odd footprint. He let the beam scan from left to right, noticing closed iron cell doors on either side. Half way towards the light, he saw a normal door on his right, closed, with a lot of scuff marks and footprints on the floor outside. He placed an ear up against it and listened for a second. He could hear a faint thrum. He continued down the corridor, the atmosphere close, cold and cloying, the odour even more intense, now flowered with the unmistakable aroma of faeces.

  Saul arrived at the slightly open Cell door and switched his torch off, his eyes scanning the gap, looking and listening for signs of life within. His movements were alert as he gently pushed the door, taking in a wider area, seeing the faded, filthy padded walls. The room was silent. He pushed further, an empty wooden chair coming into view. It was bolted to the floor and unfastened head, arm, leg and chest restraints hung loose over its frame. A single light shone from a recessed lamp high in the padded ceiling above it. He forced the door open suddenly, pushing it back against the wall in the room, positioning himself ready for an attack coming from behind it. There was no one there.

  He walked up to the chair and noticed a red tinge to the edge of the restraints. He ran a finger along one of the wrist straps, looking at the residue imparted, then lifted the finger to his tongue and tasted it. It was blood. He took in the rest of the room, his attention caught by the small camera lens on the wall the chair was facing. His gaze moved from the camera, to the chair, to his blood stained finger, his countenance contemplative. He gave the cell one last scan, then walked quietly back down the corridor, to the door with the scuff marks outside. He tentatively held the circular door knob and twisted it slowly. It squeaked slightly and he grimaced at the sound, stopping and listening intently for any noise within the room. There was just the gentle thrum from inside. He turned the knob further until it clicked open, then carefully started to push. Within the darkness he could just make out tiny green flashes of light bouncing off the wall to the left of the door. He tensed once again, readying himself, as he forced the door completely open, stepping into the room quickly, prepared for an assault. None came. He put his flashlight on and highlighted the source of the green lights. They were LED’s on the front of monitors on a desk to his right. He reached for the wall just inside the door to his left and, finding a light switch, flicked it on.

  Apart from the desk, which was loaded with monitors, the only other thing in the drab, lifeless room was a chair in front of the desk. He sat down in it, eyes scanning the desk surface as he switched on the bank of monitors in front of him. There was a keyboard and mouse on the surface and next to them, an old white mobile phone. He took a handkerchief out of his inside pocket and gingerly picked the phone up, putting as little pressure as possible on the keypad as he opened the menu and went to the last call list. The last calls were dated 1st January 2013 at 12:03 am and 31st December 2011 at 11:35 pm. The number was withheld on both calls. He then switched to the text message screen and opened the last message. It simply said, ‘Enjoy the power, I will see you soon. E x’. There was no phone number against the text. He wrapped in in the handkerchief and slid it into his inside jacket pocket, looking up to screens in front of him.

  His attention was immediately drawn to a screen on his left which displayed an image of the drawing room in Featherstone Hall. He was drawn to it because there was someone in the room. It was Jessica. She was walking toward the crate and looking up at the plasma TV, at Jacob’s serene face. Saul looked surprised and concerned, searching out a volume control. He found one and turned the volume up.

  ‘What the hell are you doing Jess?’ he said to himself as he leaned in closer, raising a hand to the screen and stroking a finger down the pixels of her body.

  ‘Hello. Is anyone listening?’ he heard Jessica ask, watching as she saw her own image on the Plasma TV and turn around to face the direction of the camera. She walked slowly towards the location of the camera, her body getting larger, until eventually, her whole head filled the screen in front of Saul.

  ‘If you can hear me, me name is Jessica Seymour.’ she started, her demeanour determined, her tone controlled with a commanding gravitas. ‘I own Featherstone Hall. I also own the Limousine that brought Rebecca and Michael Angus to this location on the night of his murder. I was in Edinburgh on the 31st December 2011 and the 1st January 2012 at the same time they were at a Masquerade Ball. I came back here with them, and I killed Michael Angus.’ she finished forcefully, glaring into the camera and holding her determined stare as she waited for a response.

  ‘Jess, don’t do this. You weren’t there, you were with me.’ Saul whispered under his breath, his features concerned as he stroked her cheek. He saw her turn to the left quickly, looking at someone then shaking her head before turning back to the screen.

  ‘I am Madame Evangeline.’ she stated, her countenance challenging anyone who was watching to disagree.

  ‘Oh Jess, what a brave, selfless, bloody stupid thing to do.’ Saul said, listening intently, as was Jessica, for any reply. Only the constant beep of the heart monitor invaded the silence of anticipation. He watched her face carefully, seeing the disappointment enter her eyes as no reply to her admission was forthcoming. She turned from the camera and he watched her figure shrink as she got further away and left the room. Only the beep, beep, beep remained.

