Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3)

by Max Hardy

  Adam, or Gabriel, whoever the hell he is, is standing at the glass opposite us, spouting forth calmly and eloquently as I look in confused fury over to him. Rebecca is beside me, pawing the glass, looking down upon angelic Jacob.

  ‘Less of the mental bullshit, who the fuck are you?’ I demand, banging my fist into the toughened glass.

  ‘Do I have your attention Mr Saul?’ he says, in a clipped, precise home-counties accent, the same one he used when I heard him on the phone for the very first time in Featherstone Hall. I stop banging. I look at his calm, controlled demeanour and realise that at this moment, there is very little I can do.

  ‘You have my attention.’ I answer.

  ‘Excellent John. Now, what I need you to understand is that at the moment, Jacob is safe. What I need you to understand is that there are explosives in the altar beneath Jacob, and if you do not do exactly as I ask you, then I will blow us all up. Do I make myself clear.’ he asks calmly.

  ‘Crystal.’ I rumble, staring in anger at his patronising face.

  ‘Good. Now behind you is an inversion bench. Rebecca, I would like you to strap John up in that please, the tighter the better. Just so you don’t feel left out, Eve is going to strap me into a similar bench in here. Eve, I’m going to unfasten your handcuffs. Now I know you will probably want to kill me for how I have played you, but you need to understand something too. One of the triggers for the explosives under Jacob is a tiny transmitter injected into my arm. As long as the transmitter can feel my pulse, then the trigger won’t set off. The second my pulse stops, it explodes. So, kill me, and we all die. Do I make myself clear?’ Adam asks, while bending down and releasing Eve’s handcuffs.

  In an instant, Eve’s hand shoots up, the fist balling, a swift uppercut unleashed that follows her body as she springs from the floor and the fist connects directly with Adam’s chin. He staggers backwards into the glass behind him as Eve follows through with the other forming fist and thrusts it, with the weight and momentum of her body behind it, straight into Adam’s stomach, winding him.

  ‘Oh, I’m not going to kill you. Torture you until all your body parts are broken, yes, but not kill you.’ Eve hisses furiously, her body shaking with rage and coursing with adrenaline.

  Adam simply laughs through a deep breath as he stands, not even trying to defend himself. ‘That is exactly what I want you to do Eve. Break me, until there are only five things in my body keeping me alive. Now, I would suggest you strap me into the rack rather than waste your energy on what will be a one sided fight.’ he relays and walks over to the rack as Eve looks at him, then over to us in confusion.

  He wants to be restrained. He wants to be broken. He wants me to do the same? There are tubes in here, like the ones I had in my legs as a child. Rickety rooms are falling apart once again. I look at Rebecca, fear feasting on my stomach, and back my body into the inversion rack. She starts to strap my legs in, whispering across to me as she does. ‘What’s he doing John? He’s trapped himself inside a glass case, is being restrained in a chair and wants to be tortured. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘He’ll tell us in a moment, he won’t be able to help himself. But you need to prepare your mind. He’s going to ask you to torture me, to break me. Get yourself ready for that.’ I answer, her silent features vehemently disagreeing with me.

  ‘You asked me who the hell I was John.’ Adam starts speaking, as Eve viciously ties the restraints on his legs. ‘I know what you really want to know is who the hell are you, and what is our relationship. Much like you, I spent my childhood alone, in a pristine white room, on a pristine white bed, with pristine white sheets. Occasionally the Nun’s would bring me food, and say prayers over me. Every day they would take me off to a clinical operating theatre, shining silver, where a doctor would stick needles and tubes into my bones, sometimes feeding things in and sometimes taking things out. Do you know, I was probably in the next room to you, only a foot thick wall keeping us apart. But just as you didn’t know I was there, I didn’t know you were there. But I had a friend who played with me and helped me to while away the lonely hours. Gabriel. He was an imaginary friend to start with, just a construct to have a conversation and to play games with. I got his name from the only picture in the room, of the Angel Gabriel. As the years passed, and the treatments became more painful, he became more than imaginary, he became part of me, and the person I became when I was in that theatre. He became an inquisitive soul, wanting to know what they were doing, wanting to get involved, keen to understand why he felt pain. You might say that I was suffering from dissociative identity disorder. I didn’t know what that was at the time, but certainly Gabriel became a real personality inside me. It’s not really surprising, given who our father was. Right, Eve and Rebecca, there are six tubes on the floor, each with a needle at the end. You need to force them into our legs, right the way into the bones. Just look for the injection scars as a guide to where they go.’

  So we are related and lived our childhoods a foot apart. He dumped his agony into a second personality, I locked mine away into rickety rooms. Rickety rooms which are fully open now, the memories of lying in that theatre, on that bench, feeling the excruciating pain of the needles sliding into my bones burning my mind and overwhelming me. My body shakes as I see Rebecca raise the first tube, and with every part of the control I have left, that the memories haven’t overwhelmed, I try and hide the fear from her, I try to encourage her. She rolls up the beige leg of the slacks I’m wearing, exposing the flesh below: exposing the scarred flesh. She places the needle of the tube over the scar furthest down my shin and looks up at me in imploring agony, shaking her head uncontrollably, her eyes wide in terror.

