Purged

by Peter Laws

  The struggling stopped. Lucy fell to her knees on the ground. Ben grabbed her hair and yanked it back, but his gaze was on Matt.

  ‘Verecundus,’ Matt said again. ‘You’ve baptised Nicola Knox and Tabitha Clarke. But who’s going to baptise you?’

  Ben’s eyelids flickered. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, who’s going to baptise you? How are you going to prepare yourself?’

  ‘I’m already baptised … when I was younger.’

  ‘But think of all you’ve done since then. All that blood needs cleaning off, don’t you think—’

  ‘You’re confusing me.’

  ‘I’m just saying it’s better to be cautious about these things. You should be baptised.’

  ‘Then I’ll do it myself. I’ll say the words and she can push me into the water. Watch.’

  ‘Don’t you know anything?’ Matt said.

  Ben didn’t reply. The wind whistled around them for a moment.

  ‘You can’t baptise yourself. It’s impossible. Someone else has to say the words.’

  ‘God’s going to understa—’

  ‘Ben! Jesus didn’t even baptise himself. He had to get John the Baptist to do it. Are you saying you don’t need anyone else? Are you saying you’re superior to Jesus?’

  ‘Of course I’m not. Don’t say that!’ He lowered the knife, and held it by his side. His jumpy hand made it skitter against his jeans.

  ‘So, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you let me do it? You know I’m an ordained minister.’

  ‘Dad said you left the church.’

  ‘I know. I shouldn’t have done that. It was a mistake. But Ben, I’m back now.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Yes,’ he lied. ‘I’ve repented. Since coming to Hobbs Hill I’ve turned back to God. Your emails helped.’

  ‘Really? I prayed they would.’ Ben suddenly sniffed back a tear, his face a jumble of amazement and regret. ‘Did you tell my dad? Did he know that you’ve changed?’

  ‘I didn’t get the chance.’

  Ben’s face screwed itself in pain. ‘You should have. It would have meant so much. That’s … that’s why he brought you here … said God was calling you back to him. And your family. How you were a good person. That you understood people who were … were different.’

  ‘Well your dad was right. I’ve answered that call. Which means I’m the only one who can do this. Lucy isn’t even a Christian. At least not yet. So it won’t work if she does it. You won’t go to paradise. Let her go, then I’ll say the words and I’ll push you over myself.’

  Ben started to bounce on one foot, then the other. It reminded Matt of a little kid about to wet himself. ‘How do I know you’ll do it?’

  He said the words slowly, precisely. ‘Because as God is my witness, I promise I will say the words, and I promise I will push you over. Just let her go. It’s the only way, son.’

  ‘Swear it.’ His voice was smaller. Younger. He was a child. ‘Swear it to Jesus.’

  Matt looked at the sky and called out words loud enough to bounce off the clouds. ‘In the presence of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. I swear I will do this.’

  Ben’s hand opened and Lucy wriggled out of it. She ran towards Matt, trainers slamming into the grass, flinging her arms around his waist as she tumbled at his feet. Her grip was tight and he dropped so they could hold one another, as if the wind was going to blow them off the edge and it was the only way to stay safe.

  She turned back to Ben, face filled with hate. ‘You killed your own dad, you sicko.’

  ‘Lucy,’ Matt said. ‘See those policemen, back there? Up by the benches. Run to them now. Run to them and don’t look back.’

  She shook her head and gripped him tighter. ‘I’m staying with you. He’s crazy, you might need me.’

  ‘Dammit, Lucy, for once do what I say.’

  She brought her head back and looked at him. An odd sound came out of her, somewhere between a sob and laughter. ‘Okay …’

  She pulled her hands away, and ran.

  ‘Alright,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve done what you asked. Now come closer so you can push me.’

  ‘Drop the knife, first.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not going to do that. Just come here and push me, please.’

  ‘Okay. But just one question before I do it.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Other than Tabitha and Nicola Knox …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have there been any more? Have you sent any other people to heaven?’

  His eyes closed halfway, and the edge of his mouth rose up a notch. ‘Some.’

  Matt felt his skin tighten. ‘How many? What are their names?’

