“I need you to hold his legs,” Angela said. “I must pierce his feet together. Then it will be done. It will be over.”
Frank managed to straddle Sammie and wrestled to get the boy’s ankles together. Sammie kicked his legs and giggled. “Give it up, Frank,” he said in the voice of a child. “You’re never going to be the hero. You couldn’t save my parents and you never saved Conway, Nichols, or Albright. They died on your watch, Sergeant! Right after you shot a pregnant woman in the stomach. So much death at your hands. You’ll never wash the stink off.”
Frank reacted as if he’d been kicked in the ribs. His grip on Sammie loosened. The boy shuffled free.
Angela spoke loudly, trying to be the only voice that Frank heard. “Frank, don’t listen to him. Whatever he is talking about doesn’t matter. We all have pasts. It is what we do right now that matters.”
“Tell that to those men’s families,” Sammie said. “Tell that to Conway’s son. Tell him how you sent his father into a village you said was friendly. Tell him how you left him to die on the lonely sands of Iraq. I thought the Parachute Regiment never left a man behind. Well, you left three behind to save your own ass.”
Frank staggered to his feet and backed away from Sammie. “They…they were pinned down, wounded. The whole village was armed – even the pregnant woman. If I stayed behind, we would all have died. I needed to bring in support before the rebels dug in somewhere else, killed more soldiers. Someone needed to get back alive.”
Angela shouted. “Frank! Frank, it doesn’t matter. He’s just trying to break you. You need to get a hold of him so we can finish this.”
Frank shook his head. “Things were finished for me a long time ago. Protecting this family was supposed to be my salvation, but instead it’s my final condemnation.” He spun around and grabbed Angela, shoved her against the balcony railing and winded her. “I’m sorry,” he said as he snatched the ceremonial dagger from her fingertips and rushed towards Sammie with it. He let out a wail of anguish like an ancient warrior.
Sammie swatted Frank aside like a measly fly. The force was inhumane and sent the large man clean off his feet and reeling backwards into Angela. The sudden impact of Frank’s body took her by surprise and her legs twisted together. She stumbled back into the balcony railing again and momentum carried her over. Suddenly she was falling. Angela knew that she was falling to her death, the marble floor two stories below coming up to meet her.
Something grabbed her wrist.
She flipped over in the air, legs dangling painfully from wrenched sockets. She hung by her left arm, the pain in her shoulder immense, but was rising slowly back towards the balcony railing. Somebody had saved her at the last second. Thank you God. I owe you. And I owe Frank for catching me.
“You ought to be more careful,” said a voice that was most definitely not Frank’s.
Angela looked up and saw that it was Sammie who held her by the wrist. He lifted her upwards as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour. The look on his face was like that of a cat toying with a mouse. Angela knew Sammie’s intention was not to save her; it was only to prolong his own amusement.
Once Sammie had raised her up enough so that they were face to face and she could feel his fetid breath on her cheeks, he held her there, suspended. It was then that Angela saw Frank writhing on the floor, the ceremonial dagger jutting out from his thigh. He must have fallen on it when Sammie flung him across the balcony. There was no chance of him saving her now. She was helpless, doomed.
“Where is your God now?” Sammie purred. “Has he abandoned you?”
“Let her go,” someone demanded from the shadows. The person stepped forward, out of the shadows.
Sammie actually seemed surprised when he saw Tim appear. “I thought you’d left. How very stupid of you not to have.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I said let her go.”
“Yes, I heard you,” Sammie said. “But considering her current predicament, I don’t really think that is wise. Do you?”
Tim stepped forward. “Pull her up and then let her go, knob head.”
Sammie smiled at him. Angela felt the boy’s icy fingers squeeze tighter around her wrist. For a moment she thought he might actually lift her over. “How about I just let the bitch fall and then come over there and twist your head off like a wart from a pig’s backside. I could even send you to join your wretched brother in his eternal torment. All that guilt inside of you, Tim. I could end it all so easily for you. Let me help you, Tim. Let me make it all go away.”