  He looked at the next screen. The image was of the cell he had just been in, the camera focused on the empty chair. There was a video control bar underneath the image. Saul moved the mouse and clicked the pointer on the Rewind Button. For a while the image stayed the same, just an empty chair with the time on a small digital clock in the top left hand corner of the screen continually decreasing. It went all the way back to 10:45 am before he saw any activity in the cell. It was in reverse, so what he saw was a wheelchair being pulled backward into the room and then someone lift a woman out of it and sit them in the wooden chair. He hit the pause button as the man doing the lifting turned back towards the wheelchair, his face captured by the camera.

  Saul pushed himself back in the seat, clenching his fists in quiet victory as he took in the faces on the screen. The fake Dr Hanlon and the sleeping form of Rebecca Angus.

  8:45 pm

  Rebecca came back into the bedroom, her wig lopsided and her face ghost white and gaunt. She had washed all the makeup away, exposing her naked suffering once more. She smiled at Dr Hanlon as she sat back down, running an affectionate hand down his arm as she did.

  ‘Why are there always carrots in your vomit?’ she asked, passing Dr Hanlon a bemused, sheepish smile.

  ‘They aren’t carrots, they are sloughed off bits of epithelium, from your stomach lining. They usually get worn down by toxins or pathogens in your stom
ach. Probably due to all the medication you have been taking. Do you feel better, getting it all out?’ he asked, leaning over and straightening her wig.

  ‘Do you mean the vomit, or the memories?’ she answered with a teasing smile before her face turned serious and reflective. ‘I feel empty. I feel numb. I have buried that evening deep inside for so long. So deep that I had genuinely forgotten what happened. Or rather, had built a web of half-truths and suppositions, creating my own purgatory, inflicting my own guilt induced punishment. It’s been cathartic. It doesn’t change some of the facts. I still willingly had sex with my own son.’

  ‘Willingly yes, knowingly no. You didn’t know it was him. I can appreciate why you have felt so distraught about all of this. I can understand why you don’t want to live in a world where these things have happened. Things that you think you have caused. But what I heard you say, quite clearly, was that Michael turned to Madame Evangeline and stated ‘You said she wanted this too.’ What does that tell you Rebecca? What does that tell you about that night?’

  ‘It makes me wonder why? Why did he think that? It still doesn’t change the fact he is dead. It still doesn’t change the fact that I ripped his heart out and ate it!’ she answered, agitation entering her tone.

  ‘One thing at a time Rebecca.’ Dr Hanlon stated firmly, laying a hand over her wrists where she was starting to rub. ‘It will never change the fact he is dead and any mother should feel grief because of that. You should not feel grief or remorse or guilt about killing him. That didn’t happen. He fell when you pushed him away from you. He tripped over Madame Evangeline’s leg and banged his head. That is what killed him. What happened in your flat, well, that’s a different story and we will get to it, soon.’ he finished as his trouser pocket started to vibrate. He took out a phone and quickly checked it, a slight look of concern crossing his countenance before his normally calm demeanour returned.

  ‘I have to leave you for a while, but there is something I want you to watch, something that may help you understand why Michael thought the way he did. Let’s go into the living room.’ Dr Hanlon said.

  He stood from the bed and offered his hand out for her to hold, then led her emaciated, slightly quivering frame into the living area, towards the sofa. The living space was open plan, a kitchen/diner to the right of the bedroom door they came out of. Next to this door was another, which was closed and padlocked. The living room itself was oak floored, with a large patterned rug underneath a beige fabric sofa, a coffee table in front of it. In one corner beyond this was a TV on a stand. Dr Hanlon sat Rebecca down on the sofa.

  ‘On the table is a DVD.’ he said, resting a hand on top of the DVD case. ‘I want you to watch it in your own time. There is food and drink in the fridge. Please help yourself. There are clothes in the wardrobe in your bedroom. Think about getting dressed. Everything here is at your disposal. Treat it as your own. The only thing I ask is that you don’t try and go into the second bedroom, which is locked. I will be locking the front door when I leave too and you will not be able to get out. Is that clear?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you trust me enough to leave me on my own?’ she asked, seriously. ‘I’m not sure I trust myself.’

  Dr Hanlon smiled at her and said reassuringly, ‘I trust you implicitly. I know you want to understand why this happened. The DVD will help and when I get back, and I will be coming back very soon, we will talk about what happened in your flat.’

  ‘Alright, please don’t be too long.’ she answered timidly, reaching over and picking the DVD up from the table, turning it inquisitively in her hands. Dr Hanlon stood, leant over and kissed her on the brow and then limped towards the front door of the apartment.

  ‘I won’t be too long.’ he said, smiling towards her before he turned, opened the door and left.

