The Dark Temple

by The Dark Temple (retail) (epub)

  It seemed reasonable to Harker that Father Davies might want someone by his side whom he could trust and confide in when surrounded by a secretive Order he knew little about. But something else niggled him. ‘So how did you become involved with the possessed boy who died, then?’

  ‘Oh, that was on Father Davies’s account. The mother had approached him with the belief that her son was possessed, and it was the Father who requested me to give my expert opinion before he went ahead with an exorcism. That’s where we disagreed,’ Marceau replied, puffing out his chest at the mention of his services being needed. ‘I myself believed the boy to be schizophrenic… but after what happened I freely admit I was wrong. Whatever had taken hold of that boy’s mind subsequently took hold of Father Davies too.’ Marceau now looked deeply sad. ‘After the writing on the wall, and its precise match to what we had seen within the blessed candle, it became impossible to reach any other conclusion. Which is why it is so imperative for us to find out what the original Prophecy says.’

  The plethora of discrepancies in Marceau’s logic was as beguiling as his dimension-portal theory, but before Harker could bombard him with questions, the doctor raised his head up magnanimously. ‘Whichever idea you choose to believe in, Professor, whether astrological or religious, you should nevertheless believe this. Those demons are very real and if we don’t find a way of stopping it, that vision you saw will come to pass. The absolute truth is to be found in a saying that I’m sure you will be familiar with: that the greatest trick the Devil has managed to contrive is to convince humankind that he doesn’t exist.’

  ‘No words, ’ave ever been truer,’ declared a husky voice loudly from behind them.

  Harker glanced instantly over at the hallway to see Avi Legrundy – the Red Death – standing calmly in the doorway with a machete in one hand and holding something else he could not make out in the other. She raised that hand and pointed the mystery item at Harker, whereupon something like two thin, glinting bolts of lightning flew out from her fingertips and struck him directly in the chest.

  The pain was intense and he immediately began to shake as his hands clenched and unclenched uncontrollably. The woman then administered a second pulse of electricity from the taser gun she held, which propelled Harker convulsing to the ground. ‘You ’ave something that don’t belong to you, you little thieves,’ she rasped, moving closer towards Marceau, all the while keeping her finger pressed firmly on the taser’s trigger. ‘And all debts must be paid in full.’

  Chapter 22

  Harker’s eyelids twitched painfully as he opened them fully and began to make out his surroundings through blurry vision. His ears prickled with the sound of static as a bright square light began to take shape, until he was able to recognise clearly the television set which had been placed directly in front of him. He was still in Dr Marceau’s living room, although it was dark now due to the heavy curtains pulled across the windows. As his faculties gradually returned to him, he gazed at the TV screen, his eyes wincing as they adjusted to its brightness. The news story now playing was a CNN report and the red banner running along the bottom read ‘Seven dead in church massacre,’ while above it a reporter was in full flow.

  ‘Authorities are still withholding the details of events that transpired today within this simple Roman church, but eyewitnesses have confirmed that seven people in all, including the priest, were not only murdered but then mutilated after death, leaving a horrifying sight for the cleaner who discovered them. This was the second massacre within a city church, during the last twenty-four hours, and Vatican officials have yet to comment on the deaths, where the victims in each case included a Catholic priest along with his entire congregation.’

  ‘It wasn’t no mutilation. I only cut their eyelids off,’ protested a familiar voice with a heavy Jamaican accent. Harker flicked his head up towards the source and spotted the shadowy figure of Avi Legrundy standing right behind the television screen. ‘It was an awakening for all and them dat were blind can now see.’

  Harker felt a cold shiver run through him when the remorseless killer offered a wide grin, allowing her teeth to glint in what little light there was. As he attempted to move, he became aware that his body was restrained by a rope wrapped around him, securing him to one of the wood dining chairs he had noticed in the kitchen earlier.

  ‘Who are you?’ he croaked, his throat dry and his lips sticking together.