  ‘Put it in.’ I sing softly to her tortured emerald eyes, not breaking her gaze, drinking her in. She doesn’t break our gaze either, an apologetic whimper escaping her lips as she forces the needle in. Electrical impulses fire every synapse, my back arcing, my limbs shaking, the very breath in my lungs forced out of my wracking body, a muffled grunt escaping with it as I try and subdue the scream my mind wants to wreak.

  ‘Impressive John.’ I hear Adam’s words sail into my ears, his voice ever so slightly pained, as I tilt my head and see Eve thrusting the needles into his legs. ‘I remember screaming for what seemed like weeks the first time that happened to me as a child. Only five more to go.’

  ‘You said, our father. There is nothing in the files we found at the Institute that says who we are. Are we twins, or are we clones? Who was he?’ I ask, my head turned towards him, his to me, as we look at each other over the still, quiet form of Jacob.

  ‘I’m surprised you haven’t worked that out yet John, what with you being an excellent detective, fastidious in the detail. There’s one detail that has been in your face constantly since the first time you met Dr Ennis at The Fielding Institute. You were never going to find it on file either. Even secret religious organisations like the Fallen Angels have their darkest secrets, that they want to keep hidden from everyone else. That’s us. We are twins John. From the same biological father and the same biological mother. Created from one egg that split into two. Our mother was Clarissa Seymour, the sister who moved to Italy. What can I tell you about our father, to give you a clue? I know. He had two overriding characteristics. A brilliant artist, a psychopathic killer. You guess which trait each of us inherited.’ Adam reveals, his voice hardly even changing as Eve thrust the remaining needles into his legs throughout.

  While my mind screamed in agony every single time Rebecca pushed one of them into my legs. But that didn’t stop my mind blazing away down the trails of realisation, to the significance of paintings, to the Angel with the stretched out arms, stigmata on his palms, painted by the lunatic , Frederick Charlton, my father, that hangs in the reception of The Fielding Institute. But the timelines don’t add up. He died in the early nineteen hundreds and Clarissa wasn’t born until the nineteen fifties.

  ‘I can see the penny has dropped John. Yes, Freddy the Mangle
r was our father. I can also see your confusion. How can we be the offspring of two people separated by half a century? Simple, they froze his sperm, much like yours was frozen to make Jacob. Now the questions you should have asked are, why did they feel it necessary to use the frozen sperm of a dead madman? Why did they feel the need to introduce his DNA back into the bloodline?’ Adam teases, his face alive with the power of control, revelling in the revelations.

  Chapter 39

  The incessant, high pitched thrum of the helicopters rotors filled the evening sky, it’s flashing lights highlighting the extent of the craft’s body in the evening dusk. A spotlight shone down from the front of it, circling the grounds of Morpeth Castle below. The spotlight created shadows trailing the black garbed ARO’s that were surrounding the building and the two detectives that were approaching the main entrance.

  Strange strode up to the tall, grandiose oak doors that marked the entrance to the castle, holding his phone out in front of him, eagerly obeying the continual bleep on its screen. Cruickshank was at his shoulder, her indomitable gaze not leaving the small screen either. Both of them wore protective vests and trousers. A gaggle of ARO’s marched behind them. Strange stopped, then turned to address the officers.

  ‘Right gents. The signal is coming from the far right of the castle. Plans tell us that is the chapel area. The entrance to the chapel is via a corridor off the main hall. There are no other entrances. There are two stained glass windows in the chapel that face out to the rear of the castle. We have a secure perimeter, so no one should be getting out. When we enter, there is a main hallway with three doors either side, which leads up the entrance of the main hall. Secure the rooms behind those six doors, then convene at the hall before we carry on. Just remember, there are killers in there, so you have authority to shoot, if necessary to kill. Everyone understand?’ Strange instructed, receiving affirmative nods from all of the officers. ‘Good. On my mark: Go!’ Strange finished, a stream of eight ARO’s slinking past him stealthily into the castle.

  ‘I’m surprised at myself for saying this, but is a kill order the right thing? You’ve got Adam and Saul in there and they both look exactly the same. We could be shooting an innocent man.’ Cruickshank whispered over to Strange as they waited for the first call backs from the ARO’s.

  ‘John’s a policeman. He knows the risks, he knows what he has let himself in for, and he wants to save Jacob, no matter what. I can’t pretend it’s not breaking my heart Gaynor, but I know it’s what he would do.’ Strange responded, his features painted in the heartbreak.

  ‘Come on then, let’s see if we can help him do just that.’ Cruickshank replied encouragingly, affectionately squeezing Strange’s arm, this time, without a hint of awkwardness.

  ‘Clear.’ Came the staccato shouts from the ARO’s. Strange and Cruickshank trotted into the hallway, the ARO’s congregating around the entrance to the hall, two ready with their hands on the handles, the others crouched, lined up ready to raid the room.

  ‘Go!’ Strange shouted. The doors were opened and the ARO’s swarmed into the hall, rifles pointing in every conceivable direction quickly and skilfully, the officers dispersing in an elaborately choreographed ballet, covering every part of the hall, honing in on the table in the middle.

