“I know you don’t, babe, but you need to.”
I didn’t realise I’d even spoken out loud. Ripper holds out a hand to me but my feet are glued to the spot. Glancing frantically between the held out hand and the tape fluttering around the edge of the drive, I don’t know what to do. I could make a run for it, dive under the police tape that’s cutting off the house from the rest of the street, or I could take a deep breath and go into the house.
One direction leads to maybe being able to save other people, to stop some messed up person committing horrific crimes. But the other direction leads to saving myself.
Taking a hesitant step towards the tape, I wait for a hand on my arm to stop me. It doesn’t happen. So I take another, and another. Then I stop. There’s a war raging inside. My head is telling me to just keep on going, to stop with the hesitant steps and just run. I really want to cave in and listen to my head, but there’s a tiny nagging bit in my heart that just won’t shut up. My heart’s telling me to go back, that if I can help in any way I should.
What do you do when your head and your heart are telling you such different things?
Well, for me...
I sigh, turn around, and let Ripper lead me back into the house after I change my gloves and the horrible blue shoe coverings.
My mouth starts watering as soon as I get a whiff of the smell, the taste of sour sweets filling it. I keep swallowing and taking shallow breaths, willing myself not to be sick. Swallowing down the bile that rises in my throat as we walk back into the living room, I take another look around, this time trying to pay attention to what’s around me.
Goosebumps start rising on my arms, the little hairs on the back of my neck jumping to attention. Expecting to see a ghost, I look around the room. There isn’t one there. The feeling stays with me though.
A feeling like I’m being watched.
In the centre of the room is a circle of blood, still clearly marked, lit by a shaft of sunlight streaming in through the living room windows. With no one telling me what it is I need to do, I start walking over to the circle. My whole body begins to shiver. It’s like the heat has been completely sucked out of the room, leaving only the cold. My fingers start turning to ice and my body spasms with cold.
Being careful not to step into the circle or smudge any of the markings, I kneel down slightly. They look exactly the same as the markings I saw in my first vision.
“Do we know what these markings are yet?” I ask of no one in particular.
“No. Susanne is one of the other members of the team, another witch. Her an Maria are from the same coven and they’re working together, searching through old grimoires to see if they can find anything like them.”
I’m taken aback by what was actually a helpful answer from Detective Mitchell for once. I can’t quite force the words to thank him from my mouth though.
“What’s a grimoire?” I find myself asking instead.
“Grimoires? They’re like a textbook, but these ones are full of spells. They’re passed down from generation to generation. Maria’s coven has one of the widest collections in the UK.” Detective Mitchell is leaning with his shoulders against a wall, the only one without any blood on it, arms crossed and looking as casual as they come, answering my questions. There’s got to be a catch somewhere. I’m about to ask another question but he beats me to it.
“Do you notice anything unusual?”
I snort. “We’re in the middle of a fucking crime scene; there’s blood everywhere, it’s freezing despite the sunshine and you’ve got me here for reasons I don’t know. Everything about it is fucking unusual,” I start shouting at the end. Annoyed with myself for swearing, but even more annoyed that I’ve risen to his games again. Even more so when the smirk settles back on his face.
Tempted to stalk out of the room, I see Ripper standing with a folder in his hands.
“Let me guess: stuff I need to read?”
He just nods at me, wisely not saying anything, and holds it out. I take it from him, and he gives my hand the quickest and tiniest squeeze underneath the folder. I start going through it. Tears freely flowing from my eyes almost as soon as I open the first page. Looking up to Ripper to accuse him of being so careless for not warning me, I can’t do it. His eyes are filled with unshed tears and he mouths I’m sorry¸ at me, and I know he probably didn’t have any choice but not to warn me.
The last page is a close up picture of a page with writing on. Remembering that this is what caused the media to name the person we’re looking for The Soul Catcher, I look closer – trying to ignore what the paper is pinned to and with what. Looking at the words I realise that they’re a verse from the bible.
“And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.
Rather fear him who can destroy both the soul
and body in hell.” Matthew 10:28
Something clicks in my mind but I end up staring at the paper for a while longer. My brain taking a few minutes to connect the pieces of the puzzle together.
“There’re no ghosts here, are there?” I search around for somewhere to place the folder before shoving it back into Ripper’s hands.
“That’s why you wanted me here wasn’t it?” I walk over to Detective Mitchell and stand staring at him until he gives me and answer, all I get is a nod. The nods are becoming infuriating.
“Sooo, what — you wanted me here to double check? To see if I could see them and you couldn’t? No wonder you were so bloody happy when I told you I could see ghosts too. Well, it ain’t just you: there’s nothing here.”
I want to pace around the room. There’s something else burning in the back of my mind, shouting at me to listen to it, but I can’t quite hear it yet. Pacing will make it easier, but there are so many parts of the floor I can’t stand on that it would make pacing pretty hard to do.
I start pacing anyway. Concentrating on where my feet are in the hopes that whilst I’m focusing on something else, my mind will work wonders. I know I’m muttering to myself but I don’t care. The whole thing is starting to feel like something out of a Buffy episode. I laugh at the comparison that starts running through my mind: How Buffy and I would cope with living on the hell mouth when an awful thought starts forming in my mind.
