Rob Benson could feel heat coming through the stone. His fingers twitched where they made contact with the carving, smoke from burning skin rising into the cold air of the cab. He opened his mouth to scream, and the green eyes widened, the black pinpricks of its pupils dilating, widening.
Take me to All Souls. Take me to the Nemeton…
The pain was unbearable. His fingertips were blackened, scorched stumps that wept clear fluid and melted fat, dripping down the burning stone like candle wax. The stench of burning meat filled his nostrils and had his bile rising.
The Divine Judgement must be revisited…for the love of humanity, here must be no failure. PROMISE ME!
Rob cried out in agony, his scream drowning out Jasper’s frantic barking.
PROMISE ME!
“Yes! Christ, yes, I promise…just stop the pain…”
The pain didn’t relent. Black smoke obscured the glowing carving. Rob Benson cried out one more time, clenched his teeth, his eyes firmly closed against the cloying, acrid smoke. He thrust the thing away from him, smashing it into the bulkhead. He heard cracking and splintering, the sound of the plastic barrier breaking, and then a hissing, bubbling sound. The sound of plastic melting: reforming around the red-hot thing that assaulted it.
His hand came free. He opened his eyes, weeping at the sight of his ravaged palm, ragged skeletal tips peeking through the melted tips of his fingernails.
The pain and self pity was forgotten when he looked at what he had done to the Transit’s bulkhead.
The stone carving was firmly centred. The plastic had moulded around the stone halo, and where it met the vegetation even the plastic had turned green. The eyes were closed, the lids squeezed shut as if in agony. The mouth remained open, the thin branches of ivy and oak leaves frozen in the act of disgorgement. The stone berries were dull, no longer gleaming. Everything about the face was still. Frozen.
Or trapped, Rob thought with bewilderment. The pain was gone. He stared at his unblemished hand, extended the undamaged fingers. He looked at the now silent Jasper, sitting on the floor.
From under the glovebox, Jasper stared back at him, ears flat against his skull. He licked his lips and wagged his tail once.
Rob jumped at the sound of horns blaring. He stared at the empty stretch of road beyond the lights of the roundabout. Elizabeth Way was clear.
With shaking hands he released the handbrake and put the van in gear. He drove slowly, his eyes firmly fixed on the road that spanned the frozen Cam. He tried to ignore the things he saw on his peripheral vision. The whining dog cowering in the passenger footwell and the face of his newest passenger.
“She sings for Andraste? What the fuck does that mean?” He turned the radio volume up to blot out the memories of that voice. The traffic had eased, but Chesterton still seemed to take ages to get to.
It was the flaring of brake lights in front of him that made him think the eyes were reflecting red in the windscreen, surely.
* * * * *
“Okay, Kelly. Calm down.” Phil took the knife from her trembling hands and placed it on the chopping board by the rapidly cooling pizza. His hands trembled just as much as hers, and the calming words he uttered were forced.
The knife was exactly the same one he had seen in his dream, wielded by Andy Hughes. And he was here, in the kitchen of their home.
Kelly retreated, her eyes still fixed on Andy. Phil couldn’t believe what he saw.
Andy Hughes had been attacked by something. His black jogging bottoms and sweatshirt were torn and ragged in several places and soaked in blood. He was breathing heavily, deep and barely controlled exhalations, and sweat drenched his face.
Andy followed Phil’s eyes and lifted the torn flaps of his sweatshirt. Kelly gasped at the fresh blood seeping from the twin incisions on his washboard stomach.
“What the hell happened to you?” Phil said hoarsely.
Andy didn’t answer. His face was flushed from his exertion and covered in scratches that looked like they’d come from tree branches. Phil thought back to the drive through the woods on All Souls this morning and realised where Andy had been.
“Didn’t waste any time, did you?” Phil sighed.
Kelly clutched his shoulder.
“Who have you attacked this time? See you came off badly for a change.” Her words were hissed, and Phil was surprised to see Andy rock back on his feet, visibly pained by Kelly’s question. And there was something else on Andy’s face, something Phil had never seen. Something that explained why he had run at a break-neck pace from the centre of Cambridge to the house in Chesterton.
