by Matt Drabble
McCullum hated the hospital room, despite the attempted warming touches of matching floral bedspreads, curtains and other decorative efforts, it was still a cold antiseptic reeking hospital room underneath. Quite how the priest had managed to find himself in the hospitals finest private room were not hard to fathom based upon his casual manipulation of him at the church. Two fawning nurses hovered over the priest’s bed, they were young, attractive and hung on Jacobs’s words with an eager carnivorous interest, they looked up slowly as McCullum entered, their eyes devoid of any sexual attraction but were glassy and pitched far away.
“If you’ll excuse us ladies I’m afraid the good Inspector will want to interrogate me further” the priests tone was light and jocular on the surface but carried a sour self amusement. He lay nonchalantly under the yellow floral print playing the injured saint.
McCullum pricked his first finger in his pocket in order to keep the creeping drowsiness at bay, “Just a couple of quick questions if that’s ok sir?” McCullum kept his tone light and friendly but though that he saw a small flash of genuine interest emanating from the prone priest.
The two young nurses reversed out of the room grinning and clutching each other like schoolgirls, they could not stop glowing towards Jacobs as they exited, McCullum did not bother to address them as they were ushered out, closing the door behind them. He turned his attention back to Jacobs who had now maneuvered himself into a fully sitting throne position and was giving him his fully trained attention,
McCullum pricked his second finger, his palm grew slick as the blood trickled but his mind stayed as sharp as the needle in his pocket.
“Is everything alright Inspector, you look a little strained, I do hope that you are not coming down with anything” Jacobs laughed it sounded hollow and unconvincingly, “At least you’re in the right place”
McCullum smiled amiably at the humor, he could feel the priests full will now boring down upon him, the mans aura was almost overwhelming, he felt as though he was slipping away, his questions were fading and his mind was fogging, he clenched his fist with all of his considerable strength and drove the needle fully into his thumb again, the pain was instant and clarifying. This conversation was going to be a lot shorter than he had originally anticipated, the priest was far stronger than he had imagined and he was fast running out of fingers.
“I wonder if you would be able to run through your version of events again Sir, we do find that sometimes people are able to remember more details than they had first thought given a little time” McCullum reluctantly release the needle in his pocket and pulled out his notebook and a pencil waiting expectantly.
Jacobs’ eyes looked as though they sparkled with the challenge laid down, McCullum was too damn good at his job to miss the gleam, the priest knew plain and simple, bang, in that instant the conversation was underscored with subtitles. They would continue to dance, a waltzing passage of words would ebb and flow between them until one chose to end the charade with honesty, McCullum had no idea of the path that this would lead them for he had no idea just where his revelations were heading. The priest obviously had an ability to control those around him, McCullum knew only at the minute that it was his responsibility to discover just what this meant and just what his real intentions were, just how he would go about this and what he could actually do about it were a mystery for the time being.
“Well as I told your superiors”, the remark did not go un-noticed, “I was attempting to council one of my wayward flock, a lost soul to be gathered into our embrace and into the word. However not all paths run smoothly Inspector and I’m afraid that I was left rather embarrassed and looking a mite foolish too I’ll wager”
All the while he spoke, McCullum watched the mans eyes they whirled with delighted fascination, “I know” they whispered, “You know that I know but what are you going to do about it”
They edged around the subject for a few minutes, neither man wanted to show their hand, the conversation had been both pointless and very revealing, McCullum had been furnished with the full notes from Jacobs’ earlier interview by Superintendent Irving and DCI Jones, he had his assignment to track down the errant youth but this had been all about looking the priest in the eyes. Jacobs had now wound his story down with platitudes and gratitude’s for the police and the hospital playing the kindly vicar to the last and playing it to perfection, but McCullum was now wide awake and saw cleanly through the man.
“Well Father Jacobs” McCullum folded away his notebook that remained noteless, “I believe that I have everything I need, you’ve been most enlightening and you need your rest”
“Not at all Inspector, please if there is anything else that I can help you with please do not hesitate to visit me again, I am being released tomorrow as I understand so I shall be back upon St Paul’s scared floors if you wish to ask me anything else” this challenge did not require subtitles.
McCullum smiled and strode through treacle to reach the door, the handle weighed a thousand pounds as he turned it slowly, all the while the priest’s gaze burned holes in his back, he barely made it outside of the room, he managed through sheer force of will to reach the hospitals main reception area, once there he sank into a plastic chair that groaned in protest over his sudden and heavy insertion. People glided through wrapped in their own thoughts and sorrows, he was just another mourner in a sea of terrible news and so he was gratefully ignored whilst he gathered himself with thoughts of the priest.