Tim’s confidence seemed to waver – Angela could see him trembling – but he remained resolute. “Pull. Her. Back. Up. Now. Arsehole.”
“Oh Tim. Silly, silly Tim. I thought you were the smart one. The one who actually realised their own impotence. You were right in wanting to leave so badly. Your only mistake was coming back.”
Tim took another step forward.
Sammie let Angela drop.
She screamed.
But he still held her. He’d just let her drop a few inches. It was all it took to make her cry out in despair.
Tim stopped moving and put his hands up in front of him. “Take it easy, Sammie. I just want to take Angela and get the hell out of here. Leave, just like you said.”
Sammie sniggered. “Oh, she isn’t going anywhere, I’m afraid. I’ll tell you what, though: let’s see if you can make it over here before I have time to let her fall and rip out your throat with my teeth. Or…” Sammie grinned. “I could give you one last chance to leave on your own. Your choice: do you want to live or do you want to die?”
Angela saw the fear in Tim’s eyes. Coming back to help her was just a small blip in otherwise faultless cowardice. He only cared about himself and right now he was terrified. Angela looked down at the hard marble floor thirty-feet below her and knew it was going to be her grave. Any minute now. Any minute now I’ll fall. There’ll be butterflies in my stomach for a second and then…nothing.
Angela watched with weary resignation as Tim turned away and stepped towards the staircase. He was leaving, just as she knew he would. Somehow, she still couldn’t bring herself to blame him.
Sammie turned to Angela and chuckled. “Do you see, Priest? Do you see what this world is made of? Cowardice and fear. Selfishness and hatred. Mankind is a deviant cesspool.”
Angela strained, tried to pull herself up. “Who…who are you, Chamuel?”
Sammie looked at her, shaking her head with pity. “You really don’t understand a thing, do you, Priest? I am the new beginning. I am what comes next. Unfortunately, you will not live long enough to witness it.”
Angela closed her eyes and prepared to die.
“I think it’s about time you were grounded, you annoying little brat.”
Suddenly another hand grabbed hold of Angela’s wrist while Sammie’s grip fell away. Her body plummeted, dropped several inches, but then the new hand asserted itself and managed to keep a hold of her.
She looked up, surprised and grateful.
Tim squinted down at her, the effort of sustaining her weight bringing out great beads of sweat from his wrinkled brow. “How about a little help here,” he groaned as a vein pulsed in his forehead.
With the final dregs of strength she had left in her aching back and shoulders, Angela pulled herself upwards. There was a ripping pain in her sides where rarely used muscles awakened and pulled her to safety. Tim’s wiry arms hoisted her to the point that it looked like his biceps might detach from the bone. Yet, somehow, Angela started to rise upwards. Her free hand reached the banister, her fingertips clawed at the wooden surface. She swung her body sideways, trying to gain a purchase with her leg and, with one last effort, she went sprawling up and over the railing. She landed hard on top of Tim, both of them winded and moaning.
There was no time to recuperate, though.
“Get up,” she said. “Sammie!”
Tim rolled off her and staggered to his feet.
“You came back,�
� she commented.
Tim shrugged. “Guess I’d rather die with a clear conscious than live with any more guilt.”
“Nobody else is dying tonight,” Angela promised him. She was determined to make sure it was true. She checked out her surroundings quickly, looking for Sammie but also for one other thing: the ceremonial dagger that was still jutting out of Frank’s leg.
Frank had stopped writhing around now that the initial shock had worn off. He was sat upright, staring down at the long blade sticking up from his thigh muscle. He was breathing heavily and looked deathly pale in the moonlight.
“Are you okay?” she asked him, thinking the question was pretty stupid.
Frank looked at her. “You need the dagger.”
Angela nodded. She knew ripping the blade free could nick an artery and unplug the wound. As an ex-Army man, Frank would know it too. The sensible thing would be to keep it in place and get help, but that wasn’t an option.
“Just take it,” he said, his voice quick and nervous.
Angela thanked him silently with her eyes and wrapped her fingers around the dagger. She needed to get it out with one pull – quick and clean. Failing to do so would result in more damage to Frank’s leg.