Fear. Andy Hughes had seen - and fought - something that scared him. And for someone who knows no fear, this can only be bad news, Phil thought with a shudder.
Kelly noticed his shudder and stared searchingly into his eyes. He smiled, tried to be reassuring, but Andy spoke first.
“Phil…Kelly.”
Her eyes flashed.
“I’m sorry to come here like this…but I had no choice.” His breathing was slowly returning to normal. In spite of the run and the battle he’d gone through, he was recovering quickly. Phil could see Andy had kept himself in prime physical condition over the years. Remembering Kelly’s relationship with him, he felt a brief flicker of envy.
“I need to talk to you about All Souls. I was there tonight.” He leant back against the closed door and closed his eyes. No matter how fit and healthy he was, he was only human. Now he’d reached his destination, he was visibly flagging.
“You won’t believe what I saw, what I fought against…”
Phil said nothing. He took Kelly’s arm from his shoulder and walked over to the sink. He took a glass from the drainer and filled it with cold water from the tap, passing it to Andy.
Andy nodded his thanks and drained the glass. His face was losing its flushed colour. Now he was looking pale, and not just from the loss of blood.
“Into the front room, Andy. You’re going to pass out.” Phil took his shoulder and motioned him towards the door. He took a tea towel from the drawer and handed it to Andy.
Kelly gave him an angry look, but relented when she saw the change in Andy’s colouring, saw him staggering to the hallway door with the tea towel held to his bleeding stomach. She nodded and pressed herself back into the wall to allow them to pass by.
Andy frowned at the lights glinting on the Christmas tree. He swayed on his feet, and Phil led him to the sofa before he could collapse onto the tree.
Andy sank into it gratefully.
Phil stared at him, waiting for him to speak first. Outside he could hear the sound of a vehicle approaching. Headlights swung through the gap in the curtains. Andy stiffened.
“That’ll be Rob,” Phil said evenly. “He called me earlier, said he had something he wanted to show me. About Geoff Michaels. And about you.”
Andy smiled ruefully. He released the pressure on the towel and peered thoughtfully at the twin puncture marks on his abdomen.
“About me? Sounds like he’s been rummaging in Santa’s sack. Naughty boy, couldn’t wait for Christmas…”
Kelly had opened the front door. Phil could hear an excited barking from Jasper. Rob’s dog could smell the pizza.
No, not Rob’s dog. Geoff Michael’s dog, Phil reminded himself.
“And Geoff Michaels?” Andy shook his head. “I don’t know what Roberto’s found out, but I’m guessing this much. Geoff Michaels is dead. He was killed last year…where his body is now, God only knows. But he was murdered.”
Phil stared at him. A cold fist rubbed its knuckles down his spine.
“You’re sure about this?”
Andy looked up as the door opened. He nodded to a white faced Rob and turned back to Phil.
“He wasn’t the last. Someone else was murdered tonight. I saw the blood on their hands, on the knife.” He pressed the towel back to his abdominal wound and grimaced. “And splattered across the face of the Master.”
Phil sank back i
n the sofa. “The Master’s involved? Then - ‘
“They’re all involved.”
Kelly was in the doorway, her hand held to stop Nick coming any further down the stairs. Rob Benson stood with an overflowing lever arch file in one hand.
Jasper cautiously moved to Andy and sniffed the blood dripping onto the white rug. His hackles rose and he backed away, snarling.
Andy raised his head and stared at the Christmas tree. In a voice that trembled with barely suppressed rage, he said:
“The Master and the Fellows of All Souls College. They’re killing people.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jasper stared quizzically at Andy from the centre seat. Even though he’d showered and changed into some of Phil’s spare clothes there was a scent that remained on him, something that unsettled the dog. That was nothing compared to how unsettled Andy was. He stared in horror at the Green Man on the van’s bulkhead.
“What the fuck…”
It was the carved face from his dream. Right down to the disgorged vegetation and the eyes.
…this is the Divine Judgement. But it is not complete…
Rob glanced at the carving with a worried expression. “Yeah, sorry man. It was your pressie from Jen.”