Father Jacobs’ reputation was exemplary throughout his parish and beyond, his work within the community had proven to be of the highest order turning around the area and its inhabitants in record time, crime was down and people were up, his personal life was bursting at the seams with awards and citations from the council, police and country. All of this should have been cause for celebration as McCullum hated societies casual decline into an ASBO filled landscape with a passion, if the priests ability to charm and control those around him into a better world then great, but he could not shake the notion that something was rotten underneath that polished veneer. He held no truck with the liberal left in this country that seemed to believe that those who committed the crimes should be firstly understood and helped, he had stood at the bedsides and graves of enough victims to believe that society’s first responsibilities lay with those offended rather than the offenders. Let the penal system try every woolly liberal lefty rehabilitation scheme that they could thing of as rehabilitation was very important, but try the schemes after you lock them up and protect the majority of the good people of the country. As one of those on the frontline McCullum knew the cleaning up operations on a Friday and Saturday night accounted for little more than a rubbish collection scooping up the trash only to see it re-cycled and refilled the following week. There were however major questions over the intentions of the good Father, McCullum was yet to be convinced, no so much over his methods but over his ultimate objectives. He had wanted to stand again in a room with the priest, to stand within the mans presence to double check the strange entangling emotions that had since melted away with times passing. Sitting here with an evening that had so far resulted in a number of flesh wounds, blood staining a perfectly good pair of trousers and being toyed with by a lying man of the cloth he was lost for immediate direction.
Baine carted away his prize, the heavy ledger secreted under his dark coat slowed his escape over the churches spiked rusty rear railings and beyond into the night. He had left his non descript Micra parked unobtrusively about a quarter mile from St Paul’s unwilling to draw any unwanted attention to his nocturnal activities. The book he carried radiated immense power, it throbbed against his body making his arms ache from hefting it even over such a short distance, he could feel the churches pained wrench as he increased the gap between the book and its home. He had no idea just what exactly it was that he had acquired but he knew that it was important, it would need some deciphering and translating and de Payens would no doubt rain down a raging fury to
get it back, he would be coming soon.
As he walked the book began to tickle around the edges of his mind, flashes of fire and crosses, pain and vengeance, images of torture and suffering walked heavily across his vision, soundless videos of crucifixions needed no audio as he heard the screams within his own thoughts and he could taste their blood and feel their agony. The bombardment continued as he approached the waiting Micra, he was eager to be on his way and put some miles between him and the good priest and put down the book, so eager was he that he almost missed the silver VW Golf parked a few cars down. At this distance he could not see into the Golf but he could feel it, there sat danger and it waited impatiently for him, he paused closed his eyes and digested for a moment, he just knew that the book had sharpened his already heightened senses, all at once he knew that this car had been following him for a while, he could picture it behind him as he had driven to the church this morning and had tailed him back here again, he could see it parked outside of his apartment. The occupants were desperately hungry, they were ravenous for the book and if they saw him it would be all they could do to stop themselves from pouring out of the car and screaming down the road towards him, tearing the book from his hands and rutting over their victory. The street was empty of pedestrians at this cold hour save for a small elderly man walking slowly between them, Baine was struggling to manage the intruding alien thoughts and clarify his mind in order to maintain control of his actions.
The Golf inhabitants were waiting desperately for the old man to pass through and out of sight, they were unaware that they had been sensed and they believed that their motives and existence were still secure in going undetected. The street was full of sturdy bricked terraced houses lining the road on both sides, there were many evening lights obscured by heavy warm curtains hiding a population safe in their homes and warming by fires. The houses all held small front gardens maintained with pride and kept with a community spirit that seemed indicative of this area radiating from the church, most of the houses had paths by their sides leading to the rear of the house.