  ‘Not telling.’

  ‘Then tell me this. Who was helping you? I know you weren’t alone in this.’

  Ben stood straighter, looking suddenly proud. ‘Stephen helped me.’

  ‘And who’s he?’

  ‘A friend. Now do it.’

  ‘Who’s Stephen?’

  ‘No more questions,’ he shouted. Then more gently, ‘And I’m sorry I couldn’t save your daughter. Maybe you could baptise her for me, one of these cold nights. Just don’t let her up after.’ The wind ruffled his hair. ‘So do it. Say the words, and push me over. God says it’s time. Can’t you hear him shouting?’

  Matt took another step forward. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Are you scared?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘You know we don’t have to do this. At least not tonight.’

  ‘Ah, but we do.’ He turned his head and looked back out over the edge and down across the lake. He aimed his voice towards the glow of Hobbs Hill and shouted, ‘I am the world’s last evangelist!’ The echo made it sound like there were other young men down there, saying the same thing. When Ben turned back a tear was running down his face. ‘This calling hasn’t been easy for me, you know.’

  He nodded, ‘I know.’

  ‘Then I’m ready. God bless you for this, Mr Hunter. Tell others about what I’ve done. Show them the fox. Show them the emails. And put a rainbow on my gravestone. Then they’ll understand.’

  Matt lifted his right hand in the air, finger’s raised in blessing. ‘Ben Kelly. Do you confess Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And forsaking all others, do you promise to follow him as long as you live?’

  ‘I do,’ Ben said. ‘Come closer. You can’t reach me from there.’

  He took another step forward.

  Eight feet away now. Matt could see the water from the lake, sparkling in the moonlight below.

  ‘Then, Ben Kelly. I baptise you, in the name of the Father …’

  Ben started to whisper prayers under his breath. Mostly it sounded like the words, thank you.

  ‘In the name of the Son …’

  It would only take one hard push to send him over the edge. Ben closed his eyes and opened up his arms. The wind ruffled his shirt. ‘Finish it, please.’

  The moon looked beautiful in the sky. The stars were like angels’ cameras catching the sacred moment. The cosmos itself was waiting for Matt to complete the ritual.

  Screw the cosmos.

  Matt glanced at the sky, turned and started to walk back the way he came, leaving Ben with his arms open and eyes closed.

  He’d taken seven or eight steps when Ben must have opened his eyes. ‘Hey.’

  Matt kept walking.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’

  He glanced back over his shoulder, to make sure Ben was still at the edge but he still ignored the question. He picked up the pace.

  ‘Hey, don’t leave me. Don’t … hey! Don’t leave me here. What are you doing? You haven’t finished it.’

  Matt started to jog up the little ridge to where Miller and Taylor were standing. ‘Start walking.’

  They turned and the three of them headed in the same direction.

  ‘Damn you!’
Ben shouted after them. ‘You promised. You swore before God!’

  Matt could see a line of police and the flash of the paramedics van. They were racing through the picnic benches to get to Lucy. And with them he saw Wren, clutching Amelia yet running faster than anyone towards her daughter.

  By the time Matt had reached the plastic squirrel bins, there was a hundred-foot gap between them and Ben on the cliff edge.

  ‘Okay, that’ll do,’ Matt said and turned again.

  Ben was still there, calling out ‘liar’ in one breath, and begging him to come back in another.

  Matt cupped his hands around each side of his mouth, and started to call out, ‘Ben. Listen to me. Can you hear me alright?’

  Ben stopped speaking.

  ‘Suicides go to hell. You know that. And even if you try to accidentally fall, it’s not going to be an accident, is it? So you need to know something … nobody is going to push you off there tonight. You hear me? Nobody. So drop the knife and give yourself up.’

  Ben said nothing; he just turned his head and leant back a little. Gazing over the edge and down into the water. He looked petrified.

  ‘Maybe God wants you to live a while longer. To tell your own story.’

  ‘You think he’ll jump?’ Miller whispered, coming up behind him with Taylor.

  ‘He can’t. Not by himself.’

  ‘Then what do we do? We just sit here all night?’

