by Mark Tilbury
‘P-please.’
Ebb shook his head. ‘If you shut up and do as you’re told, you won’t have to suffer. You keep babbling like a brook and you’ll wish your mummy had been at the mercy of a migraine the night you were conceived. Do I make myself clear, Pixie-pea?’
Ben looked at the floor.
‘I’ve got chores to do, and then I need to speak to Jesus. I suggest you all take this opportunity to get down on your knees and pray to God for forgiveness.’
‘Us?’ Emily shouted.
Ebb ignored her. He had no time to argue the toss with a tart. He backed out of the Revelation Room and closed the door behind him. He propped the shotgun against the wall and locked all the bunnies in the boiler.
Sister Alice’s death had left a huge hole in his heart. He couldn’t believe that God had allowed Brother Marcus to throw her from the top of the tower. Why hadn’t God stepped in and thrown that low-life gypsy from the tower instead?
God moves in mysterious ways, Pixie-pea.
Ebb looked among the cannabis plants for signs of his mother. For once, he was inclined to agree with her. God could certainly be a puzzle with a piece missing at times. But it was not his place to question the motives of the Lord. He was a humble servant, and he would do well to remember that, even when stricken with grief.
He was about to pick up the shotgun when he realised that there were no longer any threats necessitating the use of weapons at Penghilly’s Farm. Not physical ones, anyway. All the bunnies were either dead or about to burn. His mother might well try to unsettle him, but her days of locking him in cupboards and throwing him down the stairs were long gone.
Now the time had come, he was glad to be making a clean break from Penghilly’s Farm. It had run its course. Served its purpose. Scrambled its eggs. He’d gone way beyond the call of duty during his time here. In future, he’d make sure he was a lot more ruthless and vigilant. He’d trusted too many people. Been too forgiving. He wouldn’t make the mistake of letting emotions blur his vision again. No, sir. It didn’t bear thinking about what might have happened if he hadn’t come down the stairs when Brother Marcus was about to let the bunnies go.
One thing was for certain: he needed urgent medical attention. His injured leg felt as if a white-hot needle was suturing the wound. As for his nose, that mangled lump of meat was in danger of rotting away altogether. Tweezer’s rancid teeth had surely given him tetanus. His first port of call would have to be a hospital. He’d have to blame Maxine for the assault on his nose as well as his leg, but under the circumstances he didn’t think the Lord would mind a little white lie.
Better to be safe than sorry, Pixie-pea.
Ebb resisted an overwhelming urge to rifle among the cannabis plants and weed his mother out. But he had to stay focused. She was just trying to unnerve him. Pull him off course. He hobbled up the stone steps. He stared straight ahead, singing Onward Christian Soldiers as heartily as his injured throat would allow. He walked into the kitchen. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him. No one could escape from the Revelation Room. Not unless Harry Houdini’s ghost was acting as an advisor to the bunnies.
He made his way up the two flights of stairs to his living quarters in the converted attic. His injured leg hampered his progress, but he refused to give in to it. He was no quitter. Not while there was breath in his body and the Lord Jesus Christ in his heart.
It was a real shame he needed to torch his living quarters. He always felt a great sense of peace and wellbeing when he was up there. He would often lay awake at night on his beautiful, king-sized bed, looking up at the stars. They reminded him of little specks of hope painted on a vast black canvas.
Careful not to cut himself on the fragments of glass, he took the rest of his clothes out of the wardrobe and threw them onto the bed. It would be a shame to burn them, but clothes could always be replaced. There would be plenty of time to acquire a fresh wardrobe once he was settled in Thailand.
With the wardrobe cleared out, he moved on to his oak dresser and added socks, vests and Calvin Klein boxers to the pile on the bed. He then retrieved a glass jar from behind a stash of gay pornographic magazines in the bottom drawer. He held it up to the light. Bubba’s tongue no longer looked capable of licking lips or telling tales. The formaldehyde had preserved it reasonably well, even though it no longer looked tickled pink to see him.
Poor Bubba no longer needed his tongue. He was sitting up at God’s top table, and Ebb certainly didn’t deny the wiry Pole his eternal peace. If anyone deserved a rest, then it was that tongue-tied Pixie-pea.
