Gallo watched closely.
“What? Now? Thank you...no-no...I’ve been trying to gain access for so long...I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up.
“What is it?”
“Speak of the devil,” Malachi exclaimed, and then laughed shortly at what he’d said. “That was the Prefect...Giuseppe Lopez. He says I’m in! The Holy Father wants to see me right now.”
~ 6 ~
Nothing stirred in the night as billows of steam hissed from the automobile’s fractured radiator. Clay shook his head to clear the cobwebs and found himself looking through a glassless window frame with most of the shattered windscreen lying on the dramatically shortened and buckled front hood. He was amazed that both headlights were still cutting swaths through the mist and fog, though now at cock-eyed angles. They highlighted the large monument they had hit; it was topped by a formidable stone rendition of a Crucifix.
“Maria...are you okay?”
“I-I think so,” she said. They stared at each other for a moment in shock.
“Jesus Christ,” Clay muttered in sudden realization as the Ruger magically appeared in his hand. He pointed it towards the roof and there was a brilliant flash and a deafening bang as a foot-long muzzle flame burned a hole in the overhead roof fabric, and the bullet tore a hole in the car’s ceiling. Maria screamed again. With ears ringing, he apologized. “Sorry...sorry. Gotta get him. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I...yes...I’m not hurt –!”
He pushed his door open. “Good. Stay here...stay down!” His seatbelt clicked open and he threw himself out of the car onto the leaf covered grass, rolled once, scrambled to his feet and extended the revolver towards the automobile’s roof.
Nothing....
He spun around, weapon at the ready and then started as he saw movement a hundred yards away near a mausoleum. Cocking his weapon he ran towards the spot where a vague form had silently melted back into the shadows. In a few seconds he stood where the form had been but he saw only shadows.
“Clay...Clay!” Maria shouted, but there was no response; the sound of his running footsteps faded into the night. She spit out a piece of something. Tasting the saltiness of blood, she realized it was a nugget of safety glass. The distant hoot of an owl made her realize she was alone; the Beast could be stalking her right now as she sat trapped and helplessly in the car. Despite the shock, Maria had no doubt about what had attacked them; they were both in mortal danger. She tried once more: “Clay! For God’s sake, answer me. Come back!” There was no sound except a growing patter of raindrops against the metal of the automobile. She had to call the Crusaders. She looked for the cell phone in her hand bag lying open on the seat. The phone was now lying on the floor mat, its face smashed in, and its back lying beside it.
The acrid smell of antifreeze sizzling on the heated engine block and the sweet smell of spilled gasoline made her realize that at any moment the automobile could burst into flames. She undid her seatbelt and was relieved to find the door opened easily.
Maria tumbled out of the car and got to her feet, her legs rubbery. Cautiously she inspected herself once again. Her only injury seemed to be soreness from where the seatbelt had dug into her chest wall between her breasts. She stared around, caught sight of the stone cross topping the monument they struck and realized why the Beast had vanished.
In the light from the car’s headlight beams Maria surveyed the rest of her surroundings and found herself looking at a scene from a gothic horror movie.
All around her were mausoleums, monuments, gravestones and tombs heavily overgrown with vines, ivy and weeds. In various corners, stone angels and gargoyle-like creatures stared mutely at her as though angry at the invasion of their sanctuary. From a tree off to her right the owl hooted again and Maria looked back towards where they had come through the fence. Carefully she began picking her way among the broken tombstones towards the road. Two huge booms followed by a single distinctive whine as a bullet ricocheted off rock sounded from somewhere behind the concrete wall of a tomb. With this, she cast caution to the winds and ran towards the safety of the pavement and out of the cemetery.
Nothing stirred as she stood on the pavement of the deserted roadway....
A few crickets took to chirping....
She tried again: “Clay...where are you?”
A cold silence was her only answer.
~ 7 ~
Meanwhile, a quarter mile away, slowly making his way down a stone corridor with burial vaults on both sides, Clay lowered his .44 after firing twice at movements off to his left. The stench of cordite stung his nostrils. He tried to rein in his beating heart as he realized he was being unconscionably reckless; those shots could travel a mile. At the moment, however, he was spooked enough that he’d thrown caution and training to the wind. Whoever had landed on the roof of the car wasn’t only big, he was also amazingly strong to have smashed his hand through the safety glass.
Clay pulled the spent shells from the cylinder, manually thumbed three fresh rounds into it and flipped it closed. He moved softly through the cemetery, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, trying his best not to step on branches that would snap and betray his position. He worked his way patiently around gravestones and explored every shadow as he moved in a half-crouch, silent as an Indian hunter. His Army Ranger training was coming in useful as he carefully picked his way around small twigs that could snap and betray his presence. He held the revolver in the classic two-handed grip, ready to fire.
He cautioned himself that there was supposed to be an English cop standing guard somewhere in the cemetery, so he’s better be more careful. In fact, if the constable had heard the gunshots, he may have already summoned more police.
Still, whoever or whatever they had encountered that tried to grab Maria wasn’t going to get a second chance if he had a say in it. If this was something supernatural he was hunting, as Malachi and Maria claimed, why had it run?