Baine suddenly streaked to his left through a suburban dwellers front garden, he booted a side gate open and ran full pelt into the back garden, he could sense rather than hear the startled explosion from the Golf, they were out in an instant and they were chasing hard. Baine flew across the immaculate lawn avoiding an assortment of children’s plastic toys, he checked right and charged fully into the wooden fence panel calculating that the shortest distance between two objects was to go straight through everything that stood in your path. He began a straight line path crossing back gardens and smashing down fences, he was running fast and parallel with the street. He was intentionally making more than enough noise to attract the full and undivided attention of the whole street whilst moving too quickly to be caught, lights and people were emerging behind him, the Golf occupants were closing but had begun to be caught in his trail by security lights and angry residents. Baine spotted the last garden in the row and increased his speed, he side stepped off of his right foot and onto the top of a brick barbeque pit with his left boosting himself up and over the fence, he landed and rolled at the bottom of a railway embankment, he sprang back to his feet in one fluid motion. He began the ascent to the top of the steep grassy hill ploughing through a revolting assortment of disguarded rotting litter, he hit the top and turned, behind him he could hear the commotion left in his wake, thanks to the influence of St Paul’s and its priest this was now a community of carers, the people had flooded out to the aid of their neighbours and the Golf folks were now caught firmly in their midst unable to follow due to the sheer numbers standing in their way. Baine allowed himself a small smile he had no idea who or what had been lying in wait but he had no intention of finding out, it was all part of his new “Being Careful” life plan. He turned and darted over the railway lines and down the other side, the lights of the city lay before him guiding his way across the dark and deserted fields in between, it looked to be a few miles as the crow flies so he began to slow to a jog, cutting the distance steadily and heading into the anonymity of the urban sprawl.
It took almost everything that she had to stop Sam from tearing these flesh bags to shreds and absolutely everything she had to stop herself from leading the carnage. They had been sat waiting for Baines return, quietly parked in a side street biding their time, they felt his approach and he had it, he had the book, they had all felt the pull and wanted nothing more than to tear it from Baine’s hands and bathe in his entrails for daring to make them wait so very long. She had only just managed to keep them in the car as the shaved ape approached, then suddenly, inexplicably, something went wrong, the man bolted like a wild animal sensing danger, how had she not seen this coming and how had the man moved so damn fast. In the blink of an eye he was gone, the three of them were out of the car in an instant, Sam took the lead as he was the best tracker of the three, he led them down a narrow garden path and into the rear of the house. Already there was a trail of battered down fences stretching across many houses, they followed in his footsteps, unbelievably they were not gaining, suddenly their paths were filled and blocked by screaming, yelling hoards of putrid flesh bags, security lights had been activated all the way along illuminating them and the residents were quick to surround demanding explanations, already they could hear the faint wail of police sirens growing louder as they grew closer. They pushed back through the agitated crowd warding off demands from flaying arms, Lucy pulled Sam hard as he turned back to strike out at the residents, eventually they reached the hire car. Sam’s face was contorted with rage and incomprehensive at their cowardly retreat, it would do no good to even attempt to explain their clandestine approach to him at this or any point. Lucy peeled away noisily from the curb showering the angry mob in gravel, she put as much distance as quickly as possible fully aware of the unwanted attention of the approaching police, this night had supposed to have been their long awaited crowning glory but it had turned to an unmitigated disaster in record speed. This man Baine was far more than he had first appeared, their assignment knowledge was woefully incomplete, Lucy’s temper was running short, after all of this time their chance had slipped through their grasp, all of their planning and waiting spurned by one man, there was only one source to turn she floored the accelerator and headed for a conversation.
McCullum was tired, cold, hungry and royally fucked off, here he stood yet again for Christ’s sake in the middle of the St Paul’s parish, he had another assault at the church, an elderly woman in a hospital bed with a broken nose and a swelled up face that caused her daughter to weep hysterically, not to mention the nearby clusterfuck of a street full of destroyed fences and churned over lawns. Superintendent Irving was on the warpath as his promises of calm and control returning after the priests attack had been savagely swept aside within hours, and as usual when the pissing starts the water runs downwards. Irving had laid into DCI Jones who had subsequently fallen upon McCullum, who had now been placed in the responsibility post for the cleanup operation to restore both fences and PR brownie points. He had his own itinerary lined up for the evening but now had to waste it babysitting the Superintendents ego, they were wasting valuable police resources in having several PC’s cleaning up gardens like bob a fucking job fucking scouts. The old biddy at the church hadn’t been able to identify her attacker but it had already been decided, apparently by DCI Jones, that it was the work of the returning Justin Marsh, who after putting the good father in a hospital bed had returned to an expected empty church to ransack the place only to find an old woman cleaning and promptly figured that after you’ve assaulted a vicar one old lady really made no difference. McCullum had been placed in charge of the investigations and clean ups which amounted to little more than standing about in the cold smiling at residents overseeing the taking of useless statements about Olympic sprinters and beautiful women. The golden glow of the approaching dawn was illuminating road before McCullum was homeward bound devoid of all enthusiasm, he ha
d also now been charged with finding this Justin Marsh as his top priority, he had unconsciously assumed the responsibility for the suicide of the young DC Thomas, he had a strange priest with stranger abilities but undeniable results and a mystery man, Baine, that seemed to fit somewhere within the whole murky picture, at this point his cup truly runeth over.
