by Craig McNish
“Why do you say I am a fool? What have I done wrong?” Mills questioned aloud.
'The girl has drawn you into her web, like a fly. She has the measure of you, and you do not even know it. She has made you WEAK! Make known to me your intentions this second, Andrew Mills!' Another burst of heat followed, contorting Mills' features. He knew what he was meant to say, but having spent time with the girl he could easily let himself believe was none other than Jane Brass herself, he'd began to form other ideas. Plans for the future were being made, and killing Jane wasn't one of them. He felt he deserved a second chance at happiness, and there was none bigger than this being presented to him. But in an effort to appease the evil monologue that was running through his mind, Mills quickly formed an answer that might buy him some time.
“Know thine enemy” he said, not much above a whisper. There was no instant reply.
'Most certainly a truth, but your intent?' Mills had braced himself for another surge of pain, but it didn't come. At least he knew he was on the right track, but would still need to choose his words carefully.
“No greater a surprise and a shock for an enemy is there than a husband, a lover and best friend, is there not? Instant action would not be agreeable; the soldiers would gather in number and we would surely both perish. But if I am given time to build a trust with Miss Jane it will become easier to lure her into my trap, I feel. She will have no reason to suspect my motives and so act just as a wife should. That will be her weakness, and my strength – and yours, of course.”
'Of course. Of course. Maybe your intelligence isn't as lacking as was once made out, Andrew Mills. Do as you have planned, but remember; as soon as you set foot on holy ground, my power and strength is all but gone. I will not be able to help you. So, give me reason to believe that your plan is a good one and will work.' Mills was able to comply with the request without any difficulty; he relayed the story of how he had slain Hodgson and possibly one of his companions, and the man in Doncaster who had identified himself as police. With the voice inside him still dormant, listening carefully, Mills went on to say about how he had used his own resourcefulness to make his way a hundred miles back to Ferryhill to seek out Jane, such was his desire to see her dead. It seemed he had become an accomplished liar, because the Devil took him at his word.
'I think I have chosen wisely the one who would do my bidding, but do not let me down or I will make you suffer for all eternity. You will wish you had never existed as I torture you beyond measure, to the point where you will beg me for mercy and forgiveness every time I speak. The image you saw of your mother and sister would be little more than a child's bedtime story in the light of other memories I possess with which I could tear your soul wide open. Remember this when you act, Andrew Mills.' And then there was only silence.
As he lay there in the darkened room and considered his bluff, Mills yearned for the ability to feel afraid and even to weep, but neither was possible. He was to all intents and purposes alive, but the actuality was that Andrew Mills was long dead and should have remained that way. He didn't dare to think it, but Mills hoped that this day would, somehow, be his last. If he was to marry Jane and immediately drop dead, never to return as he had here and now, then he would be happy.
Contrary to everyone else around her who was connected with this strangest of tales, Lomas was wide awake not through fear, but excitement for what the day ahead would bring. At first it had been a mental battle over what outfit to wear; she was attending a wedding, but had to retain a professional look. Would she be able to get away without wearing a hat? After all, the world had to see the face of Rachel Lomas, the amazing reporter who was bringing this epic story into their homes.
Then it had been all about angles. Camera angles for the best shots, mainly, but also which angle to take on reporting the story and what was most likely to get her the promotion she craved. It had to be right or she could end up looking like an idiot. Every word, every moment had to be caught on camera. Her mind wandered off into the realms of what she might usually consider absurdity, but it was the absurdity of the situation that spawned them and made her believe they could easily be true. It went without saying there would be a book, but what about film rights? Would it be made here in Ferryhill to retain authenticity, or would the town be recreated on a Hollywood set? How much freedom would she be given to exercise creativity over the project? It drove Lomas mad that she kept thinking of these things, but it was exciting all the same.
There was a fair share of fear as well. Her editor was happy enough to let her report the story but was a man who insisted on facts, probably through his own fear of being sued out of existence. And while her words and pictures would recreate the story as it happened perfectly, he'd been sceptical enough already. When she told him of the man who ran away from the scene of a murder and that he had legs like a horse, he'd kicked her out of his office. Same again when she relayed that Mills had been hit with a taser and merely brushed it off, killing the South Yorkshire police officer who'd administered the shot. It was only after viewing footage and reading official police reports that he reluctantly accepted there was a strong element of truth in what he had heard, even if he did still refuse to accept it fully. This would have to be spectacular to win him round first time, Lomas knew it. Finally, she felt herself grow weary and drifted off to sleep.
The majority of Ferryhill, whose residents were only vaguely aware that something unsavoury was going on close by and had no desire to be drawn in for fear of being harmed by the legend that was Andrew Mills, slept on undisturbed.
*
By half past seven, the incident room not far from High Hill House Farm was a buzzing hive of activity. Hawkins appreciated that despite the early hour, every single member of his team was present and ready to go. Even Rachel Lomas was there; Hawkins had told her to show her face or not to bother turning up at the church. He had a message he needed to deliver and Lomas especially was one who had to hear it most. He eventually called the meeting to order and the room settled down.
