“That wasn’t part of the plan. Jessica called us because she didn’t know what was going on, and now we’re just stuck in the middle.”
“Or,” Angela said, “we’re here as witnesses; a cover story.”
“So you think this Chamuel is just a fabrication?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t know what nonsense you two are talking about,” said Frank as he entered the foyer, “but you’re forgetting one thing.”
“Oh,” said Tim. “What is that?
“What’s wrong with Sammie? If you’re suggesting that a ten year old boy is part of a conspiracy to kill his parents then you’re both crazier than I thought. I know this family. Joseph offered me a job when I was at a low point, just about ready to throw in the towel. I have dedicated my life to this family since then. I know them. Whatever made Sammie ill, made him change like he has, is not down to a conspiracy. You were brought here to help Jessica’s son and that is exactly what you are going to do. I promised I would look after him, to keep him safe. I intend to do just that.”
Angela was as confused as ever. Is there evil in this house, or is it just the machinations of evil men? The only thing she held confidence in was that Sammie was just an innocent boy. An innocent boy who needs rescuing. “Okay,” she said, adjusting her dog collar. “Let’s figure this thing out once and for all. It’s time for another exorcism.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“What exactly are you intending to do?” Frank asked Angela in the piano lounge. Tim had carried Sammie out into the foyer while they talked. “Haven’t you already tried this?”
“No,” said Angela. “In fact I have never tried this. A blood exorcism is very dangerous, but it’s the only option left. If we are all in agreement that Sammie is…I’m just going to say the word, possessed…then this is what I have to do. The entity inside of him – this Chamuel – was too powerful to expel with the normal Rite of Exorcism. We have to go deeper.”
Frank crossed his arms. “Deeper? I don’t like the sound of that. I won’t allow you to harm Samuel.”
“Please understand,” said Angela, “that my only intention is to help Sammie. I am not in the business of hurting people unnecessarily.”
“It’s when it is necessary that worries me,” said Frank.
Angela looked at the man and actually felt sorry for him. Despite his strength and abilities, his job to protect the Raymeady family had been a complete failure. It was obvious that the burden weighed heavily on his soul. “Look, Frank,” she said. “I want to see Sammie healthy again, a normal little boy. I want exactly the same as you. Let me do what I need to do, okay?”
Frank swallowed a lump in his throat and looked down at the floor. “Fine. Just help him. I can’t take any more of this.”
Angela went over to Frank and took his hand in hers. She looked him in the eye. “We’re going to sort this, Frank, I promise you. Let’s get Sammie back to his room and we’ll get set up.”
Frank nodded.
Angela left the piano bar and the dead bodies of Mike and Jessica, and re-joined Tim in the foyer. He had taken Sammie out with him, away from the bloodshed, but it was clear he was uncomfortable being alone with the child. He was visibly relieved to see Angela and Frank.
“Everything okay out here?” she asked him.
Tim shot a sideways glance at Sammie, who was awake again and stood staring out of a nearby window, humming a quiet tune. “As well as can be expected. Kid’s just been standing there staring out at the moon. Hasn’t said a single word, just humming that creepy song.”
“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” Angela said. “It’s what was playing on the piano just before we found Graham.”
“Joseph used to sing it to the Samuel,” Frank explained. “I’ve heard him humming it many times before.”
“Think it means anything?” Tim asked.
Angela answered. “Probably that he misses his father. Perhaps it’s his way of finding comfort.”
“Come on,” said Frank. “Let’s get him back to his bed.”
Angela stepped over to Sammie at the window and placed a hand on the clammy flesh of his bare shoulder. She looked out the window and saw what the boy saw: a black and featureless night broken only by the ethereal glow of the moon and stars that shouldn’t be there. Twinkle twinkle little star…
Sammie broke from his staring and peered up at Angela innocently. “You know, some people say that the stars are angels in Heaven and that a shooting star is an angel falling from grace.”
“You mean like Lucifer?” Angela asked.
“Who is that?” Sammie asked.
Angela expected that the boy knew full well who Lucifer was, but she decided to play along with his ignorance. “According to the Bible, Lucifer is the Devil. He waged war against Heaven and was cast out for his sins.”
“Why didn’t God forgive him?”
Angela looked at Sammie and saw that his expression was earnest. “Well,” she said, “would you forgive someone who tried to destroy everything?”
“But I’m not God,” Sammie explained. “I thought God was supposed to forgive?”
“He does forgive, Sammie. He forgives all the time.”
“When it suits him, it seems. Sounds like your God is a hypocrite, Angela.”
“No one is perfect, Sammie. It is overcoming our flaws that makes our existence worthwhile.”
“Do you think God forgives you?” Sammie drilled into her with coal-black eyes.
“Forgive me for what?”
“For licking cunt. You’re no better than the catamites; a perversion of God’s creation.”
Angela fought the sudden urge to slap the child. She was not prone to violence, but the feeling of anger that came over her almost took control. Instead, she cleared her throat and counted to three in her head. “I don’t think you understand the things you’re saying, Sammie. One day, when you’re all grown up, you will see that people are very diverse. We all follow our own paths and worship God in our own ways. You don’t have the right to judge anyone.”
