The Revelation Room (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 1)

by Mark Tilbury

  ‘Praise Benjamin.’

  Ben noticed that Bubba made no attempt to speak. The big man stared at the ground as Ebb rambled on. It looked as if Bubba wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Ben wished that the ground would open up and swallow all The Sons and Daughters of Salvation.

  Ebb reached into a pocket sewn into the side of his robe and pulled out a pair of surgical gloves. He snapped them on. ‘Benjamin?’

  Ben looked at Ebb’s hands and shuddered. ‘Yes, Father?’

  ‘Satan is inside you.’

  ‘No. No, he’s not, Father.’

  Ebb smiled. His tongue peeked from his lips like a serpent about to strike. ‘He is, Benjamin. He might use his slippery charm to hide himself, but he doesn’t fool me. Not one bit. Are you aware of the tactics of terrorists?’

  Ben stared at those murderous hands and shook his head.

  ‘A popular tactic of the terrorist is to hide among civilians. Why do you think they do that?’

  Ben shook his head. He couldn’t care less what terrorists did.

  ‘They do it because that way no one can distinguish them from innocent civilians. Cowards, jackals, ferrets and weasels. They would even let a child be blown to pieces in the name of their ridiculous cause. What do you think about that, Benjamin? Disgusting, right?’

  Ben looked at Ebb’s hands and imagined them probing his naked body, seeking Satan.

  ‘Satan is a terrorist,’ Ebb continued. ‘He is a terrorist of the worst kind. He hides among all of us, the good, the great, the weak, the strong, hoping that we do not find him and flush him out. But Satan is mistaken. He does not fool us.’

  Tweezer stepped forward and joined Ebb at the foot of the cross. ‘Satan does not fool us.’

  Ebb licked his lips. ‘We have learned to look behind the bushes.’

  ‘And under the rocks,’ Tweezer added.

  Ebb looked at Ben like a man doubting the pedigree of a horse. ‘Where does he hide in you, Benjamin?’

  Ben pushed up. The leather restraints cut into his ankles. ‘He’s not inside me.’

  Ebb stepped forward and jabbed Ben in the ribs with his forefinger. ‘He’s in you, all right, Pixie-pea. I can smell his rancid breath on your lips.’

  Ben twisted his head to one side.

  Ebb turned to Tweezer. ‘I fear he’s already laid siege to Benjamin’s tongue.’

  Tweezer nodded. ‘You’re right, Father. Satan speaks with his tongue.’

  Ben writhed on the cross. ‘Satan’s not fucking well inside me.’

  ‘Satan decorates the denial of his own existence with profanity,’ Ebb announced. ‘I pay no heed to such blatant assassination of our language.’

  Ben’s bladder threatened to empty. What the hell did you say to Ebb? All right, it’s a fair cop, Satan’s inside me. Go get him.

  Ebb took a step back. ‘Do you know what the good guys do when the terrorists hide among the civilians?’

  Ben didn’t have a clue.

  Ebb inhaled and puffed out his chest. ‘They attack anyway. It’s better to attack than it is to surrender to their cowardly tactics. To do so would allow them to multiply like cancer cells. Do you see the logic in that?’

  Ben didn’t see the logic in anything anymore. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Satan hides inside you. It’s my job to flush him out, Benjamin.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Satan’s not inside me.’

  Tweezer looked up at Ben and stroked his goatee. ‘Do you doubt the Father’s integrity?’

  ‘No.’

  Ebb laughed. ‘Your attempt at compliance isn’t fooling anyone, Satan.’

  Tweezer agreed. ‘He’s inside him as sure as eggs make omelettes.’

  Ebb reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial. He unscrewed the cap and drew a small amount of clear liquid into a dropper attached to the lid. He moved closer to Ben.

  Ben pushed up on the leather restraints securing his legs. His right knee cracked. Pain shot through his leg and speared his stomach. ‘Let me go. Please. I don’t want to do this.’

  Ebb pointed the dropper at Ben. ‘See how Satan hijacks him and takes hostage of his soul?’

  Tweezer agreed. ‘I smell him, Father. I smell him in the air I breathe.’

  Ebb reached up and dripped liquid onto Ben’s left wrist.

