Isabel's Light

by Andy Jarvis

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Silas does not tell the truth. His tale of the mandrake’s use in Mediterranean culture does not fit in with any practice that I’ve heard of. Also he holds a secret; one that he shares with Reverend John.”

  “What secret?”

  “That, I don’t know, but I do know this: it is Reverend John’s secret that holds Isabel to this earth. You must understand that I alone cannot make spirits cross over. That must come from the person that the spirit stays for. As long as the truth remains hidden, Isabel will not leave and…”

  “And what?”

  “The entity also will stay.”

  “But what secret could Reverend John and Silas have?” said Baz. “We all know what happened to Isabel; it’s written in the Records.”

  “All I know is that something terrible happened here in this very church a long time ago, and Reverend John knows of it,” said Henry. “He chooses to keep it to himself. The Records don’t tell everything and Reverend John is not forthcoming with the truth.”

  “Remember, Ed? Arden said he was lying, and that pages were missing from the Records or not filled in. So what could it be? And if it happened here, why are we safer here than up at Fearn Lane? You said it wasn’t safe for us there.”

  “The cottage would have been safe, although I didn’t know it at the time. I needed time to do my work and to consult others, to find the very place where the unspeakable happened, and hence where the evil emanates from.”

  “So where is it?” I said.

  “We’re sitting on it,” Henry whispered.

  “Oh shit!” squeaked Baz.

  “Are you mad?” I said. “It was hard enough to get Baz in here tonight without you trying to scare him half to death.”

  “You’re quite safe with me,” said Henry.

  “How do we know that?” said Baz.

  “Because it knows me. By sitting on its very doorstep I’ve introduced myself and shown that I’m unafraid. And now it knows you also.”

  “So, what’s it to do with us?” I said. “You’re the one who’s supposed to have the power. What can me and Baz do? What are we supposed to do, beat some sort of confession out of Reverend John and Silas?”

  “No, your role in this is not yet clear, although I believe that Isabel has one for you, and wishes you to be here when it’s done. It is my belief that only the innocent, the pure of heart or even the naïve can turn back the darkness. Reverend John is not entirely innocent and certainly not naïve, but he is kind of heart, a good man, but he alone will not complete the passing over. And Isabel must have the truth come from Reverend John. That part you can leave to me.”

  “When will you do it?”

  “Tomorrow it begins.”

  19.

  Phone call from McBright, the following day:

  “What are you two fuckers still doing there?”

  “Me and Baz just popped over from the service Job in Norwich. I thought we’d have another look at Reverend John’s boiler.”

  “You’re not supposed to be there. I told you, Chorley’s delivering next Monday, and I’m supervising the installation, so get your sorry asses back.”

  “It’s not just that. Reverend John wants us to stop the night. He’s having a special service this evening to…bless the church, after the exhumation and all. He wants us there. You can check if you like. He says he’ll pay for our absence if necessary.”

  “Damn right it’ll be necessary. What is all this shit I read in the paper about him punching a reporter at the funeral? You weren’t involved were you?”

  “No way.”

  “You better not have been. Never mind stopping over; as soon as his lordship has finished splashing the holy water about, you two come back. That means tonight, got it?”

  Breakfast at the Bell that morning was a sullen affair. The landlord and his wife busied themselves in and out of the dining room as a handful of residents quietly consumed their meals. Baz prodded and poked at his fry-up in silence. He spooned sugar into tea while crunching on a single bacon rasher, all the while staring down at the white tablecloth.

  I sugared my tea and tapped twice on the side of the cup. He was still lost in thought. Then I tapped out a little single note tune, same as the secret knock thing you do to let someone know it’s only you at the door.

  He looked up with a half crunched mouthful. “What?” he said.

  “I was just wondering what you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Last night.”

  “I think we’re going to an exorcism or something,” said Baz, slowly resuming his mouthful and sipping tea.

  “You’re not really going along with all this are you?”

  “Well, Henry said we were to be there. He said it was most important. To tell the truth, I’m a bit scared, but he said we’d be safe.”

  “Come on Baz, can’t you see what’s going on? It’s all going to be like some show. I don’t trust the guy, call it a gut feeling, but there’s thousands like him. He might seem a little more convincing because of his simplicity.”

  Baz paused thoughtfully, and just for a change, swallowed before speaking. “Well, Arden said he was supposed to be good, and had loads of credentials like, so I think we should show up at least.”

  “All that means is that he’s successfully duped more people. He’s more convincing, that’s all. Listen to all that stuff he said last night. Think about it, now that it’s daytime, just think about it. Doesn’t it all seem a bit phoney in the cold light of reality? That scene in the church last night was a prop. Stage managed with a spooky atmosphere, a single candle up-lighting his face, a bit like the thing we used to do in Boy Scout camp when we told ghost stories. And then this tirade of bull he comes out with.”

  “I guess it all does seem a bit unreal now,” said Baz. “But he must be on the level. He wouldn’t have come if he wasn’t?”

  “Christ’s sake Baz, wake up and smell the crap. Bullshit’s one thing, but this is straight from the cow’s anus.”