Ebb put the jar down on the bed beside his pile of clothes. His head was pounding like a steam press.
What are you gonna do if they stop you at customs with a pickled tongue, Pixie?
His mother’s voice seemed to be coming from beneath his underwear. The thought of her being anywhere near his boxers turned his stomach sour. But, for the second time that day, he felt inclined to listen to mama. It would look suspicious hobbling through customs with nothing to declare other than Bubba’s tongue, a pink wig and the three Books of Revelation. Perhaps it might be prudent to bury the tongue and the books somewhere in England before heading off to pastures new in Thailand. The wig and sunglasses wouldn’t cause any suspicion, other than possibly indicating a tendency towards transvestitism.
He went to the wardrobe and grabbed a small black holdall. He put the glass jar in the bottom of it and then covered the jar with a smattering of socks and boxers. He then added a Bible and a small silver cross from his bedside table. He emptied the contents of his bathroom cabinet into the holdall along with all the pills and potions from the kitchen cupboards. He would have taken his stash of chocolate from the fridge, but the heat would only turn it into treacle. Instead, he scoffed two Mars Bars and washed them down with a bottle of Lucozade Sport.
After an hour of rummaging through his quarters, he hobbled down the stairs, through the house and out to the barn. How he wished Sister Alice was with him. She had a good eye for detail. And a calm and ordered mind. At least, she did before Brother Marcus defied the will of Jesus Christ and threw her from the top of the tower.
He put the holdall on the passenger seat of the Land Rover and then retrieved two ten-litre cans of petrol from the back of the barn. He returned to the farmhouse and put one of the cans on the kitchen table. He then climbed the stairs to his quarters for the last time.
A tear hatched in the corner of his eye. Even though he was glad to be leaving, some of his fondest memories were wrapped up in Penghilly’s Farm. But this was no time for sentimentality. No, sir. His memories were always going to be locked up inside his head. The value of his work would never be forgotten.
He took the cap off the can and emptied petrol over the clothes on his bed. He then left a trail of petrol between the bedroom and the living room before moving out of his quarters and down to the first floor landing. He doused the beds with fuel in the Brothers’ and Sisters’ rooms and then continued down the stairs leaving a trail of petrol behind him.
He threw the empty can onto the floor in the hallway and walked into the kitchen. He took the second can off the table and unscrewed the cap. If he’d had more time, he might have tried to rig up explosives. Gone out with a bang, you might say. But Satan had forced his hand somewhat.
The ventilation system in the Cannabis Room would fan the flames. The bunnies would all get as high as kites before they burned. Obviously, that depended on whether or not God was in a merciful mood. Ebb didn’t think it wise for the bunnies to pin their hopes on God’s mercy. God wouldn’t forget all their lies and treachery in a hurry. No, sir. God could be quite an uncompromising Pixie if you boiled his peas.
He poured a good splash of petrol on the gas cooker and then limped down the basement steps. He would turn on all the rings. The sugar rush from the Mars Bars and the Lucozade was already wearing off. His throat felt like a bog about to conjure up toads. He put the can on the floor. The smell was almost o
verpowering. The ventilation system seemed to stir up the stench.
Maybe you should have tied the bunnies up, Pix?
Ebb shook his head. There was no time for that. He had a shotgun to keep those rabbits in their burrow. One move from any of them and he would pebbledash the walls with what was left of their corrupted minds. He picked the gun up. Two cartridges. Enough to quell a small army, let alone a few loose bunnies.
Chapter thirty-nine
Ben sat on the floor beside his father. The old man was as good as dead. There was a nasty gurgling noise in the back of his throat that reminded Ben of blocked drains. Ben held his hand and prayed to Pastor Tom’s God for a quick end. He didn’t care about dying anymore. Death just meant an end to all of this pain and suffering.
Maddie stood near Bubba, looking through Veronica Ebb’s Book of Revelation. ‘The skeleton Bubba knocked off the wall is Ebb’s mother.’
‘I didn’t know creatures like him had mothers,’ Emily said.
Maddie leafed through a few pages and then stopped. She read for a few minutes, and then: ‘He beat her to death with a shovel.’
‘And there was m-me thinking the bastard was n-normal.’