  She heard the lock being set from the outside. She stood up, DVD in hand and walked to the front door, wiggled the handle and then tried to turn the Yale lock. It didn’t budge. She then walked across the room and picked up the padlock on the second bedroom door and rattled that. It was thick and solid. She put her ear up against the door. There was no sound. She walked back towards the TV unit, opening the DVD case as she went, and slotted the silver disk into the DVD player. She switched the TV on and, grabbing the remote control, went back and sat down on the sofa and pressed the ‘Play’ button.

  ‘Hi Mum!’ the smiling animated face of Michael shouted from the screen, filling it as he came closer to the camera, adjusting the focus.

  Rebecca yelped and jumped straight back off the sofa, throwing herself across the floor on her knees and stopping right in front of the screen. Her hands shot up and started to touch Michael’s enlarged features as he adjusted the camera. Rebecca’s eyes were wide open with wonderment, tears trickling from her eyes once more as, her lips quivering, she mumbled, ‘Oh god, my baby boy, my baby boy!’

  Michael backed away from the camera after repositioning it, a bed coming into view behind him as he did, the poster covered walls and clothes strewn floor of his student digs becoming visible as well.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while, but don’t really know how to. I’m not sure how you are going to react, so I thought I would just do this little video, to get it out.’ Michael said nervously, his animated arms enacting his words as he slowly backed away from the camera, closer to the bed. As he did, a pair of slender legs came into view, lying on the bed, shoeless, but with the bottom of a knee length skirt visible.

  Rebecca’s eyes were transfixed on his face, absorbed by the sight and sound of him more than the words he was saying, her fingers stroking his form as he moved.

  ‘I would like to introduce you…’ he started to say, a look of pained embarrassment crossing his face before he continued, ‘God, that sounds so flipping formal. Oh Jesus, this is harder than I thought. Mum, look, please don’t have a cow. I’ve got a girlfriend, okay, but she’s older than me. When I say older, what I mean is, she’s about your age.’ he said, visibly cringing as he said the words, backing up further, the woman’s torso coming into view, a slim elegant arm rising to wave at the camera.

  ‘But I love her, and I really would like to introduce you to her.’ he continued, a warm, affectionate grin spreading over his face as he jumped on the bed alongside her, and kissed her passionately on the lips before turning back to the camera. ‘Mum, I would like you to meet Eve.’ he finished proudly.

  Rebecca’s eyes slowly moved from her son’s face to the waving, smiling features of the woman lying beside him. She froze, her hand becoming static in mid-air, millimetres away from the screen, her face locking in a similar surprised glare. As a distant whisper, Rebecca vaguely heard her say the words ‘Hi Mrs Angus, pleased to meet you.’ as she took in her all too familiar façade.

  The face of Madame Evangeline.

  9:15 pm

  Strange looked up at the new image on the plasma screen in the centre of the bank of monitors. There were three figures on it. The first was the current time, 09:15:32, counting upwards by the second. The second was the number of heartbeat connections still to decrypt, 2896, and counting down at the rate of one every five seconds. The third showed another time, 01:18:00, the time, at the present decryption rate, that all the heartbeat connections would be decrypted.

  ‘How many people are online now Steven? At this rate we will be blowing up before the decryption has completed.’ Strange asked nervously.

  ‘We’ve got thirty nine people online now Sir. We will have another ten online in the next fifteen minutes. That should bring us right on track.’

  ‘Thank you Steven, excellent work.’ Strange looked back from the screen to the table where DI Saxon was scribbling notes furiously onto a pad in front of her, shaking her head disconsolately as she did. He addressed her, concern in his tone. ‘Is everything alright Leigh?’

  DI Saxon looked up at him, frustration in her features. ‘Dead ends Sir. Mrs Seymour’s chauffeur has a cast iron alibi for the night in question
. He was at a family New Year’s Eve Party with fifty other people. We have CCTV footage of him returning the car to the office car park and leaving. We also have CCTV footage of the car coming back out but no images whatsoever of who was driving it. There is no relevant forensic evidence from the vehicle either. No prints or DNA relating to DI Saul. There was DNA for Rebecca and Michael Angus but we know they were in the car. There were fingerprints for Mrs Seymour which you would expect as it is her vehicle. Any other prints found in the car have been linked back to Axiom employees all of whom have valid alibis for the night in question. I can’t see where else to go with this line of enquiry.’ Saxon finished.

  Strange came around the table and sat down next to her, angling her writing pad toward him. ‘That’s fine Leigh. If there is nothing there, there’s nothing there. Try not to fret about that, otherwise you will lose your focus.’ He looked down at her notes, at a line of questions, the majority with crosses next to them. He pointed to two without crosses. ‘So the next thing is Dr Adams. You are still waiting on information back on his whereabouts and associates, that’s the next most important thing for you to focus on, okay? You are doing a great job. I know it is difficult being under this type of time pressure, but you are coping well. Just stay focused.’ he instructed with a sympathetic smile.

  ‘I’ll chase those things up right away. Thank you Sir.’ she answered, taking a deep breath, some of her anxiety being released.