Maria! “Damn it,” he muttered aloud, realizing he’d left her alone in his pursuit. What if his quarry had doubled back?
Abruptly he turned and began quickly making his way towards where he thought the wrecked automobile was located. After a minute he stopped dead and surveyed a number of different stone monuments, entrances to catacombs and stone archways. He had come through an archway, and around a catacomb...but which one? There were two in his field of vision. He tried to remember exactly where he’d come from. A forest of huge oak trees loomed over everything; it was truly a city of shadows.
He had to find Maria.
Throwing caution to the winds, he called out her name.
No answer...
...just the sound of raindrops splashing into shallow puddles.
Slowly Clay turned in a complete circle, his weapon ready. Nothing immediately recognizable.
He was lost!
~ 8 ~
Maria walked cautiously down Swains Lane, her heels echoing hollow on the damp pavement. Ahead of her, set into the walls of the laneway was a tan, neo-Tudor house or lodge of some type. She vaguely remembered reading about Swain’s Lane Lodge in information she’d gleamed about Highgate Cemetery on the net. It was supposed to be vacant if she remembered correctly with Camden Town Council arguing over its use and the cost of refurbishment.
As she approached the two-story building, she noted that a door fronted on the lane, and it was flanked by two windows below and two above; the door stood ajar. Suddenly she became aware of a darkness gradually invading her psyche.
It was near...
...and she was alone.
Inside the lodge, Adramelech waited. His current incarnation, while less horrid, was no less imposing. In fact, he could pass for a human now despite the milk white flesh and the eyes that glowed red in the faint light from the street lamps filtering through the dirt-streaked windows on either side of the open door. He raised a muscular arm; nails that were more like talons gleamed at the ends of his claw-like fingers.
H
e waited patiently.
She was getting closer....
He could hear Maria’s quickened breathing, smell her sweet perfume and even the fact she was at her time of the month. He would kill her quickly, forego any pleasures and wait for her partner to come looking; he knew his true quarry wouldn’t be far behind the girl. After so many years, he would fulfill the Satanic requisition and kill the one who dared escape him.
“Clay...!” Maria called, in case he had come this way and was in the house. “Clay...are you in there?” She trembled as the sense of foreboding grew ever-so-slowly larger and more suffocating. Where was Clay? Was he hurt? Dead?
The Beast drew near the door being sure to remain in the shadows. She was so close to the end. Once she stepped through the doorway, he would decapitate her quickly so no further sound would be uttered. “Come, my little sanctimonious bitch...come to your better,” Adramelech whispered into the emptiness of the room.
“Clay...I need you...I’m frightened,” Maria called again from outside. A sense of dread and revulsion was clouding all other thoughts from her mind. She began to tremble, felt nauseous and desperately reached under the neck of her sweater to pull up a four-inch silver Crucifix attached to a pewter chain. She held it before her, reached for the lodge door and pushed it inward. It creaked and groaned but swung three-quarters open. The inside was pitch black.
Maria stepped towards the doorway.
“Maria!” The voice was strong and commanding. Clay strode hurriedly down the lane, his footsteps echoing off the walls. “Get away from there. God knows, that madman could be inside.”
Maria backed out and Adramelech moved swiftly opposite the open door where he could remain in the blackness while he watched Clay and Maria embrace. As he coiled muscles and readied his strike, Maria’s Crucifix flashed reflecting the headlights of an automobile speeding down the laneway. He froze as its sound alerted the pair and they looked up in sudden concern.
The black Saab began braking the moment the driver spotted Maria and Clay who had virtually nowhere to run. Clay dragged Maria to the side of the lane, against the wall. The automobile slithered sideways and then fishtailed but somehow maintained control until finally it came to rest a few feet from them. They approached the driver’s open window.
“Are you alright, sir,” asked a 40-something male with black hair and sporting a square crew-cut. He was dressed in a navy-blue turtleneck and dark navy pea jacket. His piercing grey eyes and lantern-like jaw gave him a rugged, handsome quality. Beside him, and in the back seat, were seated two other very fit looking men of about the same age. There was something strange about their sudden appearance; too coincidental. And they looked to be very capable fellows.
Cops, thought Clay. How was he going to explain this one? “Yes, we’re fine thanks. Just got a bit of a scare when we saw you coming.”
The driver nodded with a slight smile. “My fault, I shouldn’t have been driving so fast.” He hesitated for a moment and glanced briefly at his companions. “I’m Kit Nathaniel. Can we give you a lift anywhere?”
“No thanks, we’re fine,” Clay said, realizing that the driver had an American accent. At the back of his mind there was a nagging feeling he’d seen this man before. He now surmised it was unlikely they were cops with that accent; perhaps American military personnel.
“You’re sure you don’t need a ride?” It was a swarthy Mediterranean type with an Italian accent in the back seat leaning forward.
“No, we’re fine,” Clay assured them.
“Do you have a cell phone?” the driver inquired politely observing the darkness.
“Yes, we have a cell,” Clay answered. There was no way he and Maria were getting in a car with a trio of strangers.