Maddie closed the book. ‘He was only sixteen when he did it.’
Ben looked at his father. ‘Thanks. That m-makes me feel a lot b-better.’
Maddie walked over to Ben with the book in her hand. ‘I’ve had an idea.’
Ben didn’t care. The time for ideas had long since vanished. He felt his father’s wrist for a pulse and was rewarded with a faint beat.
Emily laughed. A dry humourless laugh. ‘So what’s this great idea, Madeline? I can’t wait to hear it.’
‘My name’s Maddie. Only my father’s allowed to call me Madeline.’
‘Pardon me for speaking.’
Maddie ignored the sarcasm in her voice and held up Veronica Ebb’s Book of Revelation. ‘This book obviously means a lot to Ebb, right?’
Emily pushed herself back against the wall. ‘So?’
‘So if I destroy it, he’ll get distracted. Then you and Ben can attack him and get the gun off him.’
‘Or he might just blow your head off with the gun.’
‘Have you got a better idea?’
Emily laughed. A high-pitched whining noise that sounded close to hysteria. ‘Yeah. Maybe you should put the wig on and pretend to be his mother. That would really mess with his head.’
Maddie considered this for a few seconds. ‘Yeah. That might actually work.’
‘I was joking. Bloody hell. J-O-K-E. Joke! You put that wig on and you’ll just freak him out even more than he’s freaked out already. For God’s sake, Maddie, do us all a favour and don’t have any more ideas.’
‘Emily’s r-right. The best thing to d-do now is p-p-pray.’
‘We can’t just sit here and wait to die. We’ve got to do something,’ Maddie persisted.
Emily laughed again. ‘Why don’t you put the sunglasses on as well? Really throw him off the scent.’
Maddie looked away. ‘I don’t hear you coming up with any suggestions, Emily.’
‘That’s because there’s nothing left to suggest.’
The key turned in the lock, putting an end to the conversation. Ben’s heart fluttered in his chest. This was it. Crunch time. He squeezed his father’s hand. His father didn’t reciprocate the action; he just carried on making that horrible gurgling sound.
Ebb opened the door and walked a few feet inside the Revelation Room. He put the petrol can on the floor and then walked back outside and retrieved the shotgun. He aimed it in the general direction of the group cowering in the corner. ‘Good afternoon, bunnies.’
Ben’s stomach dropped. Under any other circumstances, Ebb would have looked comical with his beady brown eyes peering over the top of the bandage. But Ben was more than aware that looks could be deceptive. Ebb was about as funny as a plague and ten times as dangerous.
Ebb looked at Ben. ‘Benjamin?’
Ben ignored him.
Ebb pursed his lips. ‘If you don’t want me to blow Madeline’s head clean off her shoulders, you’d better pay me some respect.’
Ben’s bladder threatened to burst. ‘Wha-what?’
Ebb jerked the gun at him. ‘Stand up and move away from the Infiltrator. I want you to drag Bubba’s body over there with the others.’
‘My h-hands are hurt.’
‘Hurt, my eye. If you’re referring to your reaction to the holy water, then I’m afraid that won’t wash with me. The time for excuses is up, Pixie-pea. If you want to remember Madeline with a head, you’d better get going.’
Ben gave his father’s hand a final squeeze. It was a see you in heaven or wherever we’re going to end up after this world squeeze. He forced himself to stand. His left leg was numb. The thought of touching Bubba’s lifeless body made his blood run cold. Poor decent Bubba, who’d suffered so much at the hands of Ebb. He hoped with all his heart that Pastor Tom’s God would look after Bubba.
Ben limped over to where Bubba sat propped against the wall. The top half of the big man’s yellow overalls was stained red. His eyes were closed. His mouth hung open. A thin line of blood had dribbled from the corner of his mouth and down the side of his chin.
Ben tried not to look at Bubba. He tried to focus on doing what Ebb had asked him to do. He turned around and looked at Maddie. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. Tell her how he wished they’d had a chance to do the simple things most people took for granted.
Maddie smiled at him. For the briefest moment, the sunshine returned to her eyes. And then it was gone again, hidden behind a veil of tears.
You must do what’s right, son, Pastor Tom said, from somewhere deep within Ben’s mind.