“Don’t worry,” Sammie said. “I’m not judging you. That is not my place. You’ll be judged in the next life.”
Angela felt a chill down her spine and tried to ignore it. “Let’s get you back to bed, Sammie. You must be tired.”
Sammie allowed Angela to take his hand. Along with Tim and Frank, they all made their way upstairs. Sammie continued humming and swung his hand back and forth gleefully. Angela had to fight to hold on to it.
Tim asked a question as they traversed the staircase. “So, Frank? Did you have any idea that Mike was working against the Raymeady family this whole time?”
Frank growled like an antagonised pit bull. “What do you think? I would have killed that Judas sooner if I’d known. It’s obvious to me now that Joseph knew there was a traitor in his midst, but he never found out quick enough to save his own life.”
“Joseph trusted you, though,” Tim said. “There was an email on his computer from some investigation agency. Apparently the only member of staff that Joseph trusted for sure was you.”
Frank’s eyes flickered for a moment and his head lowered to the ground. “That only makes it all the worse that I failed to protect him.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Frank,” Sammie chimed in. “I’m sure if he could send you a message somehow, dad would forgive you. You did take care of mom when he died, after all.”
Frank’s head shot up and he scowled at the boy. It was the first time Angela had seen the man show anything but concern towards Sammie. He said nothing, though, and eventually looked away.
“You okay, Frank?” Angela asked.
Frank nodded.
Eventually they reached Sammie’s room. Tim stepped forward to open the door and the stink of sweat hit them as soon as they entered the room. Angela felt the walls close in on her immediately. She had begun to hate the child’s room. It was a lair, a den of evil.
“Could you get into bed for
me, please, Sammie?” she asked. “The adults need to talk alone for a moment.”
Sammie did as he was told but had a sly grin on his face while he did it. Angela took Tim and Frank aside held a whispered conversation with them. “I need to get some of my things and prepare,” she said. “Are you two okay to stay here with Sammie while I go get them?” Frank nodded, but Tim seemed less sure. “Everything is going to be alright, Tim,” she assured him. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Five minutes is all it takes for things to go Amityville around here,” he said. “But you do what you got to do. If I could get my ass out of here, I would, but seeing as that isn’t an option, I’d rather be here with Harrison Ford than anybody else.”
Frank grumbled.
“Okay,” Angela said. “If I’m not back in ten minutes…” she trailed off. “Well, I would say call the police, but I guess the only thing you can do is start praying.”
Angela left the room and went to get what she needed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Tim lit up as many candles as he could find. It was obvious that power cuts were regular because every room in the house was well stocked with candles, but this particular power cut had nothing to do with the National Grid, and Tim had a sickening feeling that by the time the electricity finally did return, more people would be dead. I just hope I’m not one of them.
He took a hard look at Frank. The strong, grey-haired man now seemed weak and weary, standing over Sammie with almost fatherly concern. Of all the tragedies that had befallen the house, they had clearly hurt Frank worst of all. The man had obviously loved Jessica, and most probably her late husband, too. Sammie’s safety was now the only concern left to him – and even that was a lost cause as far as Tim was concerned.
“How you holding up?” he asked Frank.
Frank looked up at him and offered a thin smile. “Still can’t say I trust either one of you, but I’m not going to kid myself any longer by saying things weren’t already bad before you got here. I’ve failed to protect Joseph’s family, so I think it’s time somebody else took over. I just hope that whatever Ms Murs is planning does some good. I’ve seen enough death to last me a thousand lifetimes – my days in the army were bad enough – but I can honestly take no more.”
“You were a soldier?” Tim asked. “That figures.”
“What figures?”
“Why you’re so bloody intimidating. You’ve killed men, haven’t you? That type of thing clings to a man – colours his soul. Not everyone can sense it, but I can; you reek of death.”
Frank seemed far off for a moment, as if his mind was someplace else. “You’re right, I’ve killed men, women too. I was a soldier. It was my job.”
“Still,” said Tim. “Job or no job, it’s never easy to know people are dead because of you.”
“What would you know about it,” Frank snapped.
Tim sighed. “More than you’d think. At least when you took lives you were a hero and not a coward.”
Frank softened for a moment, but then shook his head and resumed his anger. “If you’re looking for a therapist I can recommend one, but please spare me your catharsis.”
Tim put his hands up. “Fair enough. Guess I was just trying to pass the time. I blabber when I’m nervous and right now I’m so nervous I could shit my pants.”
“Well, I hope you can restrain yourself,” said Frank.
“So…” Tim continued, deciding to change the subject. “What really happened to you on the road? You were gone a long time, hombre.”
Frank sighed and rolled his eyes. “To be honest with you, I don’t know what happened on the road. I do know one thing, though: something wanted me dead and it used Joseph’s memory to try and make it happen.”
“And let me guess,” said Tim. “That was a BIG mistake?”
