Lucifer's Abbey

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Lucifer's Abbey Page 9

by Smith, Michael James


  He didn't rush his judgement. “From the air you would be able to get a better idea,” he said, but from here I'd say more than half way.”

  “So if you murdered someone here in the caves and there was some exit from them over there you'd be able to dispose of the body without using any local road at all. And if there isn't - all you have to do is get the body across this main road and then a swift dash up through the houses and trees to the cliff edge. Once over the road in the early hours of morning your chance of meeting anyone in those small exclusive roads would be just about absolute zero.”

  “I'll pay for the caves,” Henry said. “You've made your contribution. Let's go and visit a murderer, I can't wait to meet him!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CONFINED

  There was never any chance of Cherie's escaping them. He was there marshalling their every move as though he didn't trust them to think for themselves. Their fear of him was palpable. The man who had been the front seat passenger in the car was relieved of his leather belt which they used to tie her hands, the trailing end of it was held by the woman and she was ordered back up the slope.

  She tried to keep as far away from him as she could, his very presence disturbed her. The appalling thing that lived inside him was worse than any nightmare. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for the terrible experience she had just lived through, it had drained her of all her resistance, the loss of the chance to spring from the cliffs into the clean water below and escape from whatever awaited her had been a final blow.

  They led her unresisting back through the trees. She was tired, dirty and hungry and to her dismay had involuntarily soiled herself as she tried to escape from the hideous thing above her in the recess. Hot tears ran down her face unnoticed in the darkness by any of them. The only tiny shred of comfort was the pimp, his distress was a joy to her as he complained to another man about his hand. She hoped it would never heal.

  Their way re-crossed the flat field and with the bright moon she could see that it was some sort of playing field. Not football there were no goal posts but something that belonged to a sports club or school. On the opposite side of it across the small road she had run across she could see several high buildings. It was a school or Church.

  They re-entered the courtyard from which her leap from the van had allowed her to escape and they led her between high buildings down a narrow pathway until after a short walk a large mansion house appeared over the hedgerow. They were approaching it from the rear. It was old she saw, very old, and covered with the thick vines of an old established Wisteria.

  She was led across a rear courtyard and through a wide wooden door into a huge kitchen where she was told to sit down on a chair beside a long wooden table. She felt her wet clothes sticking to her and knew that for now at least she had nothing to fight back with. She was completely exhausted and he knew it.

  He came around the table and sat down opposite her. He was even uglier in the electric light than he had been in the half-darkness outside. The hard light accentuated the dull pallor of his skin and the hard lines of his strangely constructed skull. He was hideous and he knew what she was thinking, his appearance disturbed her and that was alright by him.

  He just looked at her saying nothing until she was unable to hold the gaze of his strange eyes. The pupils were an odd pink and red colour and they leant an air of otherworldliness to him that increased his disturbing presence even further. A practised mind game she realised instinctively, he was trying to control her mind.

  She dropped her gaze but something in his arrogant behaviour had sparked rebellion in her. She wasn't going to just roll over and let him kick her. The surge of defiance found her Uncle in her head again. “Watch, listen, learn. Wait for them to make a mistake.”

  He stood up and addressed the woman who stood at the door end of the table. “Find her some fresh clothes and allow her to clean herself then take her below.” He turned to two men at the opposite end of the table, one the car driver and the other a small elderly man she had not seen before. “Make sure she doesn't outwit you again!” he barked. The smaller man flinched visibly. He turned away and walked through a door closing it behind him with a thud. Cherie was not the only one present who breathed a sigh of relief that he was gone.

  The woman led her to a bathroom, the two men providing an escort. They waited outside and the woman closed the door and locked it. She told Cherie to clean herself but she refused. There was no way she was going to undress in front of this woman whose hands had been all over her clothing in the car.

  The woman's bad French was displayed again as she tried to persuade her and then finally gave up. “I will fetch you some clean clothes.” She said angrily.

  When the door closed behind her Cherie immediately went to the window. It was an old fashioned wooden sash construction, an upper and a lower section, both screwed firmly in place she saw at once. She was not the first prisoner this room had seen.

  It was only a few minutes before the woman returned bearing a pair of jeans and a thin pink pullover folded on top of a large bath towel. There was some underwear to replace her own soiled ones and a pair of white sport socks. Cherie stood and folded her arms defiantly. Under no circumstances was she going to undress with her present.

  The woman laughed. She was not much bigger than Cherie. Blonde and attractive with a good figure but her face was hard as stone. “I will help you a little child.” She said. “The man whose fingers you broke is outside that window so there is no point to break it. He would be happy to see you as you climbed out. He is not your friend. I will be with the men outside that door. I will not come in but I will also not wait more than twenty minutes before I send them in to get you. Do you understand me?” Cherie nodded. “There is plenty of hot water and some toiletries in that cupboard.” She pointed at the small cupboard fixed to the wall above a small wash basin then turned and left the room.

