Shepherd's Cross

by Mark White

  ‘Do you think we ought to go down and check on them?’ Cara asked.

  ‘What for - in case they’ve decided to smuggle some booze in and invite a few mates over for a sly game of cards?’ He noticed the hurt expression on Cara’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, the tiredness in his voice evident as he spoke. ‘I know you’re only trying to be helpful. This can’t be easy for you, either. How are you bearing up?’

  Cara smiled. ‘Oh, you needn’t worry about me, Sarge. I’m tougher than you think. To be honest, I’m more concerned about you. You look exhausted.’

  Jennings removed his glasses and placed them on the desk. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember the last time I was so tired.’

  ‘Then why don’t you go home to bed?’ she asked. ‘Try to get some sleep. It doesn’t look like Carter’s coming any time soon, and there’s nothing else needing your attention. Besides, I’m meant to be the officer on duty…I can cope. And if I need your help, I know where to find you. Come on, Sarge’ she said. ‘It isn’t doing you any good at all just sitting here.’

  Jennings smiled at his deputy. He really did think the world of her: in all his years spent training up new recruits, he’d never encountered anyone with such a compassionate and altruistic nature; a true heart of gold in a cynical profession like theirs. He pretended to be serious and gave her a firm, stiff salute. ‘Yes, ma’am!’ he said, ‘Understood, ma’am…loud and clear!’

  The two officers shared a laugh together; unusually for them, it was the first time they’d done so all day. Jennings wiped his glasses with a nearby tissue and rested them back on his nose. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m not much use here. And I could certainly do with the rest. I’ll hang around ‘til four o’clock, just in case Carter turns up. After that, I suggest we both get out of here – I don’t want you stuck here by yourself if he decides to drop by later. No way. By all means, divert the Station phone to the Youth Hostel, but don’t stay here alone. It’s too dangerous. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you while I was tucked up in bed with my fluffy hot water bottle!’

  ‘Okay,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, it’ll give me more time to doll myself up for my hot date tonight.’

  ‘Hot date?’ he asked. ‘I wasn’t aware of any date – you kept that quiet, didn’t you?’

  ‘He only asked me a couple of hours ago. It’s not really a date; more of a dinner-type thingamajig. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I can be bothered now. I’m pretty tired myself.’

  ‘Rubbish, woman. You’re only a bairn! When I was your age…well, actually when I was your age I would have still been tucked up in bed with a fluffy hot water bottle…but, if I was your age again, I’d be out there having fun and enjoying myself. You only live once, you know?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. And he is rather dishy, even if I say so myself.’

  ‘May I ask who the lucky man is? I’m only interested in a professional capacity, of course.’

  ‘Ben Price.’

  ‘What, the Ben Price who loves nothing more than to spend his evenings howling at the moon?’

  ‘Yep – the very same. Although I think you’ll find he was having a nightmare, actually. Even I’m not desperate enough to start dating werewolves. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Oooohh…there’s no need to be so defensive! Well, at least you’ve gone for somebody with a few quid, I’ll give you that. Then again, I never had you down as a gold digger.’

  Cara reached over the desk and playfully slapped his face. ‘How dare you? I’ll have you know that I couldn’t give two hoots if he has any money or not. He’s a nice man, that’s all. Anyway, I’m only going over to his place for dinner; I’m not intending to marry the bloke.’

  ‘You never know,’ said Jennings. ‘As The Boss himself once said, ‘you can’t start a fire without a spark.’’

  ‘The Boss?’ asked Cara.

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? The Boss – Bruce Springsteen. Dear me, what do they teach kids at school nowadays? Seriously though, date or not, I’m happy for you. It’s about time you enjoyed the company of someone your own age.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she replied. ‘Hopefully it will give my mind a chance to think about something other than inverted crosses, scary old Halls and dead…’ She stopped mid-speech, tears welling up in her eyes; the thought of Jed and Lee lying in the basement downstairs too much for her to take in.