  ‘As long as he’s near that ledge, then yes. If we try to pull him back he’s going to stab someone, or pull them over.’

  ‘Let the bugger jump, I say,’ Miller said quietly.

  ‘And if we do that we’ll never know how many others he’s done this to. Or who helped him. So we wait.’ He looked back towards the line of police where Lucy was. ‘Look, I’m going to check on—’

  ‘Sir?’ Taylor said suddenly. ‘Look. He’s doing something.’

  Matt turned.

  Ben was still at the very edge but now he was lifting the knife. He seemed to look at it for a few seconds then he flung it over his shoulder. It sparkled in the air before dropping into oblivion behind him.

  ‘He’s going to turn himself in,’ Miller said. He called back to a few of his men. ‘You four. Follow me.’

  ‘Wait,’ Matt held up his hand. ‘Just wait.’

  ‘Why? We need to get down there.’

  ‘Something’s not right.’

  Ben started to raise his arms again.

  ‘What are you on about?’ Miller said. ‘He’s dropped the knife, and now he’s surrendering.’

  Ben started waving his hands towards himself. Beckoning. There was something about it. Something weird and wrong.

  Miller spat out a breath in frustration. ‘He’s calling us over. I’m getting down there before he changes his mind.’

  ‘Look at him,’ Matt said. ‘He’s not calling us over. He’s not even looking at us.’

  They started to walk back towards Ben, slowly down the ridge.

  ‘He’s spotted someone by the river,’ Miller said. ‘He’s calling them. Have we got any men down there, Taylor?’

  They quickly broke into a run, towards the edge. With every step, Matt could make out the growing smile in Ben’s face. Then a wild, giddy laughter. Ben was staring at the river, waving someone close. But Matt couldn’t see anyone. Just the swirl of water rushing to fling itself over the edge.

  ‘Ben,’ Matt shouted. ‘Wait! Just think about what you’re doing.’

  But now Ben had opened his arms wide and was tilting his head to the side.

  They ran.

  Twenty feet away now, and Matt started to cry out, ‘Ben, for God’s sake. It’s still suicide!’

  But Ben wasn’t listening any more.

  His eyes weren’t even on the water. Instead they were scanning the side of the river. He saw something, someone, that nobody else could see. Running towards him.

  Ben’s eyes flickered.

  They were twenty feet away from him.

  Fifteen.

  Miller’s voice. ‘He’s going to jump.’

  Ten.

  Ben suddenly closed his eyes tight to brace for impact. Anyone else would have assumed it was because he thought Matt and the others were about to plough into him.

  But Matt knew. Ben wasn’t even aware of them. He was seeing someone else.

  Four feet.

  Matt reached out his arm, Miller did too. He tried to grab Ben’s shirt.

  ‘Do it, Stephen,’ Ben whispered. ‘Do it!’

  It was so dark that Matt couldn’t see Ben’s lips move at all. But he did hear another voice. Which sounded like Ben, but somehow wasn’t. And it whispered the final words that he’d been longing to hear. ‘And in the name of the Holy Spirit.’

  Matt, Miller and Taylor grabbed at thin air.

  Ben fell backwards. Silently.

  Eyes closed. Arms outstretched, he had became one final, Hobbs Hill crucifix.

  The three men stumbled to the ground, a couple of feet from the edge, expecting to hear a scream but there was none. The wind whistled in Matt’s ear as he grabbed the grass and peered over the edge to watch Ben fall. Cooper’s Force fell with him.

  Ben seemed to drop slowly. Shirt, hair, clothes, flapping in the wind. His face was framed with an infuriating serenity. And when he hit the water, there was no wail of agony or pain. No yelp of shock at the snapping spine.

  Just a dull splashing sound that echoed around the rock walls.

  They watched for what felt like forever. Matt started to wonder if the body would ever come back up again. Then Miller spotted something, twenty feet away, towards the centre of the lake. It was the mound of Ben’s back and the wet curve of his head bobbing up out of the water. The force of the impact must have ripped his shirt away.

  Miller spoke first. ‘So, Professor. Do suicides really burn in hell?’