For a moment the carved face was forgotten. Andy turned and glared at Rob.
“What? You’ve been in my bag?”
“Cool it, man!” Rob glared back. “Of course I’ve been in your bag. No, I didn’t put that thing up there. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Andy felt his eyes drawn to the carving firmly fixed on the plastic bulkhead. He shook his head in disbelief. His fingers brushed the remoulded plastic gingerly, tracing the join between the stone carving and the bulkhead. There was none. It was as though the two materials had become one, had fused, melded. Impossible.
“Try me.”
Rob’s version of events chilled him. The fire that had burned Rob sounded just like that of his dream. The Divine Judgement must be revisited…for the love of humanity, here must be no failure.
“And what the hell is Andraste?”
“Let’s hope this old boy Phil talked about has got the answers to that thing. As for the other thing you brought with you, Andy…”
While Andy had showered and changed into some of Phil’s old clothes, Phil had made the call. After laying eyes on the thing in Rob’s van, after reading the notes in Geoff’s dissertation, he had known what to do. Even he was surprised by the response.
Come round tonight. As soon as you can.
Perhaps he’d had bad dreams as well.
“Just as well I did bring it. I don’t like the sound of it, Roberto. Phil going all the way to London, tonight…on Jason Franklin’s recommendation? It’s not right.”
“We’ve been through this, Andy,” Rob sighed as he headed back down Chesterton Road. “It’s worth the risk. If Freeland has real, hard physical evidence of…of what you’ve discovered, then it makes sense to get it. Go to the Old Bill, let them handle it.”
“That’s bollocks,” Andy snorted. “Look at what Michaels wrote in his dissertation. All those things pointed to All Souls, and they missed it? I’m telling you, they’re keeping out of it. They’ve had their orders.”
“Sounds a little paranoid to me.”
“I’ve dealt with the police. You haven’t.”
“And others,” Rob spat. “You going to tell me about the combat shotgun you brought with you? When the fuck were you going to tell me?”
“When I had to. You shouldn’t have gone rummaging through my bag. I couldn’t leave that in the house, and I had a feeling that Pearce was holding out on me. I thought it would be good insurance if things got nasty.”
Rob shook his head as he turned onto Newmarket Road. “This Pearce bloke knows some nice people. Not an ordinary pump action or a revolver - no, it has to be a Franchi SPAS 12 combat shotgun. You don’t use those to turn over post offices - you use them in war zones!”
Andy narrowed his eyes. “You seem to know your guns pretty well.”
Rob shakily lit a cigarette. “Few years back I went to Bratislava for a mate’s stag weekend. We went wild with handguns, machine guns - the SPAS 12 was an added bonus.”
Andy was silent. Smoke drifted towards him.
“You’re fucking lucky I didn’t tell Phil or Kelly about this. Why the hell did you agree to take it?”
“It was a favour. And Pearce is not the sort of bloke you say no to.”
Favours and promises made in prison were cast iron deals - I get you the SIA ticket, you look after this piece for me - especially if the bloke whose mate on the outside had pulled the job for Pearce. It wasn’t as though he’d had any choice. But he’d been stupid leaving it in the attic, he accepted that. And stupid to think that Rob wouldn’t go rummaging.
Still, this could work out well. Rob’s used this gun before, so he might come in handy…
Andy closed his eyes. After the hot shower, the bandaging and the liberal shots of whiskey, fatigue was catching up with him. But he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to sleep.
But he didn’t want to talk, either. He looked at Rob smoking his cigarette and felt a twinge of contempt.
Or is it resentment? He asked himself. Rob had the chance to finish his degree, and what’s he done with it? Fuck all. Acting like the Eternal Student with a dead end job while my chances of a shot at academia went up in smoke. What would I have been by now if that night hadn’t happened?
He told himself to calm down. Overtired and stressed out. Cool it, Hughes. Rob’s your only friend right now. Besides, there are more important things to be angry about…
The A14 and A303 passed in a blur of oncoming headlights that glared so brightly he had to close his eyes.