  Jennings stood up and went to her side, allowing her to bury her head into his chest as he put his arms around her. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. I can’t believe it either. In all my years…why in the hell couldn’t I see it coming? All those times I went downstairs to tell them to stop making such a racket – why didn’t I pick up on the fact that the shit was about to hit the fan?’

  Cara composed herself and went to his defence. ‘Dr Barrett said this morning that he believed drugs may have been partly responsible for causing Lee to suddenly flip out,’ she said. ‘If that proves to be the case, it’s hardly surprising that you missed it, Sarge. Whatever happened last night was not your fault; there was nothing you could have done to either foresee it or prevent it. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  Jennings sighed. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied, his head now in his hands. ‘I guess so. But maybe I could have done something differently…handled it better. Although you should have seen the way they laid into the Woodsman boy; they half-killed the poor kid. I had to lock them up, it was the only thing to do.’

  ‘And there was a pub full of people who can back you up on that, wasn’t there?’

  ‘Yes, there was. Not that…’

  ‘And you told me that you checked on them several times in the night, didn’t you? And that when everything had finally gone quiet, you assumed that they’d simply fallen asleep?

  ‘What’s your point, Cara?’

  ‘My point is that whoever HQ decides to send here on Monday morning, and however they go about investigating it, there is no way on earth they can pin any of this on you, do you hear me? As far as I can see, you did everything by the book, as you always do. You’re a good man, Brian Jennings, and an even better Policeman.’

  ‘Thanks, Cara. I appreciate it; I really do. And for what it’s worth, I know you’re right. I know I wasn’t responsible. It just might take me a little while to come to terms with it, that’s all.’

  ‘Of course it will.’ She shifted her gaze to the window and sighed. ‘I don’t know – this weather – it feels like it’s closing in on us. I hate feeling hemmed in like this; everything’s so dark and depressing. I feel trapped.’

  ‘Which is exactly why you need to go on that date tonight,’ said Jennings, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘Okay, okay, I will. I promise.’

  ‘Mind you, I want to hear all the gory details, do you hear?’

  Cara smiled. ‘You know, Sarge – for an old man, you can be such a woman sometimes!’

  ‘Being nosy…I mean curious…comes with the territory. Now, why don’t you stick the kettle on and make this old man a nice cup of tea, eh? Make it quick though; if Carter doesn’t get here in the next ten minutes, we’re shutting up shop.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ she replied, taking their cups from the desk and heading off to the kitchen.

  Jennings watched her as she walked away, before going to the window to take another look outside. Still no sign of the man he was waiting for. He walked back to his desk and slumped into his chair, feeling like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  He leant back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. How was he to know that he would never be seeing Mick Carter alive again?

  Chapter 12

  5.00pm: ‘I’ve never known your powers to be so strong, Benedict,’ said King, decanting red wine into a tall glass and offering it to Blackmoor. ‘The momentum appears to be firmly with us.’

  ‘Thank you, Reuben,’ replied Blackmoor, taking the glass from
his assistant and lifting it to his lips. He closed his eyes, savouring the dark, warm liquid; swirling it around his tongue in appreciation of its ripe, mature flavours. The witnesses were seated around the mahogany table in the dining room of Fellside Hall, the flickering light from an ornate candelabrum in the centre of the table illuminating their faces and projecting shadows onto the walls behind them. In spite of there being five people present, only three of them – Blackmoor, King and Ted Wilson – were of a composure that enabled any kind of meaningful discourse. Bronwyn Hess and Frank Gowland remained under the deep, controlling influence of Blackmoor’s recent hypnosis; their presence in the room being purely physical for the time being. Outside, the world had already submerged into darkness: an inhospitable wind was howling around the Hall like a restless, tormented spirit; feverously searching for a means of entering inside the building and possessing whatever or whomever it found taking shelter within its walls. Blackmoor stared at his latest recruits, studying their faces one by one, sensing their feelings and emotions, assessing their individual motivations through the spiritual energy and life-force they exuded. He was under no illusion that it was the strength of his power and his ability to control their thoughts that bound them to him; a power he needed to maintain over them, at least until He was brought forth and they had served their purpose. Once He was here, they would no longer require Blackmoor’s guiding hand to hold them to the cause. Witnessing His supreme omnipotence would be enough.