  Cherie was not sure she believed she would remain undisturbed but she wanted desperately to be alone and to be clean again. She turned on the hot water and began to run herself a bath, then looked at the clothes. They were not her size exactly but they were of good quality, they would do. There was no bra which was not good with that woman around.

  In the cupboard she found a new toothbrush and some tooth paste along with a cake of soap. It didn't take a genius to guess that these things had been prepared for her, for their victim. Had she been chosen at random? Any girl would do? Or had they known about her and come to Belgium to kidnap her? There was no way to answer that. She guessed that she was just like all the others Uncle Leon had talked with her Father about. They just waited until someone fell into their trap.

  She also knew that she was indeed in England as she had thought. All the labels were in English!

  She remembered her mood as she was walking into the village and began to cry as she stepped into the tub, the hot water covering her aching limbs. Across the small bathroom the steamed up mirror cleared as though a cold wave of air had blown upon it and a pair of red eyes looked out upon her as she began to scrub at her hands.

  The bath revived her washing her hair clear of the debris of the crevice and cleaning her filthy hands where she had gouged at the grass to stop herself from careering over the cliff made her feel better but she realised she was tired now. There wasn't much resistance left in her.

  She got dressed in the badly fitting clothes but didn't make any attempt to let them know she was finished. She examined the window again. She didn't believe the injured man was outside. He would be somewhere having his hand treated, probably the local hospital. She had made a good job of hurting him. The one good moment since she was taken.

  She could cover her hand with the bath towel and smash the glass but they would be through the door too fast for her to be able to climb out and get away. It was pointless.

  In the cupboard she had found a small metal nail file and she put this into her pocket. It wasn't much of a weapon but it was some
thing. Uncle Leon was right, just having it made her feel better. The woman's eyes would not be immune to it. “Try for their eyes.” he had told her and her brother. “Always go for the eyes.”

  The woman knocked on the door but didn't wait for a response before she opened it and came in. She looked Cherie up and down and smiled. For once the smile seemed genuine. ”Come on, I've had them prepare some food for you.” Seeing the reluctance in Cherie's face she continued in a friendly tone. “Nothing is going to happen tonight; you should eat and then sleep. There's nothing more to be afraid of I promise.”

  Cherie wondered how the woman could possibly believe that anything she said would be trusted but she followed her back along the hallway and into the kitchen. The car driver was stood along the hallway blocking any hope of running towards what was obviously the main door of the house. The small man was in the kitchen and was just placing a bowl of soup and some bread upon the table.

  He didn't speak to her as she sat down but opened a drawer, found her a spoon and placed it upon the table. Then he looked at the woman and in response to a curt sideways nod of her head he quickly left the room and closed the door. Clearly she had some privileged position amongst them. Cherie put that knowledge in the escape folder along with all the other little things that might help her get away.

  Uncle Leon had been very clear about what she must do now. Regardless of how frightened she felt or how tired she must never pass up any opportunity to eat. Without food there was no strength and without strength there was no escape. She picked up the spoon and sampled the soup; it was some sort of chicken, mild and neutral, English not European. It didn't matter - it was hot and she was famished. She broke the bread and ate it with the soup while the woman watched her in silence.

  She was making herself a cup of coffee and seemed to think that Cherie was submissive now. She couldn't have been more wrong. The hot soup and bread worked almost instantly in making her feel new strength.

  The back door was immediately behind her chair, only two metres away. She could certainly get to it before the woman could prevent her. But was it locked? She didn't know but when the woman turned to replace the electric kettle upon the side she turned swiftly and looked at the lock. A large key was in it. At the top a bolt was drawn over, it would take time to turn the key and draw the bolt. Too much time.

  As she ate the soup she thought about it, if she used the nail file and hurt the woman badly enough she would be unable to prevent Cherie from opening the door and escaping. It was worth a try. She examined the kitchen closely. There were no knives in view anywhere, nothing that would make a better weapon than the nail file. She needed the woman to come close enough for her eyes to be within reach. She had no qualms about possibly blinding her, whatever they were planning to do to her this woman was obviously expecting to be present, and she did not deserve any pity.

  This wasn't about getting away from her, it was about getting away from 'It'. For a moment a wave of fear took hold of her. She had been trying not to think of it but it lingered on the edge of her mind at all times. Something she could not explain. A thing so awful even the thought of it had power. The supernatural nature of the cruel evil force it had been able to project across the distance between them made her blood run cold and the malign way it had found and explored her body made her skin crawl. The danger was terrible. She had to get away!