  Ben screamed and thrashed from side to side as a thousand white-hot needles tattooed his skin. The pain in the rest of his body was totally eclipsed by the burning in his wrist.

  Ebb stepped back and turned to the rest of the group. ‘See how Satan resists the holy water?’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ the group mumbled.

  Tweezer stepped up close to Ben. ‘Not so bold now, are you, Satan?’

  Ben screamed.

  Ebb seemed unconcerned. He moved to the other side of the crossbeam. ‘Satan scurries around inside him like a rat in a henhouse. But we shall flush him out. Flush him out so God’s light can scorch his eyeballs.’

  ‘Praise Jesus,’ Tweezer hollered.

  Ebb administered a shot of acid to Ben’s right wrist.

  Ben screamed and thrashed on the cross as the whole of his right arm caught fire.

  Ebb stepped back and studied Ben as if he was an exhibit in a science laboratory. He screwed the cap back on the bottle and put it back in his pocket. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’

  One of Ben’s knees popped. The one Stutter-buck had fractured all those years ago when he’d jumped from the conker tree. He gasped for air. His hands felt as if they’d been set alight with napalm. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck—’

  Ebb held up a hand. ‘I hear your profanity, Satan. I hear your curses. I hear your vulgarity.’

  Ben vomited. Bile dribbled down his chin.

  Ebb laughed. ‘See how Satan tries to garner pity?’

  ‘We afford him no pity,’ Tweezer said.

  ‘F-Fuck,’ Ben shouted.

  Ebb smiled. ‘We pay no heed to your weasel-words, Satan. We do not fear you.’

  Ben wasn’t aware that he’d wet himself. Or that his left shoulder had dislocated. The burning in his wrists trumped everything else at the moment.

  Tweezer turned to Ebb. ‘Should we light fires beneath his feet, Father?’

  Ebb seemed to ponder this for a moment. ‘Perhaps, Bother Tweezer. I fear we may need radical action to rid Benjamin of his unwanted guest.’

  ‘No,’ Ben screamed.

  Ebb pointed at Ben. ‘Satan controls him.’

  Tweezer agreed. ‘Satan is his puppet-master.’

  Ben shook his head violently. ‘No.’

  Ebb wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Possession is a terrible thing. But a rotten tooth has to be pulled out whether the mouth likes it or not.’

  ‘Please don’t d-d-do anything else.’

  Ebb made a sign of the cross. ‘Don’t think that you can fool us, Satan. Benjamin is not the first soul you have used to attempt to trick your way inside The Sons and Daughters of Salvation.’

  Tweezer pointed at Ben’s hand. ‘See how the holy water has marked him, Father?’

  ‘Confirmation of my gravest fears, Brother Tweezer.’

  Ben knew he was going to die. No one would ever find him. His mother would go to her grave never knowing what had happened to him.

  Tweezer pointed at Ben. ‘Leave now, Satan.’

  Ebb held up a hand. ‘Enough. Leave him be. Benjamin needs to rest to prepare for the exorcism.’

  Tweezer stepped back and bowed his head. ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Come. We shall pray for Benjamin’s soul.’

  Chapter seventeen

  Maddie lay on a king-sized bed in Ebb’s quarters with her wrists handcuffed to a brass head rail. Her white robe was still fastened around the middle with its yellow sash, but the bottom part had flapped open to reveal the tops of her legs. Her hands were dead. Pins and needles drip-fed her arms with a steady, throbbing tingle.

  The room, a converted attic in th
e farmhouse, was painted brilliant white. Even in the fading light, it seemed bright and disorientating. There was a large cross fixed to the wall above the bed. Through a skylight above the bed, Maddie could see ribbons of cloud bleeding into the darkening sky. Compared to the derelict state of the rest of the building, the room was like paradise.

  Maddie had no sense of time. After they had left the kitchen, Sister Alice had taken her upstairs to a room with a brass plaque fixed to the door. The plaque had the word Sisters inscribed on it. Sister Alice had given her the robe and told her to put it on. She’d then fetched Maddie a drink of elderflower juice. Maddie hadn’t realised just how thirsty she was until she’d started drinking the juice. She’d drained it in several long gulps.