  Baz stopped eating and stared at me, a puzzled look crossed his face like he was trying to read my thoughts. Then he opened his mouth to speak.

  I got my piece in first: “I know what you’re thinking, and no I’m not envious of Henry, I don’t have a chip on my shoulder because he unfairly jumped me from behind to gain an advantage. Nor am I scared that he’s going to dispel Isabel and prove you right and me wrong.”

  “Actually,” said Baz, “I was wondering how you get bull’s shit from a cow’s anus…but while we’re on the subject…”

  “No, let’s drop the subject. I’ve said all I want to say. If you want to go ahead with this charade then fine, I think I’ll just miss it.”

  “And do what? Sit around in the bar knowing what’s going on just down the road? Or are you going to go home and leave me here without transport when it’s all done? Whatever happened to the saying in for a penny, remember? We’re mates and we stick together. We’re likeminded, you said so yourself.”

  He was right. How could I pour water over a friendship that had lasted years, countless football matches, pub crawls and more laughs than one of those maniacal seaside clowns that you feel like smashing your fist into? We were either both going to this fiasco of Henry’s, or we were both going home. I’d have preferred the latter, if only I could convince Baz.

  “Actually, in a way you’re right,” I said. “But I’d feel more comfortable about it if it was someone else doing the ceremony. Who knows what’s going to happen if some fake starts messing about? What if Isabel gets really riled or something?”

  “All the more reason for you to be there and hold my hand,” said Baz.

  “I still don’t quite understand why he doesn’t get someone else,” I said. “Someone more closely connected with the church. This doesn’t seem right somehow, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yeah, but you know what he said, about those diocese folk thinking he was cracked and using it a
s an excuse to force him into retirement, or what he said about having another clergyman in on his patch.”

  “Sure, but there’s something that’s dawned on me just recently: Why can’t RJ just perform the rites himself? He wouldn’t have to tell his superiors, just leave them out of it. He’s something of a loose cannon with everything else, pardon the pun. Surely he must know the ceremonies by now. In all his years of service he must have come across them at some time.”

  “I think the answer’s clearer than you might think,” said Baz softly.

  “Then what is it?”

  “Think about it, Ed. Think about how we both grew up, how we always had to have our wits about us to survive. I may act dumb at times, but I have studied at the school of the bloody obvious.”

  “I’m not quite with you?” I said.

  “Well, have you seriously thought about why Mrs. Braithwaite is the way she is, so scared of Isabel? And why RJ and Silas are so absorbed and obsessed by her? In all the years Isabel has been in the church, Reverend John could have, at some time or other, taken Mrs. Braithwaite by the hand and explained things to her, just as he has to us, instead of convincing her that she’s talking nonsense, as he did that day in church. He could have gently introduced her to Isabel’s Light, if he really wanted to and Mrs. Braithwaite would be as normal as them, that is, if you can call them normal, but you know what I mean.”

  “I suppose, but what’s your point?”

  “I think both RJ and Silas are obsessed by the Light to the point of greed. They want it all to themselves. You sort of put your finger on it yourself, remember? You said it was like a drug. We’re only involved because RJ was forced to explain things to us. Then he hurried us both off back home with some yarn about having to make preparations. There’s no reason we couldn’t have stayed down here and worked on the boiler while he was doing that, is there?”

  “I guess not,” I said. “But Reverend John’s not selfish. He’s very kind in a gruff sort of way.”

  “So are you. You’re a kind sort. You give and take along with the best of them. You’d give me your last quid if I asked, right?”

  “Alright, so you say, I guess. I take your point. But what does it all mean, then?”

  “I don’t think RJ wants Isabel to go…and neither does Silas.”

  It was so obvious that it hit me like a wet towel slap. Here was Reverend John allowing a perfect stranger the run of his church in full knowledge that he was doomed to failure. In the course of events that would follow, Reverend John would hope, or even expect Isabel to lie quiet while Henry went about his work or whatever it was supposed to be. And she would lie quiet. Why would she appear to someone as disassociated as Henry? She didn’t even appear to folk associated with the church…except a few. Then, when all was apparently done, Henry would leave, we’d go back up home and Reverend John would be left alone in peace with the spirit and the Light that had given him so much comfort as a child and had returned once again. We were never meant to see, and he never wanted us to see, Isabel in the first place. That much he made clear and even tried to cover up at first on that strange day in church. Now he just wanted us convinced that she was gone.

  “Obvious isn’t it?” said Baz. “Look at the way he wanted to get rid of us after we’d stopped overnight at his place, after the mist came back. And he really didn’t want Arden back again. Then when you persuaded him, and Arden came, it’s like he started to play along all of a sudden, and he said ‘well let’s see him then, then we’ll get rid of him once he’s proven himself to be a phoney.’ If anyone’s a fake it’s Reverend John, not Henry.”

  “I believe you’re right,” I said.

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “I think we’re going to an exorcism…or something.”

  20.

  “Well, I’m waiting,” said Reverend John.

  Henry walked casually about the church in much the same manner as the day we met him, looking around, occasionally bending down to look under pews, or stroking pillars. Baz and me sat quietly in the front row. Reverend John stood before the altar with Silas, carefully watching Henry’s every move.