Ben almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. How the hell did you do what’s right when everything was so damned wrong? He stood more chance of giving Bubba the kiss of life. He grabbed Bubba’s hands. They were still warm. Something thick and noxious filled his throat.
‘What have you got there, Pixie-pea?’
Ben turned his head to face Ebb. ‘N-nothing.’
‘Not you, Stutter-bunny. I’m talking to Madeline.’
Maddie put the book behind her back, ‘I—’
‘Don’t play games with me, girl; I know you’ve got my mother’s book. A little bunny told me. Now, you get the other two books from Brother Cyril and Brother Gerald and bring them to me.’
Maddie looked at Ben.
‘D-do it.’
Ebb grinned. ‘You’ll listen to the stutter-bunny if you know what’s good for you.’
Ben stared at Ebb, gripped by an overwhelming urge to tear him limb from limb. Maybe he could rush at him and knock him off balance.
In your dreams, Stutter-buck.
Ben watched Maddie gather the books from the breastbones of the skeletons and then walk over to Ebb. He wanted to let go of Bubba’s hands and rush to Maddie’s side. He wanted to push his fingers into Ebb’s eyes and gouge them from their sockets. Rip out the pages of those books and stuff them right down Ebb’s throat. Make him eat his words. But poor old Stutter-buck could only look down from the conker tree as the other kids threw their sticks at him and hurled their insults.
Ebb levelled the gun at Maddie’s head. ‘Put the books on the floor and then get over there with the Fallen Angel and the Infiltrator.’
Go on, Stutter-buck, j-j-jump!
Maddie placed the three books on the floor in front of Ebb. ‘You’ll go to Hell for this.’
‘Evil always licks its finger to test an ill wind.’
Maddie stood up straight and tall. ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You’ll have to answer to God one day. I hope I’m there to see it.’
‘You’ll see nothing when you’re engulfed in the flames of Hell. Now get over there with the bunnies.’
Maddie walked over to the corner of the room and took Emily’s hand.
Ebb looked at Ben. ‘Drag Bubba to
the pyre.’
You’re going to die, anyway, Stutts. Rush him. What have you got to lose?
Ebb pointed the shotgun at Ben’s head. ‘Do it. Now!’
Ben turned his head to one side and started to pull Bubba away from the wall. As he applied more pressure, he felt Bubba grip his hand. He then noticed the shallow rise and fall of Bubba’s chest. Confused, he looked over his shoulder at Ebb.
‘What’s wrong, Stutter-bunny?’
Bubba squeezed his hand. The action said to Ben, Hey, it’s okay, do what he says.
Inch by painful inch, Ben dragged Bubba into the middle of the room. His whole body begged for relief. His lungs felt like two punctured tyres.
‘Right, Benjamin, I want you to put the bodies into two separate piles. Maxine is to be laid to rest beneath Sister Alice, with brother Bubba on top. That’s the “good pile”. And then I want you to put Brother Tweezer on top of Sister Dixie, with Brother Marcus on the top. That’s the “bad pile”. Have you got that?’
Ben didn’t answer. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees.
Ebb looked along the barrel of the gun. ‘I think it fitting that the whore should lay beneath the rapist. Very fitting indeed.’
‘God will be so pleased with you,’ Maddie said.
Ebb ignored her. ‘I wanted to bury poor Maxine in the North Field, but with Bubba out of action and my leg gnawed to the bone, I’m afraid she’ll have to perish in the flames along with the rest of you. Anyway, this is no time for recriminations. Get going, Stutter-bunny.’
Ben stared at the concrete floor. ‘I c-can’t do it.’
‘Don’t be such a baby. I’m only asking you to move two bodies.’
‘He’s exhausted,’ Maddie said.
‘So was Jesus of Nazareth, but I don’t recall him complaining he couldn’t carry his own cross because he had splinters in his fingers.’
‘Ben isn’t Jesus.’
‘It’s all right. I’ll d-do it.’
‘Attaboy. Chop chop, then.’
As Ben bent down close to Bubba, the big man winked at him. Just a slight flicker of an eyelid. Ben had no idea why that one tiny facial movement made him feel like falling to his knees and sobbing like a child.