  Soon after, Maddie had felt tired enough to sleep on broken glass. Sister Alice had helped her out of the room and up another flight of stairs to Ebb’s living quarters. And that was all she could remember. Sister Alice must have laid her on the bed and handcuffed her wrists to the head rail.

  Maddie watched Ebb walk into the room. He dabbed at his head with a white handkerchief. She could see the mound of his stomach beneath his robe. So much for abstinence.

  ‘It’s a hot one today, Madeline.’

  Maddie looked into those button brown eyes for signs of humanity. Nothing. Two lumps of black coal.

  Ebb smiled. Flesh folded around his eyes. ‘Would you like a drink? We don’t want you dehydrating.’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘Where’s Ben?’

  ‘Please address me as Father.’

  ‘Father.’

  ‘In this world of inflated prices, Madeline, manners are free. Perhaps your headmaster daddy should have taken time out of his busy schedule to teach you that.’

  Maddie looked up at the skylight. ‘I wouldn’t have listened to him if he had.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you would,’ Ebb agreed. ‘You have spirit, Madeline. Spunk. I admire that. I’m afraid Benjamin is a bit of a wet sponge.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  Ebb made a face to suggest his patience was wearing as thin as his hair. ‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’

  ‘Sorry, Father.’

  Ebb inclined his head. ‘That’s better. It’s quite painless, isn’t it? As for Benjamin, he’s well. He’s getting ready for his inauguration.’

  ‘What do you mean, “inauguration”?’

  Ebb put a finger to his lips. ‘Too many questions, Madeline. All will be revealed in good time.’

  ‘Is it too much to ask why I’m chained to this bed?’

  Ebb nodded. ‘Yes, Madeline, it is.’

  Only my father calls me Madeline, you twisted bastard, Maddie thought. ‘My arms are dead.’

  Ebb looked at her. ‘A numb arm never hurt no one. Think how Jesus felt nailed to the cross. Your discomfort is not comparable to the suffering of the Lord.’

  ‘I just want to know what’s going to happen to me.’

  Ebb sat on the edge of the bed. ‘You’re going to bare your soul, Madeline. Bare your soul to Jesus.’

  Maddie’s throat closed. ‘How?’

  ‘Did you used to take a peek at your Christmas presents before Christmas day? Sneak down in the middle of the night and rattle all the goodies wrapped up under the tree?’

  Maddie grappled with the sudden change of direction. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll bet you did. I’ll bet mummy and daddy spoiled you rotten at Christmas. Contaminated your head with all those dirty material possessions. I’d even venture as far as to say they bought you a puppy, right?’

  ‘No.’

  Ebb ignored her. ‘How much is that doggy in the window? The one with the waggledy tail?’

  ‘I don’t even like dogs.’

  ‘I’ll bet it was a Labrador.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Complete with a roll of toilet paper wrapped around its cutie-pie Labrador body.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you call it?’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing? That’s not a very nice name for a puppy. What about Fido? That’s a good doggy name.’

  ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘My dog’s called Max. Do you like the name Max?’

  Maddie tried to shrug. Her cuffs jangled against the head rail. Hot needles injected her shoulders. If she could just wrap her legs around Ebb’s neck and twist. Her legs were strong and supple due to her love of dance and trampoline.

  ‘Max is a nice name, don’t you agree?’

  Maddie nodded. It was safer to agree with him.

  ‘She’s an Alsatian.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Maxine. You assumed Max was a male, right?’

  Maddie frowned. ‘I suppose—’

  ‘You’ll have to learn not to take things at face value, Madeline.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Ebb studied her for a while, as if appraising a piece of art in a gallery. ‘A child is a product of those around it who shape and mould it with their misguided beliefs. No one will blame you for getting a puppy at Christmas, Madeline. Least of all me. We’re here to protect and nurture you, not to point fingers at you.’

  Maddie wondered how chaining her to a bed was conducive to protecting and nurturing.

  ‘Dogs have many qualities most humans can only dream of. When I say dogs, I mean proper dogs, not those stupid yippy-yappy things like my mother used to own. Bite you one minute, shag your leg the next. If I had my way, every one of those damned things would shame the shovel.’

  Maddie was about to ask what “shame the shovel” meant, but then thought better of it.