  ‘Hell isn’t real.’

  ‘Shame,’ Miller brushed the dirt off his jacket, ‘because I bloody well hope it’s real for this one.’ He turned and started to walk back along the river.

  After a while, Taylor turned as well. But before he did, for some reason he said, ‘Don’t look for too long, Matt.’

  Matt wanted to go with them, but his body wouldn’t let him. He just stood up and watched the glistening lump drifting through the water.

  Despite Miller’s hopes of hell, Ben didn’t look like he was burning at all. Perhaps when they pulled him out they might see that Ben’s expression had changed in those final moments from joy and peace to the sheer desperate, hopeless terror he probably deserved. But though Matt couldn’t see anything from here, he somehow knew that Ben’s face would show no fear.

  Asleep, and happy in that final baptism. Dreaming of heaven in death. In his final moments Ben would have felt hopeful and, most cutting of all, innocent. Forgiven. Maybe in God’s scheme of things, killers like Ben Kelly and Ian Pendle would get matching heavenly mansions.

  Matt stood utterly still for a minute, feeling like the clouds might suddenly swoop down, wrap themselves around him and race down his throat to make him choke. He fought a hot, gushing urge to burst into mad screams at God, which at first felt like bitter rage but was more truly, he knew, a sort of heartbroken bafflement. A desperate, gasping tug at a cosmic collar, spitting out tearful questions like, If you’re there, then … why is it like this? How can this be right?

  How could God, in good conscience, earmark Matt and his wife and his beautiful daughters, and every other non-believer for hell while below him, another forgiven killer was floating gently and peacefully toward the lapping shores of paradise?

  How could anyone not reject a belief system so twisted? Then for a moment – a small, heart-stopping moment – he heard a voice behind him, and he thought it might be Ben’s accomplice until he smelled that odd stench that had drifted from Arima Adakay.

  Mama neeeeeed

  He span round, half expecting to see her crouching on the hill, lettuce hanging from her mouth, all de
monized. But he saw nothing. He only heard the rattle of something, which sounded too much like the low buzz of laughter in the shadows.

  Then there was nothing, and the laughter was gone. All that was left was his family on the hill, hugging one another.

  He hurried back towards them, pushing past the police. Wren, Lucy and Amelia were in a heap on the grass, crying with relief and gratitude. He swooped his arms around them and for a while they wept and hugged and shivered in the moonlight.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Matt stood at the coffee machine with his tired head resting against the glass. His breath fogged circles onto it and he watched the mist grow, only to vanish again. He yawned, stood up straight and ran his finger down the buttons. He jabbed the one marked PG Tips. Tea gurgled into a brown plastic cup, which stung his fingers when he grabbed it.

  A nurse almost collided with him as he turned. She rolled her eyes and pushed through the double doors, trotting loudly down the stairwell.

  He set his tea on the little plastic tray. Wren and Lucy’s coffee sat next to it, with a carton of apple juice for Amelia. Then he carried it back down the corridor to Nelson Ward, yawning as he went.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall.

  2.22 a. m.

  It was only as he was pushing at the ward door that he heard the lift doors slide open. There was a squeak on the shiny floor, loud enough for him to stop and see who had made it.

  Seth Cardle stepped out, with a huge tray of chocolates under his arm. A balloon bobbed from his other hand, pink with yellow smiley faces on it, saying, ‘Get Well Soon’. Seth’s eyes were hollow, devastated. He walked slowly towards Matt, lifting his limbs like a grim marionette.

  Matt set the tray down on the arms of a chair.

  ‘How’s Lucy?’ Seth’s tone was softer than usual. Thin.

  ‘Shaken up, obviously, and quite bruised. The doctors are going to keep her in to get some sleep but they think she’ll come home later today.’

  ‘And psychologically?’

  It seemed like an intrusive question, but Matt answered it anyway. ‘That’s impossible to know.’

  Seth pushed the chocolates forward. ‘I won’t come in. It’s late and she’ll need some space. Just tell her the church are asking after her.’ He set them down on a chair by the ward door. He hovered for a moment, not speaking.