  The whole set up was nothing like I’d imagined, thankfully; no dark clandestine meeting like the night before. The church lights were off, but then it was only afternoon and the overcast sky still lit the phases of the Old Testament. Hardly the stuff of exorcisms.

  “What is it exactly that you do?” demanded Reverend John.

  “Patience, Reverend,” said Henry. “These things take time.” He began examining the tapestry of St. Mark.

  “Patience?” snapped Reverend John. “You’ve been here a week and done nothing but disappear for days on end or scour my church like some rat inspector.”

  Henry turned and approached Reverend John, his arms folded across his chest. “It’s already done, Reverend,” he said. “My part is all but complete. Now, it’s what you are prepared to do that counts.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning what happened here, Reverend?” Henry’s voice turned to a whisper. “What happened all those years ago?”

  Reverend John stood firm, glaring at Henry.

  “The truth, Reverend, is all that is left to do. Isabel desires it. Isabel has awaited it for so long, so that she might be free. Only the truth may free her. Without it she must remain with the one to which she is betrothed.”

  Reverend John gasped: “Why do you use that word?”

  “I don’t know, Reverend. Is it a word that you are familiar with? You have heard it before in context, no doubt. Perhaps you should tell me,” Henry, strolled to the spot where we had sat the previous night. “I know Isabel is entwined in a netherworld with that which is not welcome in your church. She wishes its departure back to the abyss and her own crossing over, but she awaits something from you.”

  “From me? What could she want?”

  “The truth!” cried Henry, spinning round and pointing at Reverend John.

  Reverend John staggered momentarily as though losing his balance then steadied himself.

  “Where am I standing, Reverend?” demanded Henry. “What is this place I stand on? What happened on this spot, Reverend and what is the significance of the tapestry? The tapestry hides things as well, does it not, Reverend? You’ve heard the expression walls have ears? There’s more truth to that saying than you wish to tell.”

  “Well, you’re so bloody clever; I thought you were a psychic. You work it out…” Reverend John faltered with his words as Henry raised his hand.

  “What’s he doing?” whispered Baz.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “But it’s risky with RJ. I think he’s going to blow a fuse with Henry any minute.”

  “Tell me, Reverend,” continued Henry. “What is it about the child now named Christian that upsets you so?”

  Reverend John began panting heavily. Swaying in his steps, he slumped into the front pews. He leant forward, clutching his chest and taking deep breaths. “You’ve just been reading the Parish Records, that’s all you’ve been doing. Then guessing or making up the rest. Call yourself a medium?”

  “Don’t let him do this to you, John,” demanded Silas. “Stop this at once. He placed his arm across Reverend John’s shoulder. “Whatever trick it is you’re playing it’s not on. Can’t you see that the Reverend’s heart is not what it used to be?”

  “The Reverend’s heart is as strong as mine!” cried Henry. “Isabel keeps it that way, doesn’t she, Reverend? Isabel gives you a strength that belies your years. Am I not correct, Reverend? Does the Light of Isabel not give you strength? She gives you this for a purpose, for the deed is not yet done. But what is that purpose, Reverend?”

  “Stop this at once!” cried Silas.

  “Ah, yes – Silas!” cried Henry, pointing at him. “Silas likes to tell lies, doesn’t he? He covers for the Reverend. He is part of the conspiracy. Tell me Silas, what is the meaning of the mandrake?”

  “The mandrake is the prot
ector,” said Silas.

  “From what?”

  “The Dark One.”

  “Oh yes, the Dark One, and what do you know about the Dark One, Silas? How would you know that the mandrake is the protector? Someone else has used the mandrake before, haven’t they, Silas?”

  Henry approached him and whispered: “Who was it, Silas?” He waved his hand above Silas’ head. “I think we both know who don’t we, Silas? Tell me, Silas, doesn’t the Light of Isabel give you also strength? The Light is good isn’t it, Silas?”

  Silas nodded silently, staring into Henry’s eyes.

  “Do you feel the radiance of the Light now, Silas?”

  “No.”

  “No, the Light isn’t here, Silas. It’s growing very dark outside, although it’s still daytime. Yet still you feel it. What does that mean, Silas?”

  “But the lady is still here…somewhere.” mumbled Silas, sitting perfectly still. He stared as though entranced at Henry’s words, then struggled to turn his head away, and was about to say something when Henry turned away abruptly, and marched over to us.

  “You have a desire to leave, am I right?” Henry asked.

  “Yes, but how did you know?” said Baz, his voice trembling. “I was going to ask if we really need to be here.”

  “You’re nervous. That’s to be expected. You should stay. I believe I am not the only one that desires it. Sit tight, it’s nearly done.”

  “What’s nearly done?” I demanded, standing up. “Why do you try to extract something from my friends that they don’t wish to say? I’ve seen someone like you before. It’s very good what you do, but what exactly is it, this…this mind game that you’re playing? I don’t like it, it’s not right.”

  “You have your doubts,” said Henry. “I can understand.” He pointed to the Window. “Go to Isabel’s window and see for yourself. See what is happening to her.”

  I stood cautiously, signalling to Baz to follow.