  ‘What do you think Maxine’s best quality is?’

  Ripping you to shreds, hopefully. ‘I can’t think straight with my arms like this.’

  Ebb ignored her. ‘Loyalty, Madeline. That dog would walk over broken glass and through a hail of bullets for me. She never complains. Unlike humans who dedicate their lives to whinging and whining.’

  Maddie pushed herself up on the bed and tried to relieve the pressure on her wrists. Maybe she could kick out and kill him with a single blow to the temple.

  ‘What about cats, Madeline? Do you like cats?’

  ‘No.’ The truth. They made her sneeze for starters.

  Ebb smoothed out creases in the white duvet. ‘Me neither. Nasty little cowardly killers. Have you noticed the way people excuse their behaviour by saying, “Oh, it’s just what they do.” Really? Is that what they say about paedophiles and rapists? “It’s just what they do”?’

  ‘People are weak.’

  ‘They are, Madeline. Weak and full of excuses. If your daddy was here, he’d be defending the education system. Denying the systematic brainwashing of whole generations of good young people. Correct?’

  Maddie nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Ebb pursed his lips. ‘From the minute you can talk, they tell you to shut your mouth.’

  Maddie had heard a very similar line in a song.

  Ebb thumped the bed. ‘Soon as you’re old enough to wipe your own backside they’re force-feeding you with lies and teaching you to be a greedy capitalist pig.’

  Maddie tried to measure the distance between her foot and Ebb’s head.

  ‘Remember assemblies?’

  Maddie nodded.

  ‘We had a deputy headmaster called Oxlade-Bullingdon. Everyone called him The Ox. A beast of a man. He used to parade up and down the stage during assembly, threatening this and threatening that. It’s a damn good job they banned the cane. Oxlade-Bullingdon looked like a man who might have enjoyed thrashing children. Do they still have the cane at your father’s school, Madeline?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Does he paddle his warped beliefs into the backsides of the innocent? Does he brainwash them with the Devil’s doctrine?’

  Maddie grappled for an answer. It was impossible to think.

  ‘Of course he does. Don’t move. Don’t talk. And above all else, don’t think. Not unless you want
Orwell’s Thought Police to come knocking on your door and rattling on your windows like Wee Willie Winkie. So much for free speech. Free speech, my eye. A headless chicken has more rights.’

  ‘Can I have some water?’

  Ebb blinked, as if coming out of a trance. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Can I have a drink?’

  ‘Yes. What would you like? I’ve got some Australian Chardonnay. It’s rather good for the price.’

  ‘I didn’t think you allowed alcohol?’

  Ebb smiled. ‘We do on special occasions, Madeline. The Lord permits some downtime. Don’t worry, I’ve squared it with Jesus.’

  Maddie watched him leave the room. The muscles in her neck throbbed. The tips of her fingers throbbed. A thought: even if she managed to kick out and disable Ebb, she would still be manacled to the bed. What then? She’d be in even deeper trouble than she was already.

  Ebb returned a few minutes later with a glass of wine and a pink and white striped straw. He held the straw to her lips. Maddie drained the glass without pausing for breath.

  Ebb smiled and stepped back. ‘Better?’

  Maddie nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ Ebb corrected.

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  Ebb put the glass down on a solid oak night table. ‘That should help you to relax.’

  ‘But why have you handcuffed me to the bed?’

  Ebb looked at her. ‘Because Satan lives in you, Madeline.’

  ‘Satan?’

  Ebb paraded up and down beside the bed. ‘Satan. Beelzebub. The Devil. Call him what you will.’

  ‘He’s not inside me,’ Maddie protested.

  Ebb stopped walking and turned to face her. He held up a hand. ‘You don’t know he’s inside you, Madeline. But he is. As sure as there are fleas on a cat.’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘No. No, he’s not.’

  Ebb pursed his lips and held a finger in the air as though testing wind direction. ‘A common tale, I’m afraid. But how can you know, child, when he hijacks your soul? It is our job – our duty – to flush him out. The restraints are to prepare for Satan’s resistance.’

  Maddie searched her mind for a way to reason with a man that had lost all sense of reason. Her mind was all out of ideas. The wine had blunted the edges of her senses.

  ‘And he will resist, Madeline.’