“Okay, ladies and gents, if I can have your attention please.” Hawkins glanced over at Lomas, just to drive home his point that she was not there merely for a pleasant day out. “Hopefully this is the day we put all this to bed. I know you all have a good idea of how this is going to happen but I want to go over it one last time to make sure there are no mistakes. The wedding is scheduled to start at ten thirty; we have Detective Roach to thank for pulling all this together so quickly.” He nodded towards her. Roach responded in kind, feeling her cheeks start to burn as everyone gave a quick round of applause.
“But the crux of this whole plan either coming off as hoped or getting shot to shit lies in what happens before the wedding begins. It was always pretty much a foregone conclusion that Mills would agree to marry Jane Parkes, who he either believes or pretends to believe is Jane Brass, the eldest of the Brass children who he murdered at the beginning of sixteen eighty-three, but she insisted the marriage would only take place if he went to the grave where they are buried and asked for their forgiveness. And that is our opportunity to take him down. We get one shot so we've got to make sure it works.”
“So how many of us are involved in the take-down proper then, Guv?” asked a voice from the back of the room.
“Directly, Sykes, none of you.” A murmur began to spread through the crowd. Lomas scribbled feverishly into her notebook; this was going to make one hell of a story, she reckoned. “I'll hand you over to Detective Roach, who will give you a rundown of events. Detective, if you please?” Hawkins moved to one side Roach made her way somewhat reluctantly to front of the crowd. She hated being the centre of attention, but it was important to get this right so she'd have to endure.
“Er, good morning everyone. I'll go through the sequence of events and answer any questions at the end, if anyone has any. Right. As the boss said, the wedding's due to start at half past ten; for those who didn't know, it's at Kirk Merrington church. That venue was chosen bec
ause it's where the Brass children were buried, and because we need Mills at their graveside it made sense to arrange for the wedding to be held there straight after his visit to their tomb.
“To answer Detective Sykes' question, the main person on who we're pinning our hopes of success is the Reverend of Kirk Merrington church, James Boyd.” Roach waited for everyone to settle down before she continued. “Reverend Boyd has been fully briefed on the situation and has proved to be invaluable in helping to fine-tune events so that they will hopefully go more seamlessly. The idea itself is fairly simplistic and, I believe, gives us the best chance of a positive outcome with minimum casualties and fuss.
“While Andrew Mills is at the tomb of the Brass children, Reverend Boyd will be close by reciting a prayer that has often been used in cases of exorcism for well over a hundred years. He will then attempt to throw an amount of holy water over Mills – preferably in the sign of the cross – and effectively bring out the devil he believes is residing in Mills' body. I know this all sounds pretty crazy but the Reverend knows a great deal about the legend of Andrew Mills and his assertion at the time he was arrested for the original murders that he was possessed. If this is indeed true, I've been assured this will be our best chance to at least weaken Mills enough so he might safely be taken into custody.”
“With all due respect, Detective Roach, do you think it's a good idea to have a local Vicar take on a five-times murderer? After all, he's hardly a law-enforcement professional. A quick decision could be called for if things go wrong, and I'm not sure he's the man to do it.” Roach was slightly annoyed to see the question had come from Lomas, who seemed to be taking for granted that she should be there and feel justified in judging police tactics. Well not this time...
“So you have a better idea, Miss Lomas? Please, share it with us...”
“I didn't say that, detective...”
“But you did infer it, didn't you? After all, why would you rubbish the carefully-conceived idea of a professional if you didn't think you could do better yourself? Or is it that you want us to fail so Mills can go on another murder spree and then you can have another story to write about?”
“What? Of course not! I was just saying that...”
“That we don't have a clue what we're doing” Roach cut in. “Why don't you leave the hard part to us, Miss Lomas, while you just say a few words and look pretty for the camera? That way, everyone is happy and we get our respective jobs done, right?”
“But...”
“We don't tell you how to do your job, so don't tell us how to do ours. My boss didn't want you anywhere near the place because of the trouble you've already caused us but I persuaded him it was in our best interests to have you here. Maybe he was right.”
“You can't stop the media from being there! It's a free country!”
“And with that job goes responsibility, so you can't stop us throwing you in jail if you fuck things up by getting in the way.” Hawkins tried his best to suppress a grin but failed miserably.
“Your threats don't scare me...”
“Maybe they don't, but the inside of a prison definitely will. Anyway, back to business.” Roach glared at Lomas, almost daring her to say something else, but she stayed quiet. “For the most part, our role is to provide authenticity. Mills has to think that this wedding is really going to happen and it's up to us to convince him of that. I'm not saying you have to become his new best friend, but go up to the guy, shake his hand and offer him your congratulations. We know he's a bit egotistical and thinks of himself as almost untouchable, so we have to play into his hands to prove him wrong. If he's at ease because he's the centre of attention, this has a much better chance of working. The only time you will need to intervene is if Mills starts to lose control and looks to become a potential threat to the community, and while we may not be able to bring him down in a hail of bullets we do have the advantage of having him trapped in a confined area.”