Frank sneered, but it wasn’t aimed at Tim. “The biggest.”
Tim ran his hand over the top of a nearby candle and let the kiss of heat against his palm remind him that he was awake, not dreaming. Then he scratched at the ginger stubble on his chin and whispered something to Frank so that Sammie could not hear. “What are you going to do when all this is over?”
Frank shrugged. Tim didn’t think the guy really cared about what happened to him, but he’d asked the question now, so he waited for an answer.
“I don’t know,” Frank eventually said. “I expect I’ll be arrested.”
“Probably,” said Tim. “But don’t worry, Angela and I will tell the police what happened. You were just saving Sammie’s life from the crazy mamajama who had just killed his mother. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I doubt they’ll take much pity on me. Britain’s richest woman is dead and her son is now an orphan. They’ll want to send someone down for it and a dead killer won’t be enough for them. Someone will need to suffer to appease their need for justice.”
Tim had a thought. “Hey, do you know who Sammie’s real father is?”
Frank shook his head. “No. Jessica confided in me once that Joseph wasn’t Sammie’s biological father, but that was after her husband’s death. She felt guilty and wanted to confess, I think.”
“Makes you wonder, though” said Tim. “Maybe his real father was more than just some stranger.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” said Frank. “But let’s not discuss a dead lady’s secrets. It’s disrespectful.”
Tim understood and decided to leave it. The more he learned about Frank, the more he realised the guy was just another confused victim. There wasn’t anything the man was hiding. At least nothing that’s any of my business. The man was straight as an arrow – perhaps the only person who was.
Tim went and took a seat at Sammie’s drawing desk, swivelling around so that he was directly facing the boy in his bed. The last thing he was willing to do was sit with his back to Sammie. Angela seemed to have faith that she could save the kid from whatever ancient demon Chamuel represented – if that was in fact the dealio - but Tim wasn’t expecting things to end well. Regardless of whether or not Sammie was possessed, one thing was for the sure:
The kid is dangerous.
CHAPTER FORTY
Angela had lied when she’d said she needed to get some things. She had all the things she needed: her Bible, her faith, and the ceremonial dagger to be used in the blood ritual. The real reason she had left the two men alone with Sammie was that she needed a few moments to prepare herself mentally. After all the death and bloodshed, Angela’s resolve had wavered. She was ashamed to say it, but she was afraid. She didn’t know if God’s protection could penetrate the malevolence that had afflicted the Raymeady family. She felt like she was in a snake’s pit about to be eaten.
When she had left Sammie’s room she headed back down the grand staircase. She now stood inside the piano lounge, trying to ignore the stench of blood. Jessica still lay on the floor, her body twisted, face staring blankly up at the ceiling. Angela reached down and dragged the woman’s legs so that they both pointed straight. Then she positioned Jessica’s arms over her chest and closed her eyes. Safe journey, Ms Raymeady.
Angela knelt beside Jessica’s body and closed her own eyes, clasped her hands together in prayer.
“May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.”
The old Gaelic blessing that Angela had learned as a child was not the typical way to bless a soul’s passing, but it seemed like something Jessica would have liked. It made Angela feel better knowing that something had been said to mark the woman's passing. Now I just need to say a prayer for myself. She thought that Bon Jovi said it best:
We’ve got to hold on ready or not.
You live for the fight when it’s all that you’ve got.
Angela sung the next line out loud like a wa
r cry, “Wooah, living on a prayer,” and then went to leave the room. She was ready, she was pumped, but once she’d taken a few steps, she stopped.
Mike lay face up on the ground where they had left him. Angela looked down at him and wondered what had led him down the path he’d chosen. Mike had killed Jessica, yes, but he had seemed afraid, even panicked. Whatever his sins, he was a human being that had his own reasons for what he’d done. Angela knelt down beside him and blessed his passing. “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; says the Lord.”
Mike’s eyes snapped open. “Angela!”
Angela fell backwards onto her hands. A jolt of agony shot up her wrist. Mike lifted his crooked face and glared at her. He was alive. No. No, he’s dead.
Mike’s swollen eyes were rolled back in his head, showing only the bloodshot whites. His ruined mouth worked silently as if it were being operated by gears and cogs. Looking closely at the man, Angela knew without a doubt that he was definitely dead. Yet he was sat up and talking to her.
In a raspy voice he said, “Time is running out. Hisss power is growing. You must ssslay the beassst.”
Angela stared at Mike’s body, sickened to see his human flesh being manipulated like a puppet. “The beast? How do I slay the beast?”
Mike’s eye sockets began to bleed and his lips twitched and contorted. “You mussst separate the beassst from the purity.”
Angela nodded. “I know. I’m going to perform an exorcism right now.” She couldn’t believe she was having a conversation with a dead man, but she knew it wasn’t Mike inside. “Who are you?”
Mike’s teeth began to fall from his mouth, one at a time, plinking on the tiles like notes on a xylophone. His entire face was gradually crumbling to pieces. “You mussst ssslay the beassst. Exorcisssm…not enough….”
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