She yanked before he had chance to take a breath.
The blade came free with a grim sucking sound. Frank hissed in agony. A jet of blood spurted into the air, but thankfully didn’t persist. The dagger had missed the major blood vessels. He ain’t dead yet.
Angela held the dagger in front of her and frowned at the blood on its shaft. The sight of it turned her stomach, but she had to fight against her revulsion. A cry of pain behind her called her into action. Sammie had reappeared and was hanging off Tim’s neck, as if he were just a normal ten-year-old boy wanting a piggyback ride. Tim wailed and screeched as Sammie bit into his neck, tearing away strips of stringy flesh.
Angela raced forward to help him.
Sammie’s eyes caught sight of her sprinting towards him with the dagger in her hand. He released Tim from his clutches and hopped away like a giant bug. Tim staggered forward, clutching his bleeding neck. “Jesus Christ, that hurts.”
Angela put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a quick shake. His wounds looked sore, but they weren’t going to kill him. There was no time to indulge their aching bodies and torn flesh, not yet. There was still evil at work and they needed to banish it to Hell.
She pointed the dagger at Sammie, who snarled at her defiantly. “It’s time to end this,” she said. “I’m tired and I haven’t had a drink in hours.”
Sammie scuttled across the carpet like a spider and surprised them all by scurrying up the wall. He sprung sideways at Angela and caught her on the shoulder. She staggered sideways, once again striking the balcony’s railing. Sammie was right at her, rushing with his arms out in front of him, ready to tackle her right over the ledge again. Looks like I have a date with the marble floor after all.
Tim shoved Angela aside and met Sammie head on. The boy’s unnatural strength presented itself again and sent him crashing clear through the railing. The ancient bannister broke apart and splintered like termite-infected balsawood. Suddenly Tim was flying through thin air. Then he fell.
Angela tumbled to the floor, helpless as Tim disappeared beyond the balcony. She leapt back up to her feet and raced over to help him, but what she found brought tears to her eyes.
Tim’s body lay sprawled on the marble floor below like a pretzel. He was still, one leg twisted beneath him at a sickening angle. The fall had snapped his bones like they were made of chalk. Angela swallowed a lump in her throat and took a deep breath. God bless you, my friend. May Heaven welcome you with open arms. Then she spun around, just in time catch Sammie launching another attack. He leapt up at her, intending to send her right after Tim, but she was able to dodge aside and avoid the blow. She shuffled away from the balcony, determined not to meet her end on the marble floor below. Tim died to save me from that fate.
Sammie rushed her again, this time too quickly to avoid. Angela tumbled to the floor from the blow but quickly oriented herself onto her rump, hoping to face down any follow-up attack. Sure enough, Sammie swung a claw-like foot toward her face. She barely dodged it by rolling sideways onto her belly.
The next kick caught her square in the ribs. Something broke inside of her and all of a sudden she could not breathe. Sammie pranced toward her, giggling with childish glee. Angela clawed at the carpet, tried to drag herself away, but the hot coals inside her lungs made moving impossible. There was now ay she could get away, or dodge Sammie’s blows. She was defenceless. But she still held the ceremonial dagger in her hand. Somehow she had managed to keep her grip on it.
Sammie stood over her. His eyes swirled with malevolent darkness. “I’m bored of you now,” he said. “I think you should die.”
Sammie raised a foot as if to stomp her skull to pulp, but his ankle returned to the floor like it was attached to elastic. He tried lifting his foot again, but the same thing happened. It soon became clear that something was impeding his movement. Angela rolled onto her side and lifted her head up to see.
Frank lay on the floor behind Sammie. His arms were wrapped around the boy’s shins and he was forcing them together. “You need to pierce the feet, right?” he said, struggling. “So do it already.”
Angela nodded, seeing stars but clear in what she needed to do.
Frank squeezed Sammie’s legs tighter so that his feet overlapped on top of one another. Angela took a breath and raised the dagger in her hand, its tip pointing downwards. Then she thrust it towards the floor with every last ounce of energy she had left. The dagger pierced through the small bones and pliant flesh of Sammie’s feet, so forcefully that the tip embedded itself in the floorboards beneath.