“Okay, suppose Reverend Boyd does his bit and gets Mills with the holy water and so on” a different voice questioned. “What's the likely reaction from Mills? I mean, is his head going to start spinning round three hundred and sixty degrees while he throws up all over the place or what?” This comment brought a few laughs; even Roach allowed herself a chuckle. It was probably good to ease the tension a bit, she thought.
“That's something of an unknown” she answered. “This isn't a situation we've ever encountered before, so it's impossible to say how he's going to react. But if you're worried about getting your suit ruined Smithy then I suggest you stand a bit further back and run if it looks like Mills is going to puke.” More laughs went round as DC Jeff Smith took a few slaps on the back from his colleagues. Hawkins was glad they all seemed relaxed, but there was no doubt in his mind that all of them knew just how critical it was to get this done and get it done right. He planned on having a word with Roach after it was all over with; maybe he'd put her name forward for promotion.
“Just to clarify, then” said Roach, feeling quite comfortable now leading the briefing. In a way, Lomas' unwanted intervention had made things easier for her. “Mills is going to be at the church for ten so he can visit the grave and say his piece. We'll be there for no later than nine forty-five; we mingle, chat and behave like guests at a wedding. Do not back away from Andrew Mills or show him any fear. If he suspects something is up then he's likely to flee and we're back to square one. Just shake his hand, wish him luck and move on – it's that simple. Don't worry about Jane Parkes; she's going to be at less risk of harm than any other one of us. If she says something in reference to a family member, calls you 'Uncle Bob' or something like that, just go along with it. She's working without a script and so we'll have to improvise, too.
“Reverend Boyd knows exactly what he needs to do and when he needs to do it. Please, make sure you keep out of his way and give him a clear line of sight to and from Mills at all times. What we don't need is someone trying to play the hero if things seem to go wrong, so by way of a signal that he wants us to intervene if he feels it's all going tits up, the Reverend will say the first line of the Lord's Prayer. That'll be our cue to do whatever we need to for Mills to be subdued and taken away. Are there any more questions?” For a second, Lomas looked like she was about to say something; she opened her mouth, thought better of it and closed it again.
“Let's get this done” said Hawkins with purpose, Roach moving back to where she had previously stood. “Go and grab a coffee and get back here for nine, not a second later. Dismissed.”
*
Mills didn't like the idea of being helpless. As he examined the suit he'd been provided with, his mind went over what the Devil had said when speaking to him earlier.
'Remember, as soon as you set foot on holy ground, my power and strength is all but gone. I will not be able to help you.'
“So, what is to be my driving force?” Mills muttered to himself, pulling on the suit trousers and frowning at their somewhat strange feel. “Who will be my life-giver once my guardian disappears?”
'If all begins to go against you, flee from the holy ground on which you stand and your strength will grow' he heard the voice tell him. 'But waste not a single second, for I cannot sustain you once I lie in wait for my return. It is your strength of will that will give you what you need in my absence, but I must return to you within the hour or all will be lost.'
“And how do I seek you out when it is done and I am off holy ground?”
'I will know.'
“What if Jane wishes to remain in the church longer than anticipated?”
'THEN YOU MAKE HER LEAVE!' Another burst of searing heat brought Mills to his knees. 'You would let this lowly woman tell you what to do? You will be her husband, and she will obey you!'
“I will see to it that she does” Mills said with no real conviction. “And when we have our children, and we bring them here to be baptised?” He crumpled to the floor again, such was the pain that he felt.
'You wo
uld turn against me in such a way after all that I have done for you, Andrew Mills? You will not allow your children to be baptised! They will never set foot on holy ground, for they are to be my reward.'
“Your reward?”
'A payment for all I have done to protect you. It seems you forget that it is you who serves me, and not the opposite. I gave you life, and in return I expect life. Your children will become my servants, and I will reclaim my rightful place here on earth. If you think I am asking these things of you, then you are wrong. It is my wish, and it will be done.' The voice fell silent, and for the first time since arriving back in Ferryhill after three long centuries undergound, Mills started to feel afraid.
*
In the bedroom next to where Mills was readying himself, Parkes and Cutter both stopped chatting when they heard Mills talking. They were unable to make out what he was saying, and Cutter finally suggested he was just giving himself a last-minute pep talk. It was a reasonable assumption, Parkes thought, and went back to getting dressed herself. In the mirrored door of the walk-in wardrobe, Parkes caught sight of Cutter's reflection while adjusting her headband and noticed she was crying. She turned to face the woman, who was dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
“Miriam?”
“I'm sorry, Jane” Cutter admonished herself, wiping her eyes proper and shaking her head. “It's just you look so beautiful, that's all. It seems such a waste to go to all this trouble just from him.” Cutter had lowered her voice just to ensure she wasn't overheard. “I should also thank you for saving my life – Mills would have definitely killed me if you hadn't shown up here when you did, wouldn't he?”