  ‘Dat’s not important,’ she replied and reaching over from behind the TV to press the mute button at the base of the screen. ‘But he knows who I am.’

  Harker craned his neck over to the right, in the direction of her pointing finger to see Marceau in the same predicament as himself, tied to a chair, with the exception that a cloth gag had been stuffed into his mouth.

  ‘I gave him a love tap the first time we spoke.’ Legrundy now pointing to the scarred swastika on Marceau’s forearm, ‘But the conversation was pretty sparse.’ she added coldly, moving over to her victim who was now shaking all over, ‘that time anyway.’

  At first glance the gag appeared to be made of some red material but, as Marceau pulled his head back fearfully on Legrundy’s approach, Harker could now see its white edges and it became clear the crimson originated from another source.

  She pulled the blood-soaked cloth from Marceau’s lips to reveal a painful-looking jagged stump where his tongue had been. ‘He’s a noisy one,’ she continued with a smile as a nauseating gurgling sound emanated from Marceau’s twitching mouth and blood began to trickle from the corners. ‘The human tongue is a beefy organ, so it took me a few attempts to cut it all the way through.’

  Harker could not help but notice the glinting of her fingernails as she wiggled them right in front of him, and the glinting of their razor-sharp tips made him flinch. These nails weren’t acrylic, but instead sharpened metal, and with them she now retrieved something from her pocket and dropped it into Harker’s lap. It made him want to throw up.

  With Marceau’s severed tongue resting limply in the crease of his trousers, Harker instinctively jerked his pelvis upwards sending the nasty offering tumbling to the floor. Legrundy meanwhile jammed the rag back into the doctor’s mouth and turned her attention back to Harker.

  ‘Where’s the candle?’ she demanded menacingly, lightly brushing those razor-sharp metal nails against Harker’s cheek. ‘It is time to give back what don’t belong to you.’

  Apart from the obvious disadvantage of being tied to a chair at the mercy of a woman with knives in place of fingers who had a genuine love for the art of butchery, Harker found himself in a real bind. Only two choices were available to him at this moment. Admit he didn’t have it any more and risk becoming disposable to this maniac, or lie and say he didn’t actually have it on him but knew how to obtain it. Both responses were likely to elicit a dire outcome – not unlike the one which had befallen the still gurgling Marceau – but with no other options Harker chose the better of the bad ones he had. ‘I don’t have it on me, but it’s somewhere safe.’

  Without warning she rammed a steel-tipped forefinger into his shoulder, its tip being so sharp that it sliced through his jacket and buried its full length into the muscle.

  ‘You can do better than that.’ she growled, and Harker grunted in agony as she rotated her finger this way and that. He could even hear a muffled scratching as metal scraped against the bone, inflicting maximum pain for such a small wound.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ He hissed through gritted teeth as the throbbing in his shoulder increased tenfold. ‘I don’t have it… but I’ll tell you where it is, if you let us go.’

  He gestured towards Marceau whose widened eyes blinked in agreement, a fresh trickle of blood dribbling from one side of his mouth. But this request already had Legrundy looking doubtful. She administered one more twist of her forefinger, then withdrew it and gave him a hard slap across the face.

  ‘If you yourself don’t ’ave it, den dat woman you were with does,’ she snarled. She no
w took a step towards Marceau and pressed those sharp fingernails against his throat. ‘As for you, Doctor, you’re just dead weight now.’

  With a swift flick of her wrist she sliced through Marceau’s windpipe and sent a spurt of blood splattering across the TV screen, which acted like a filter in bathing areas of the room in a dark red light.

  ‘No!’ Harker yelled as he wrestled against his bonds.

  Marceau’s eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably and his whole body twitched, while glistening blood pumped out of his throat, each jet less powerful than the last, until his struggling faded and his body became still.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Harker yelled, still fighting against his own restraints.