Sammie bellowed, shaking the floor and walls around him with the might of his voice. For a brief second Angela thought the volume would reduce her brain to mush and the house to ashes. Black smoke came off of Sammie’s flesh in great swirling wafts. It looked like his entire body was made of soot and a hurricane had come to displace it.
From the floor, Angela watched in awe as the ceremonial dagger began to shift upwards, sliding out of the boy’s wound like pus from a zit. Eventually the steel blade popped out of Sammie’s feet completely and pinwheeled across the carpet. With one last, final bellow, Sammie flew backwards through the air and hit the floor with a resounding thud! His tiny body went still.
Angela was shaking and unable to take a full breath. Her vision blurred, spotted with stars. She wondered if she was going to pass out, but once she was sure she wouldn’t, she slowly climbed up onto her knees and then to her feet.
Frank, too, had managed to get himself standing, although he was favouring his left leg. He limped towards her, looking up at one of the house’s many windows. “Look,” he said, pointing. “The sun is out.”
Angela looked outside to see the moon was retreating and the sun rolling up to replace it. It was like being caught in some bizarre time-lapse nature documentary. Before they knew it, the day had finally arrived and the endless night was defeated. The house felt different, too. The malignant veil, which had seemed to hang over everything, had finally lifted.
Angela got herself together and hurried over to Sammie. His tiny body had been through a terrible ordeal and she wasn’t certain he would survive intact, but she knelt down beside him and saw immediately that things were different. The boy’s pallid skin was already beginning to fill with colour. His crooked teeth were straighter. His dark, sunken eyes were now a pleasant green. The boy had been cleansed; his body was once more his own.
Frank came up beside Angela and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Is he…?”
“He’s alive,” she quickly assured him, pointing to the steady rising and falling of the boy’s chest. “The blood exorcism worked. The demon has retreated. Sammie is going to be alright.”
“Thank God,” said Frank, tears in his eyes.
“Yes,” Angel
a agreed, smiling. There was a warmth inside her chest that had been absent for far too long. “Thank God indeed.”
Epilogue
Angela lay tucked-up in the luxurious four-poster bed of her room. For the first time since she’d arrived, she was actually enjoying being at Raymeady Manor, if only for a brief moment while resting. Although a year of rest won’t be enough.
Angela had decided to stay behind for a few days to help Frank put everything in order. There was a thorough police investigation going on and both Angela and Frank had a lot of explaining to do. That was beyond her concern, though. She knew now that God had never stopped watching over her and whatever was meant to be would be. I may have given up on him once, but he never ever gave up on me.
The best news to have come out of the last couple of days was that Tim was going to make it. Apparently, his awkward landing had taken the biggest toll on his right leg and pelvis, snapping them like kindling, but his other injuries were far less severe: a couple of broken ribs and a nasty concussion. He was going to live, albeit it consigned to a wheelchair. It was still a good result as far as she was concerned. Tim’s body may have been injured, but she knew that his eventual bravery would do a massive amount to repair his damaged soul. He would have no regrets, she was sure.
Sammie was also doing well. It turned out that he was actually a very shy boy at heart, with a kind, playful personality. He’d stopped talking like an adult and now exercised the type of vocabulary one would expect from a ten-year-old. He was looking a lot healthier too.
Sammie was at least a stone heavier and his rosy skin had filled out to become smooth and plump. His near-nakedness had ceased and shorts and t-shirts had replaced it. All in all, Samuel Raymeady seemed like quite a normal little boy. Considering what he’d been through, and that both his parents were dead, that was a miracle they could all be thankful for.
Frank had confided to her that he intended to fight for custody of the boy and raise him as best he could. Angela intended to help him with the cause in whatever way she could. Part of her was even thinking of re-joining the clergy, but that was something requiring a little more thought. For now, all I plan on doing is relaxing for a few days. I feel like my bones are made of soup. And not nice soup like chicken or Oxtail, I’m talking vegetable broth or minestrone.
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