  She finished the soup, it had been bland and was obviously from a tin but it had warmed her and she was grateful for the strength returning to her body. They would lock her away somewhere now she guessed until they were ready for their plans for her. If she was to get away she had to delay that. She couldn't escape from a locked room or cellar. She had to try now.

  She played with the remaining bread buying time to think, conscious that the woman was watching her from a chair opposite. As long as she kept her distance Cherie could not attack her.

  “Why have you done this to me?” She asked.

  The woman didn't answer her; she sat mute just watching, holding the coffee cup and peering at Cherie over the top of it. Why did she not answer? It was a simple enough question.

  The answer came from within herself. She felt the drug in her hands first, a loss of control that spread very rapidly, so fast that even as she realised she had been fooled into drugging herself, she began to lose consciousness. She tried to stand, to make for the locked door but her legs were useless and she slumped to the floor.

  From the floor unable even to raise her head she watched the woman's leather shoes walk towards her around the table and heard her calling for assistance. The shoes came right over beside her and the woman bent down. Her face was cold and hard. You’re here because Uncle Leon needs to be taught a lesson,” she said and Cherie fell into a deep troubled sleep.

  When Cherie awoke she found herself looking up at the rock ceiling of a small cave. There was even a small stalactite hanging near the corner above a wooden shelf on which she could see a statue of something that looked from a distance like a Gargoyle.

  Confused she sat up and looked around and as she did so her memory woke up too. For a second or two she was almost unable to comprehend just how serious her position was. It was close to being too much to accept, too hard to be truly real. But it was.

  She was still dressed in the pink pullover and jeans that had been given to her and she was relieved that no one had undressed her. The thought of the dreadful woman being close to her whilst she was drugged and unable to defend herself was unpleasant in the extreme. She remembered that she had planned to blind her! Quickly she felt for the nail file and was relieved to find that she still possessed it.

  The cave was about the same size as a small bedroom but somewhat higher. The ceiling curved above her, it was at least fifteen feet high. Behind her the rock was rough cut and against it stood a small wooden table and a single chair. They were new, bright with the sheen of factory polish. She guessed that they had never been used.

  The only other thing in the room was a large iron cross, a crucifix from some medieval time with decorated ends to the top, bottom and ends of the arms. It was hung upside down and from the central upright hung a figure that instantly filled her with dread. It was unmistakeably the Imp that had formed from the vapour that had extruded from his mouth in the crevice. For Cherie even to look upon a representation of that terrible thing was to feel a chillingly cold reminder of the terror that had filled every gene in her body.

  She pulled back the single blanket which had been put over her and climbed from the bed. Her own shoes were there on the floor, neatly placed side by side and she put them on and sat back down. She wanted to go and look at the wooden door. There was a square hole cut into it at eye level about ten inches square. There were two thin metal bars inserted into the wood although no one could have passed through such a small aperture anyway.

  She sat for a full minute reluctant to pass the image on the inverted crucifix. She didn't want to look at it, did not want to acknowledge that she was aware of it even, and the carved image of it disturbed her senses.

  It was pointless to sit there and be so completely trapped that she could not help herself. She realised that it had been placed there for just that reason, to pressure her into subservience. Force their evil will upon her.

  Her hand found the nail file through the denim fabric of the jeans and she remembered her Uncle Leon. Without him there in her head the past hours would have been too much to bear. With his help she had given them a hard time even if she had been fooled into eating the drugged soup in the end

  Standing she averted her gaze from the horrible figure, walked deliberately to the door and looked through the bars. Outside there was a narrow tunnel which ran away in both directions as far as she could see. It was lit by small light fittings the same as she had seen used externally on buildings in Belgium. Just to her right on the opposite side there was another wooden door as heavy as the one against which she leaned with the same sort of grill, a second cell in an u
nderground prison cut from solid rock. There was an inch wide bolt on the door which was slid into a hole made for the purpose in the stone door post. There was no way for anyone inside to reach or open that bolt, she understood that her door would be the same.

  On the inside her own door was just a solid wooden flat surface. She was locked in and she was trapped. Turning away so that she did not have to see the obscenity hung on the wall she returned to the bed and sat down.

  For an entire week Uncle Leon had stayed with them, and the games they played had been driven by his new job. He was obsessed with teaching them how to manage themselves if they were ever in danger. Her Mother had told them that her Uncle was in a position of great responsibility and they should just humour him and enjoy the games. For a moment she felt the warmth of him. He had made such wonderful fun of it but sometimes he had been stern, making them repeat things until he was sure they really understood.

 

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