  Legrundy looked unmoved, and gave Marceau a hard slap on top of his head, then made her way into the centre of the living room. ‘Of course I did. He is no use to me now,’ she mocked, before bending down to rummage through a container whose edges Harker could only just make out in the gloom. ‘And neither are you.’

  The ominous sound of some unknown metal object clanking against the side of the container immediately quelled Harker’s anger, because whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. Instead he now began to consider his options and any ploy that would gain him some extra time.

  ‘Why did you kill all those innocent churchgoers?’ he asked calmly, nodding towards the TV screen, as the sound of her rummaging continued. ‘Why choose such easy targets for someone with your skills?’ The sound of rummaging now stopped, before Legrundy stood back up and approached him, resting her steel nails on top of the TV and double-tapping upon its the surface.

  ‘They may have been easy to overcome physically, but their minds were far more dangerous.’ she stated before making an odd clicking sound with her mouth. ‘They were thieves, nothing more.’

  ‘Thieves?’

  ‘Yes, thieves,’ she continued and, much to Harker’s relief, seeming to be genuinely engaged by his question. ‘Through their practice of a fake religion, a stolen doctrine that has blinded the world with lies since its inception. They were little more than lambs to the slaughter but devotion to such false practice was nothing short of heresy.’

  ‘Heresy! They were worshipping their own God inside a church. That doesn’t sound much like heresy to me.’

  Legrundy scowled at him and, whether deliberately or unconsciously, began to rake her fingernails along the top of the TV leaving thin jagged scratches across its surface. ‘It depends who you have faith in, for Christianity is nothing but a usurper and a thieving, crooked lie. But don’t worry, like all things that ’ave a beginning, they also ’ave an end, and that time has now come.’

  It was a strange reply from someone Harker believed to be a Satanist, because you had to believe in one so as to believe in the other. ‘To me that seems an odd stance for a devil worshipper?’

  A wide grin spread across her lips and she began to stare at him dubiously. ‘Depends on your definition of the Devil don’t it? ‘For someone who’s about to meet his maker, you got a lot of questions, don’t you?’

  Clearly she knew Harker was attempting to postpone his fate but the killer seemed intrigued by his question. ‘From de time of the Persians to the gluttony of de Roman Empire and beyond, we have endured, little man. Long before the bandits that you call “de faithful” stole our creed and ravaged it of truth, we have existed. And as it was back then, so it shall be again.’

  The pomposity of her statement left Harker’s mind awash with confusion as she retreated into the shadows and picked something up which she raised to her chest, then walked forward so he could see it. ‘Enough talk.’

  The red petrol can she showed him produced such a feeling of dread in Harker that his body froze, leaving him completely at a loss for words. The thought of being burnt alive was about as terrifying as anything he could imagine and hearing Legrundy shake the can so the liquid sloshed around inside it only added to his panic. Having one’s throat slit suddenly seemed like a luxury, but one that he would not be afforded.

  ‘That’s right, Professor,’ she said, unscrewing the cap and taking a sniff, ‘you’re about to burn along with everything else in dis apartment, and you can consider that a preparation for your eternity in hell.’

  She began by dousing the sofa, then quickly moved on to the curtains. Harker silently looked on, as the acrid smell of fuel pervaded the air, stinging his nostrils.

  ‘Dose two candles represent more than you can ever know,’ she announced flatly and remarkably calmly considering she was now preparing to roast him alive. ‘They mean different things to different people. To Dr Marceau dey represented a gateway to another dimension.’ She gave a condescending shake of her head even as another slosh of petrol was splashed over the fireplace. ‘To others dey are vessels containing ancient spirits, to be worshipped above all else. Some even reckon dey embody the creation of the universe itself.’

  At that moment, even though he had asked the question, Harker could not give a damn what those candles were. The thought of being burned alive was all that preoccupied his mind and, even though he was desperately wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this in one piece, his only option was to keep this conversation going until the moment seemed right. ‘So what exactly do they mean to you?’