Building up the courage to speak it loud, I’m startled as I hear someone shout my name. As I spin around to face them, I lose my footing and everything around me seems to melt.
As the room starts coming into focus, I’m completely disorientated. I know I didn’t touch anyone, but I am unmistakably in the throes of a vision. Looking down to where I’ve fallen, I realise I’ve landed inside the circle of blood.
Something is different though. It doesn’t feel right.
Looking up, I see that the curtains are closed. There’s no sunlight shining in this time, its cold, and yet my hands are warm. And sticky.
Lifting them up, the blood from the floor comes with. I try to scream but my throat closes, letting only a feeble gasp escape. Bringing my hands closer to my face I smell the metallic scent and know that this is no illusion; somehow the blood is fresh and clinging to me, I can smell it – this has never happened before.
My chest starts to become tighter and my head spinning.
My vision tunnels to black.
Then I hear a whimper and my eyes snap back to the room. Taking everything in this time, I notice that in the corner of the room, opposite to the window is a child. They’re curled up in themselves, making their body as small as possible, whilst their back slowly oozes with blood.
Scrambling up to my knees, I go to race over to the kid when I hear a sound beside me. Turning my head slightly, I see the man from the visions kneeling at what looks like an opening in the circle. He’s speaking in that foreign language and drawing symbols in the blood. The temperature in the room plummets as he closes the circle and a shimmering barrier springs up around us, blocking us in.
Without warning, he speaks. My heart leaps out my chest as I r
ace to understand the guttural words he’s speaking. It’s no use though — I haven’t heard anything even remotely similar to it before and just can’t make sense of it.
Stopping concentrating on the words lets me concentrate on what’s happening. The air is getting thick enough to walk on. Trying to raise my hand in the air feels like I’m pushing it through toffee. The more he’s speaking, the thicker the air is becoming.
Tendrils of what looks like shadows start to form from the dense air. They sneak out towards the form of the child in the corner, and wrap their shadows around the body, dragging it kicking and screaming to the centre of the circle. That’s when I see it’s a young boy, maybe eight years old. Tear tracks stain his face as he begins to sob even more, the tears clearing the blood that’s smeared across his cheeks.
“Be quiet,” booms a voice from behind me, making my heart beat faster than it ever has before.
He slowly stalks his way over from the edge of the circle to the centre of it, standing over the boy so his feet are on either side of him; I scoot out of the way to the top of the boy’s head. The man switches back to what sounds like his home tongue. The young boy in front of me whimpers, squeezing his eyes tight shut, whispering over and over again.
“It’s just a dream, it’s a just a dream, it’s just a dream.” Reaching a hand out, I hesitate before I touch the boy’s hair and start smoothing it backwards. His chest that is rising and falling faster than I can keep count finally begins to slow, his breathing calming. Reaching down for one of his hands, I wrap it in mine and squeeze, wishing I could do something to stop this.
“Are you my guardian angel?” the boy asks me, a layer of calm creeping into his eyes. Momentarily shocked that he can see and feel me, I freeze.
This has never happened to me before. Then I smile down at him, “Yes”. I will say anything I need to in this moment. He smiles at me and closes his eyes again, squeezing my hand back.
A flash of silver flashes in the peripheral of my vision, a second before a knife is plunged into the chest of the boy. Moments later I watch in awe as a light made of pure gold rises from the boy’s body and is encased in a cage of shadows.
The world begins to melt away.
Slowly my eyes open. I see faces of three people staring down at me. The looks on their faces range from scared to awestruck, to calculating. It’s that last one that scares me the most. After a few moments, I manage to croak out the answer to the puzzle that’s been plaguing me since I walked into the house.
“He’s taking their souls. That’s why there are no ghosts.”
I expect gasps around me, but there’s nothing. Just silence. I manage to croak out one more word.
“Demon.” Before the world starts fading behind my eyes,
“Call in Simon,” is the last thing I hear, before the darkness steals me, taking me into a place full of blood and screams.
Chapter Ten
I’m lying on a sofa in a darkened living room, a bucket of sick next to me, the stench making me want to be sick again. My throat is raw from vomiting, from screaming and from crying. I need a drink but even the thought of trying to swallow some water turns my stomach.
“Please. I can’t do this anymore.” Each word is said through a sob, making it difficult to understand what I’m saying, even to my ears.
“Please.” It comes out as almost a scream. My throat roars in protest of the extra pain I’m causing it. I give up trying to speak and instead curl myself up on the sofa, echoing the position of the boy I’ve been made to watch die time and time again.
“Get up.” His voice makes me flinch and whimper.
“I said get the fuck up.” A hand grips around my arm, using enough force to pull me off the sofa. I fall to the floor though, no strength to keep myself standing.
“Please, please don’t make me do this. I can’t do it again.”
Mitchell crouches down beside me so he can look into my eyes; his face is set with grim determination. “You can do it, and you will do.”