Baine checked into the M4 Travelodge quietly with cash, he hoped that the bored looking receptionist had not realised that he was not actually driving a car, at this point and away from his sanctuary he needed no adverse attention and a little anonymity would go a long way. He had hoofed his way across the muddy fields towards the outskirts of the city centre, he had been heading home carrying the book, lost in its influencing power when it occurred to him that perhaps his home address was perhaps not the best place to lay low with the book. The warm lights from the Travelodge drew his attention and offered a refuge, he had danced across the dual carriageway and into a shelter for the reminder of the night. The room was clean and sparse, exactly the right environment from which to centre himself and gather a forward plan, he locked the door and wedged a sturdy metal chair under the handle, he drew the blackout curtains and turned on a small bedside light. The glow dimly lit the room, Baine sat on the pastel bedspread cross-legged and placed the book in front of him, as soon as he released the book onto the bed his arms and legs began to ache from the night’s festivities, the book seemed to withdraw its energy back from him in an instant leaving him weary. He yawned and cracked his neck from side to side, he opened the book, the moment his fingertips touched the pages he felt the invigorating influence shoot up his right arm, he looked again at the bloody scratches, they suddenly seemed a little clearer and the language strangely seemed to make a little more sense. The more pages that he turned the more he seemed to obtain an understanding of what he was looking at, there were incantations and he supposed spells for want of a better word. As he looked he saw the images rather than read the words, the Archangels had cut a bloody swathe across Europe in their determination to find the Cube, the Grigori and the 11th Order had waged a savage battle whittling their own numbers before deciding to use their converts as chess pieces to be moved and slain at a moments notice and for little gain. There were tales of great battles between the Archangels as the world lay virgin across new plains, the war was both savage and merciless as the sides grew further apart from their origins as servants of God, the rivers ran red and the stench of death hung heavily in the acrid air. Eventually God had revisited this world and through his thunderous anger had ripped the skies apart as his fury rained down upon the earth at the corruption of his vision, man had been created in his image and now been bastardised into the whims of the Archangels. God had sent a terrible flood with which to cleanse the earth and start again, only six of the fallen angels had survived the mass genocide, three of the Grigori and three of the 11th Order. God had created the Templar Knights to police the line and protect the Cube, it seemed to Baine that God had possessed a terrible case of arrogance by leaving the Cube somewhere on earth as he watched the battle for it unfold only with no greatly reduced and thus more manageable numbers. The Templar Knights had become the dominant force, they were merciless in their pursuit to wield God’s sword and will, they tortured and maimed their way across the world seeking out the women that had lain with the Grigori and their soulless spawn as well as the more fanatical converts to the 11th Order who seemed to have invoked more of God’s wrath by creating their own religion based upon the resurrection of an Eden upon earth, hunting them all to the point of extinction. Baine closed the book and lay back on the bed shutting his eyes against the migraine that pounded its painful rhythm against the insides of his skull, there was still so much for him to learn, so much that he had to discover, but based on the book, God was obviously one mean motherfucker and Baine knew that with his actions in the last few days he had just made the shit list. Whatever the book was it seemed to react to him, it had increased his abilities to point that he wouldn’t have minded another crack at de Payens, the book seemed to want to unveil itself of its secrets to him, he now knew that the book would lead him to the Cube, the book was a secret keeper, a vessel designed to hold the knowledge of all things hidden and scared. Who ever had written this had.., had.., he sat bolt upright ignoring the dizziness that accompanied his rapid movement, he knew the author, it was crystal clear now, he closed his eyes, he could see the book being written, it was a secret in itself, it was not supposed to exist, it was book 367 in a collection that should have only held 366 volumes. He could see a small man skeletal with starvation and wracked with pain, suffering for his art wrapped in filthy rags in a deep cave secluded from the outside world lit by the dancing flames of a large fire, sat upon a small boulder at a granite carved bench, the scribe turned towards him in his vision, he knew the old man as sure as he knew his own face, the scribe had been called many things by many different religions and scholars, Enoch, Adhar, Atmon, Chanoch, Idris, but Baine knew only one, he called him father.