  Ted Wilson accepted a glass of wine from King and raised it to Blackmoor in acknowledgement of the man’s authority. ‘Are we ready to summon Him? After all, there are now five of us.’

  Blackmoor smiled at him. He was impressed by Wilson’s eagerness: the man had been so easy to entrance; there had been almost no resistance to his advances. Even now, a full day after Blackmoor had convinced Wilson to join him, there was no requirement for any further ‘persuasive intervention’ – the man was like a soft-bellied lapdog; desperate to please at every opportunity. As with any dog, he had to be praised when he did well and beaten when he strained too hard against his master’s leash. Fortunately for Wilson, his compliant behaviour had so far allowed Blackmoor to spare him the whip. Blackmoor regarded the other two recruits; when they eventually came round, they would be wise to follow Wilson’s example. Especially the girl, he thought, his eyes settling onto the sumptuous curves of Bronwyn’s breasts, filling him with lust, arousing his desire for her.

  ‘Professor Blackmoor?’ said Wilson, interrupting Blackmoor from his thoughts. ‘I was just asking you whether…’

  ‘Patience, Mr Wilson. Do not preoccupy yourself with matters that needn’t concern you. Yes, we are now five, and yes, we are close to calling Him. However, our preparations are still on-going. We need more blood to be spilled in His name, further sacrifice to convince Him that we are worthy of His presence. There remains a great deal of work for us to do.’

  ‘But we are on course?’ King asked. ‘If I may say so; it appears that our progress is advancing at a faster pace and with far less hindrance than even I anticipated.’

  ‘Oh yes, there’s no doubt about that, my learned friend,’ replied Blackmoor. ‘But you must understand, Reuben, that we are pushing against an open door. More than ever, people are turning their backs on their faith. God is being squeezed from their lives by their insatiable, selfish greed and unquenchable thirst for the material world; a world that has no place for the type of compassion and community that their God advocates. Moreover, the decline of religion is no longer confined to the filthy streets of towns and cities; far from it. You don’t have to look any further than our cosy little village here: is it not the case that the tide of consumerism swept through Shepherd’s Cross years ago? You can feel it in the air – inequity, jealousy, hatred – the place is drowning in it. You only need to look at that drunken, faithless priest; God’s so-called representative on earth, worn out by years of fighting a battle he can never win. How can he convince his flock if he can’t even convince himself? A pathetic, pitiful sight if ever I saw one!’

  King and Wilson laughed in agreement, absorbed by Blackmoor’s rhetoric.

  ‘Now is the perfect time for the His return,’ Blackmoor continued. ‘The people are ready for a change of leadership: they are crying out for a new God; someone who can sympathise with the demands of the modern world. Someone who can guide them on their journey towards self-destruction; who can encourage them to scramble over the backs of their fellow men, like starving rats trying to flee a maze with no exit. Never before has there been a more appropriate moment for Him to appear before His people. And when at last He comes, oh, how they will flock to Him! And how He will delight in hearing the final nail being hammered irreversibly into the coffin of Christianity, sealing God’s miserable fate once and for all.’

  ‘He’s so near!’ cried King. ‘His hour approaches.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Blackmoor. ‘If we continue to progress at this rate, I believe we shall be ready to summon Him as soon as tomorrow evening.’

  King gasped. ‘Tomorrow evening? So soon, Benedict?’

  ‘Why not? There are four dead already; we only need the blood of one more, and I know the perfect candidate. Then there is the girl, of course. We will need to pry her away from her doting father.’

  ‘Will it be necessary for you to visit her again before we take her?’ asked King.

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps not’ Blackmoor said. ‘Unfortunately that father of hers doesn’t seem to share in his daughter’s fondness for our feline friends.’

  ‘Would you like me to deal with him?’