When he opened them he was surprised to find the van coming to a stop outside a modern, modest two-up, two-down in cream coloured brickwork that shone brightly in the glare of the Transit’s headlights. To the left of the door with an artificially frosted glass panel was a small brass plaque that read New Rectory.
“Was I out?” Andy asked groggily.
“Long enough to get to Swaffham Prior.”
Andy nodded slowly, massaging his stiffening neck muscles. He looked at the clock on the dash. God, he’d been out cold for forty minutes.
Without dreaming. Small mercies.
Andy stepped out of the van and saw why Rob had put the van in gear. He almost slipped on the icy sloping pavement that led down to the Rectory. He hung on to the van door that threatened to swing out of control, and looked behind him.
The two rounded towers of the churches that shared the same churchyard - a result of lordly piety and rivalry in medieval times - soared into the night sky. The paved pathway sloped upwards for about twenty metres before turning to the left and disappearing behind the yew trees that marked the perimeter of the graveyard.
Rob rang the doorbell. Andy turned back and saw a distorted black shape moving through the frosted glass panel. The door stuck in the jamb as the occupant pulled it. Andy could make out a frown on the bearded face as its owner pulled the door inwards again.
“Touch of damp, mate?” Rob smiled in greeting.
Reverend Ian Wilkins smiled ruefully. “Yes, I should have had the door planed before the cold weather came, but…the ferocity of this winter took me by surprise.”
A frown crossed the vicar’s broad face as he looked in Andy’s direction, his bushy eyebrows bristling. The vicar was in his late fifties, Andy guessed. The short black hair was darker than it should have been, obviously dyed, and there were heavy lines in the pale, broad face. His blue eyes had a distinct glazing in them that spoke of developing cataracts. His face revealed his true age, belying the sprightly and youthful movements his body made.
“Took us all by surprise, vicar. Did Philip Lotson tell you we’d be coming?”
The vicar continued staring at Andy, a frown that was one of recognition, as if to say I’ve seen you before but I can�
��t remember where. The same look the Bursar had given him earlier.
The frown was replaced by a look of horror when the vicar’s eyes moved to the thing in the van.
He strode out of the doorway in slipper-less feet, unheeding of the snow that soaked his socks. He pushed past Rob, put both hands on the dent of the still-warm bonnet and stared, enraptured at the carved face.
“Where did you get this?” His voice was high-pitched, tremulous with excitement.
And fear, Andy noted. “My girlfriend got it for me. Christmas present.” He followed the vicar’s rapt gaze. “You know what this…this thing is then?”
“I think so. You’d better come inside. Both of you. You might be able to help me.”
Rob and Andy exchanged glances. Help you? It’s us that need helping…
Rob opened the driver’s door, whistling for Jasper to come out. The clergyman stuck his head into the cab, seemingly oblivious to the black and white torpedo of fur and flesh that jumped out, sniffed his ankles and whipped a tail against his thin trousers.
“Can you bring this carving inside, young man?”
Rob laughed. “We tried, pal. It won’t come off. It’s stuck fast.”
Andy watched silently as the vicar tested Rob’s statement. After a moment Wilkins came out of the cab, shaking his head in wonder and inspecting his fingernails. There was a small drop of blood on the knuckles of his left hand.
“And before you ask, we haven’t used Superglue, Araldite or Sticks-Like-Shit.” Andy said, reaching into the cab to pick up the lever arch file that contained Geoff’s dissertation. “Neither of us have a clue what’s holding that thing up there. Any ideas?”
Wilkins stared at him, his eyes shining through the glazed cataracts.
“I think so, young man. Come with me.”
Wilkins led the way, stooping to stroke Jasper’s head on the way. Rob followed then Andy, who paused to wipe his feet on the WELCOME mat on the porch.
Rob and Andy stopped dead at the foot of the stairwell. Rob froze, and Andy felt the blood draining from his face. He stared in horror at the heads mounted on the wall above the banister rail. Even Jasper, perhaps sensing the similarity between these heads and the one mounted on the van’s bulkhead, paused in mid-step.
The Caretakers (2011) Page 22