I want to fight, really I do, but there’s no fight left in me anymore. I’m refusing to call him detective though and that’s pissing him off. He doesn’t deserve it. The police are meant to protect and serve. The only one who’s been trying to do that is Ripper, and he’s currently sitting handcuffed to a radiator to stop him from trying to get to me.
“Stop being pathetic. Get over there. If you can take something into the vision with you, we might be able to stop him.” Mitchell isn’t shouting at me, he hasn’t even raised his voice; instead, it’s low and menacing. That’s even worse. He’s close enough to me that I can see that day old stubble spattering across his jaw.
Knowing he’s not going to stop, and not wanting any more bruises, I pull myself onto my knees. Body shaking, I take deep breaths to try to calm my nerves. I really don’t want to do this.
I made the mistake of telling them I’d been able to touch the boy and he’d seen me in the vision. That this was new for me. I suppose my first mistake was actually telling them I’d seen the vision in the first place. I’ve never had one after someone has died before, but I was too shocked to pretend anything else but a vision had happened.
Now they’ve been forcing me to go back into the vision time and time again, touching things and moving around, making a noise to see if anything else happens. It scares me, if the little boy could see me, and touch me; surely he won’t be the only one? They don’t seem to care though. They want me to try to take something into a vision with me this time.
Taking some time to psyche myself up is obviously not what Mitchell plans for me. Wrapping his hand around my arm again, he pulls me over the edge of the circle. My top rises up, skin dragging on the carpet, burning me as I go.
“Mitchell, I swear to God when you uncuff me you’re going to fucking regret doing this,” Ripper shouts from across the room.
I try to spin my head to look at Ripper but Mitchell grabs my jaw between the fingers of his free hand, causing me to gasp as he squeezes my already bruised face.
“Disobey me again and I’ll make sure you can’t,” Mitchell growls at me before pressing something into my hand.
“Make sure you put that somewhere on the demon.” Then he throws my arm away from him so hard I scream. But then, of course, the world around me melts away again.
I’m more confused than normal when I’m thrown into the vision. I’ve seen this one so many times. I know it starts and how it finishes, but it appears after repeatedly seeing a vision so many times, the pattern changes. Taking a moment to figure out where I am, I look around the room. The boy is already in the centre of the room this time, the demon standing at the boy’s feet chanting. I don’t have long.
Praying that whatever Mitchell gave me is still in my hand, I quickly unfurl my fingers, letting out the biggest sigh of relief possible when I see that there’s a smooth, white pebble resting in the palm of my hand.
Moving through the pain, I stumble to my feet and make my way over to where the aptly named Soul Catcher is standing. He’s not been able to see me in any of the previous visions. I’ve been able to touch him, but there’s been absolutely no indication that he knows I’m here. I still don’t breathe though.
His hand reaches out, knife raised.
I’ve run out of time. I drop the pebble into one of the pockets of his suit jacket and throw myself to the floor, grabbing the boy’s hand. I catch a glimpse of his smile before the knife comes flashing down.
I watch for the twelfth time as his life drains away.
“Sweet dreams, Nathaniel,” I whisper.
Tears slide down my face as I wait for the horror of this world to fall away, for my living nightmare to come back. Just before the world rights itself, I’m sure the demon looks at me, and laughter follows me through the darkness.
* * *
Eventually, I become aware of my surroundings. Covered in wet blood again and knowing I’m kneeling where Nathaniel has been murdered becomes too much. Scrambling
up, I hurl myself out of the circle before bringing up more bile.
A hand gently smooth’s my hair back from my face and places a wet cold cloth against my forehead when I finally bring my head up. Opening my eyes, I see its Ripper — I didn’t really expect it to be anyone else. Then I notice the sadness in his eyes. Looking around him I see Mitchell, Maria, and a man I don’t know just staring at me.
“Sorry, I can’t do anything,” Ripper whispers in my ear. He strokes a thumb down my face and mouths the word yet to me before gently letting me go.
“What happened?” I croak out.
No one answers me — they just keep staring at me. This can’t be good.
Finally, the man I don’t know clears his throat and gives me the answer. I was right, it isn’t good.
“We could see it, everything. Your body stayed in the middle of the circle but it was like… there was a whole other version of the room floating above you. We watched it all.” He moves closer as though to touch me but I flinch and he stops where he is.
“How did you do that?” He asks.
I can’t form any words. Already I know that this is going to make my situation worse. My brain seems to have switched off. I can’t form any coherent thoughts.
They start moving around me, I don’t know what they’re doing. I can’t pay any attention. I catch snippets of conversation here and there, I know I should be paying attention, but I can’t.
I’m so tired. I just want to go to sleep. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be me anymore. I would happily trade away what I could do to go back to being a normal person, to forget what it is I can do.
“What did you say?”
I look up, startled to see Ripper has stayed with me. I didn’t realise I’d spoken out loud — this seems to be becoming a habit for me.
“I want to forget. Everything.” There’s silence. “I just want to forget.” The last word catches on a sob and I press the heels of my hands into my eyes trying to stop myself from shedding anymore tears. I don’t notice the calculating look that runs through his eyes.
The Soul Catcher Page 5