  ‘No,’ Blackmoor replied. ‘Not unless we have to…not unless he gets in the way of our business. We don’t want to start killing people for the sake of it, no matter how pleasurable it feels. We must remain focused, Reuben.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ King said, topping up the wine glasses. ‘In the meantime, Benedict, what would you like me to do?’

  ‘I plan on travelling down to the village alone tonight,’ Blackmoor said. ‘I do not wish to increase our chances of being spotted by prying eyes. Up until now, we have avoided attracting any unwanted attention towards ourselves. We need to keep it that way, for one more day at least.’ He looked at the semiconscious figures of Bronwyn and Gowland, their eyes suggesting they were starting to become aware of the world around them. ‘These two are close to waking,’ he said, nodding in their direction. ‘I will wait for them to do so, just in case they fail to behave as expected. Afterwards, I will leave for Shepherd’s Cross. I could be gone for most of the evening. You’re in charge, Reuben. I suggest that you use the time to prepare the Hall. You have all the necessary items?’

  ‘Yes. They are in the chest.’

  ‘Good. In that case, I would like you to take the others and focus on getting this house in order for His arrival. You must start with the Round Room...it is the one room that must be absolutely perfect.’ Blackmoor shifted his gaze to an attentive Ted Wilson. ‘Mr Wilson, you will need to help Reuben with whatever he asks of you. Is that understood?’

  Wilson nodded his head in obedience. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Blackmoor. ‘Everything seems to be in order. In which case, might I suggest we enjoy an early dinner? We have a long night ahead of us, and the nature of our work demands a full stomach.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said King. He stood up and walked over to a large, cast-iron pot that hung from a skewer above the dining room fire. ‘Mr Wilson,’ he said. ‘Would you be kind enough to lay the table while I serve?’

  As Wilson proceeded to distribute place mats, napkins and cutlery for the five people in the room, Blackmoor couldn’t help smirking at the feeling of confidence that was growing inside him. He observed the other four, who, under his leadership, constituted the coven that would welcome Him into the world once more. Familia quinque, he said to himself. The family of five.

  As he took a sip of his wine, contemplating the evening that lay ahead of him, from
the corner of his eye he noticed Bronwyn Hess smiling at him. She had awoken from the initial force of the hypnosis, and judging by the provocative expression on her face, the desired effect of the particular strain of spell he’d cast on her appeared to be working.

  ‘On second thoughts, Reuben,’ said Blackmoor, without taking his eyes away from Bronwyn. ‘I would like to delay my dinner by…shall we say…thirty minutes?’

  King sighed and replaced the ladle onto its hook by the fire. ‘But Benedict,’ he said. ‘I thought you…’

  ‘First things first,’ Blackmoor said. ‘I suddenly have an itch that needs scratching. Bronwyn, my dear. Would you care for me to show you to your room before we have dinner?’

  Bronwyn’s lips reddened and her pupils dilated at Blackmoor’s invitation. She stood up, her slender yet full figure stiffening every man in the room as they stared her up and down. Blackmoor walked around the table and took the hand that she offered him. In plain view of the others, he proceeded to slide his other hand under her shirt and over her right breast, gently stroking her erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing her to moan with pleasure. ‘Come, my darling’ he whispered, leading her to the door of the dining room, the other men’s eyes burning holes in their backs as they walked away. As he was about to leave the room, he turned to face them once more, Bronwyn’s hand slowly rubbing back and forth over his crotch, his manhood visibly hard and erect underneath his trousers. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said to them, lust coursing through his body as he struggled to compose himself. ‘I am not the possessive type. Stick to the plan and you shall have your turn; I guarantee it. He will reward those who swear allegiance to Him with pleasures beyond their wildest dreams.’

  And with that tantalising promise left hanging in the air, they walked away, the sound of Bronwyn’s laughter drifting back to the others as she made her way down the hallway. King looked at Wilson and smiled. ‘If the offer of sharing a bed with the likes of her doesn’t excite you, Mr Wilson, I am not sure what will. Come on, let’s get to work – there is much to do!’