  Legrundy shook the last drops of petrol against the far doorway and then threw the empty can down on the floor. ‘Salvation, brother, and the end of the beginning,’ she concluded and, pulling a shiny brass Zippo from her back pocket, headed back towards him. ‘In all there are only two candles dat have been lost to us since the dawn of creation and some believe that, when they are reunited again, dey will offer the world a truth that has been lost since from long ago.’

  Her explanation seemed just as ambiguous as Marceau’s theory but to Harker none of this mattered. He steadied himself and leant forward in his chair, appearing to seek clearer answers than the ones being given. ‘And what do you believe?’

  Legrundy flipped open the Zippo and flicked her thumb across the flint wheel, causing a spark to light its wick. ‘I believe that this is the day you die, brother – and not too soon neither.’

  With that she threw the lighter back towards the fireplace and flames immediately burst upwards, before a rolling wave of blue spread across the floor, then shot up the curtain and in turn lit up half the sofa. With yellow flames already licking at the ceiling behind her, Legrundy raised both arms high above her head and began to bellow a deep chant that Harker couldn’t interpret. It could have been words or just a collection of hollers, but it lasted only a few seconds before she gazed down at him, with flickering gold flames reflecting in her eyes, and shouted above the crackling of the blaze consuming a meal of wood and fabric. ‘Goodbye, Professor.’

  With flames rising up less than a metre away from her feet, she gave a booming laugh which could be heard even above the roaring of the fire. But, as she took a moment to relish her ravenous creation, Harker was already preparing for his escape. For all the care she had taken in binding him to the chair, she had made one crucial error and it was one that Harker now used to his full advantage. Because, even though the rope was tight around his chest, Legrundy had omitted to bind his legs.

  Harker lurched forward onto his feet and, even as she continued to laugh, slammed himself shoulder first into her sternum, sending the psychopath flying backwards into the yellow wall of flame with a high-pitched screech. Harker himself came to a stop, face down, just inches from the blaze. Even as he rolled backwards to put some distance between himself and the escalating inferno, he could feel the intense heat threatening to scorch his flesh. Struggling onto his knees, he rested his chin on Marceau’s limp thigh to steady himself, then hoisted himself further to his feet.

  He was still stumbling to maintain his balance when something shifted in the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Legrundy come hurtling through the flames towards him. The collision sent him crashing onto his back, the force of it mercifully snapping t
he delicate join of the dining chair and allowing his bonds to loosen.

  Her dreadlocks ablaze like pirate torches, Legrundy slapped frenziedly at the flames as she tried to put them out. Her back burned blue where the shirt had absorbed some petrol and the killer twisted and turned as she desperately attempted to put out the flame now searing her skin. Amazingly, and no doubt proving her mental toughness, she didn’t make a sound, but managed to shoot Harker a vicious glance as flames licked her cheeks before she ran off to the back bedroom. The sound of smashing glass could be heard as she hurled herself through one of the windows and landed somewhere below.

  Harker staggered back onto his feet as noxious fumes swirled around him. He considered for a moment attempting to drag Marceau’s body out with him but, on realising that it would be impossible due to the quickly thickening smoke, he staggered into the hallway and then out through the front door. Behind him a loud explosion erupted from somewhere in the living room which sent him tumbling amidst a ball of hot smoke onto the third-floor landing, its momentum carrying him as far as the flight of stairs, where he tripped and then stumbled down them.

  Harker couldn’t tell if he then passed out momentarily or if he was merely stunned after whacking his head during the fall but, dizzy and gasping for air, he lurched downwards from one step to the next, with the air getting cleaner, until he reached the main entrance door, which he pulled open before collapsing in a heap on the pavement outside.

  Up above him, thick black smoke poured out of the windows of Marceau’s apartment as, like a godsend, two random female passers-by gently slid their hands under his arms and began to haul him off to one side. Coughing and spluttering, his ears were ringing and, even though everything sounded fuzzy, he could hear one of the women offering him reassurances in a Parisian accent, as the other pulled out her mobile after helping lower him gently onto the curb.