“We’ll get back on the road then. Sorry to have bothered you.” He nodded, carefully straightened the car and accelerated smoothly away up the lane. The brake lights flashed momentarily near the gaping hole in the security fence but then, surprisingly, the car accelerated and vanished.
As the sound of the motor faded, at the same moment, Clay and Maria realized that they were holding hands. They quickly separated. Flustered he started to apologize for the embrace a few moments before and felt himself reddening. “Sorry about grabbing you...” he said.
She smiled at him and he felt his heart quicken.
“Relax Clay...I’m not made of stone either. I was so frightened by what I was feeling, I needed your arms around me for a moment. So don’t apologize. Thank our merciful Lord, the feeling is gone now. We’re safe. At least for the moment.”
They walked back down the lane towards the gap in the iron fence with Clay lamenting the condition of the Previa. It was likely a write-off. “You think that was your ‘demon’?” he asked.
“You don’t seem impressed.”
“Oh I was impressed alright, but if he’s so damned powerful, why did he to run?”.
“From all reports, he cannot stand the sign of our redemption – a Crucifix. More than any other holy symbol, the instrument of our Lord’s sacrificial death repels and weakens him. We just happened to crash into one that was fifteen feet high.”
Clay looked up at the monument looming over the ruined car and nodded. His hand instinctively checked the oversized shoulder holster and weapon under his jacket. “Did you sense anything back there?
“I did...but it’s gone now.”
No sooner had she uttered her words than they heard the shrill sound of a police whistle. It was cut off in mid-note followed by a distant but unmistakably terrified scream.
~ 9 ~
The blue lights of a dozen marked and unmarked police cars flashed off Highgate Cemetery’s vine-covered trees and ancient-looking tombstones as uniformed bobbies, plain-clothed detectives and others milled about. The squad cars’ retro-reflective livery markings of yellow and blue contrasted with the staid surroundings of the cemetery.
The inevitable crowd of curious onlookers had gathered with a contingent of press off to the side. Police crosstalk punctuated by bouts of static poured out of police radios as Clay and Maria watched Chief Superintendent Cruickshank approach them from the other side of a line of police tape. An ambulance, it’s doors open stood off to one side. It would not be making an emergency run tonight; the coroner was already on-site.
“I say, it just beggars belief that this fiend could do that to the young constable,” Cruickshank said to another detective as they ducked under the tape. Cruickshank was wearing the same suit he’d had on earlier in the day but he was missing a tie, his shirt collar open. He looked tired and sad. His companion just shook his head and moved off to confer with another individual in a suit while Cruickshank approached Clay and Maria. They watched him studying them as he drew nearer.
Clay had learned from a constable assigned to stay with them that concerned citizens had telephoned police because of the noise of their car crash, some shots and the voices in the cemetery. Clay and Maria had been running towards where the scream had originated when police arrived, their Claxton-like horns blaring. Clay had the presence of mind to shrug off his holster and revolver and throw the rig under a bush near the laneway before they got close. When the squad cars pulled up, Clay and Maria were immediately held by police. It wasn’t long before Detective Chief Superintendent Cruickshank arrived on the scene, recognized them, got a scaled down version of their story, and then left to examine the body of a young constable found near the yellow, taped-off crime scene where the girls had been murdered. Clay had doctored his story only slightly saying someone landed on their roof, smashed through their windshield with a revolver in hand and tried to shoot them. Clay had wrestled it away and fired through the roof losing control of the car in the process. When they crashed, he lost the revolver but gave chase.
Maria learned from a paramedic that the policeman who had been guarding the crime scene had been brutally attacked and killed. It had been an hour since Cruickshank had made his way to where the body lay and he was now grim-faced on his
return.
“So you were on your way here when you were ‘ambushed’ by someone?” he asked.
“That’s correct,” Clay said.
“Why? Why would anyone want to ambush you or Miss Lapierre?”
“Maybe the Ripper was waiting for his next victim?”
“So he jumps from a tree onto the roof of a moving vehicle without even knowing who was inside? You can do better than that, Mr. Montague.”
“I can’t explain it,” Clay answered. “I can only tell you what happened.”
“What did he look like? Can you give us a description?”
“I never laid eyes on him. I was chasing after a shadow in the cemetery. All I can tell you is that he was abnormally tall.”
“How tall?”
“I’d say...about six foot four...or five.”
“Clothes?” The Chief Superintendent was watching him closely as he answered. Any hesitation on his part could be construed as him fabricating the evidence.
“Dark clothes...maybe even a cape of some sort.”
“A cape? Like ‘Batman’?” Cruickshank asked, his tone incredulous.
Clay met his gaze. “Something like that.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“You had better be telling me everything, sir, or there will be consequences. Dire consequences. Someone has just ripped the head off a young constable with a wife and two children. So let’s hear it again. You came up here to see the murder scene at night and were attacked in your automobile. You gave chase, he fired at you and you came back to your companion here. Then you heard someone scream?”
“That’s correct,” Clay said. “It was a man’s voice.”
He sighed. “I’ve seen your car...with the bullet hole in the roof. Wouldn’t the weapon be inside the automobile? If you had it in hand and then dropped it? Because it isn’t there now; we checked.”
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