  ‘Cold bodies!’ came the cry from the first officers to reach the table, an intensity entering all of them as their focus doubled. Strange and Cruickshank strode over to the table, between a line of ARO’s, and looked at the desolation around the table.

  ‘Jesus. Twelve bodies. All look to have been dead for a while. No sign of blood, wounds or traumas of any kind. It looks like poisoning, which the spilt wine goblets would corroborate.’ Cruickshank relayed factually, her face a mask of horror as she felt for a pulse on the neck of the nearest victim. ‘The question is, who the hell are they?’

  ‘Munro!’ Strange shouted into his walkie-talkie, his tone full of disquiet. ‘Get the forensic team around here immediately and just to be safe, the ambulance and paramedics.’ He finished, dropping his hand carrying the walkie-talkie to his side disconsolately.

  ‘Straight away Sir. Sir, we’ve just had word back from the lab as well. The blood stain from the dungeon was from Jessica Seymour.’ Munro relayed.

  ‘Twelve people around a table, a banquet laid out, a huge tapestry of ‘The Last Supper’ above the fireplace over there. If that’s not some kind of religious statement, I don’t know what is.’ Strange ruminated. ‘This is one of two things. Either Gabriel is making a statement of intent and showing his strength, or, if our suspicions about Eve are right, this may be the last meal before the final reveal of the Fallen Angels.’

  Chapter 40

  ‘Before you answer that John, and I can see you are eager to, I think it’s time for some pain. Rebecca, Eve, break every finger on our left hands, one at a time. Don’t question it, just do it.’

  Rebecca looks at me imploringly, not quite sure what to do. While he has revealed a lot, I still don’t know what he is trying to do with Jacob. Even if I had a choice, at the moment, we have to do what he wants us to. I nod at Rebecca and whisper, ‘Break them.’ She reaches down tentatively and holds my little finger between her closed hand, squeezing it with a look of love and anguish ingrained on her face. She twists and a tsunami of agony engulfs me. ‘Quickly!’ I mumble through a scream, shaking the other four fingers at her. She sees what I mean, and stealthily breaks them, the augmented pain riding on the wave of the first torture. I look over to Adam, his face a mask of euphoric misery as Eve does the same to his.

  ‘So what do you think John, why did they feel it necessary to use the frozen sperm of a dead madman? Why did they feel the need to introduce his DNA back into the bloodline?’ Adam teases through teeth grimacing in pleasure painted agony

  ‘The same reason that we started to be genetically modified and cloned. Because what the Angels thought would happen when the bloodline was pure, that the body would open up to the rapture and receive the spirits of past lives, never happened.’ I relay, my mind starting to piece together the snippets Adam had already said earlier, with all the other evidence and weaving a theory about him.

  ‘Exactly. Imagine how it must have felt for Henry and his siblings, to be the guardians of a four hundred year old belief, to have taken every single step that Cotton Mather prescribed to purify the bloodline, and to discover that it didn’t work, that their belief was just another cargo cult, like every other religion. They concluded something must have gone wrong along the way, and looked to back engineer the bloodline, but also looked to science to see if there was something they has missed. They reintroduced evil. In the shape of DNA from a madman for you and me, and the DNA from snakes for our beautiful ladies.’

  ‘And that’s where your path started. Being brought up as Adam the Angel, being brought up with the beliefs of The Fallen Angels. Creating the personality of Gabriel, with the traits of Freddy The Mangler, who you made into a mad scientist, who could see the flaws in what they were trying to do, who somehow found a different way, a scientific way to achieve immortality. Being a psychopath though, it was never going to be something you did quietly. You want the world to know what you have achieved. You wanted to discredit every other religion in the world, to expose them for the bunk you believe they are. You wanted to do the same with the Angels and make them appear to be murderers. You made murderers for fun, just because you could, just because you wanted to play God. And you played, teased and tortured Rebecca and me just for the hell of it, just to engineer this big reveal, just to watch us all die to satisfy your psychopathic needs. That’s what this is all about. That’s why the two of us are linked into Jacob. You believe you have found a scientific way of moving the spirit between bodies?’ I respond, looking at the tubes between us, flowing up into Jacob’s legs.

  ‘I am impressed John. Nearly, but not quite. Oh, the stuff about being a psychopath and wanting to show every religion in the world for the horrific, murderous control mechanisms
that they are is spot on. As is wanting to create murderers for fun, and toying with you. You’ve missed the bigger inference completely though. I do those things not just because I am a psychopath. I do them because I am a God, and that is what God’s do. Create and destroy, at will, without question or remorse. We are all Gods John, each and every one of us. The only difference is that I realise that, and you don’t. It is mankind that strives for immortality. It is mankind that constructs religions. It is mankind that makes murderers. It is mankind who are the gods. When we look to the heavens and try to find the God Particle, the thing that will allow us to transcend death and become immortal, we are looking in the wrong place entirely, we should have been looking at the zeros and ones. Time for more pain. The arm restraints in these inversion racks bend all the way back on a hinge about halfway up the forearms. Bend them and break our arms.’ Adam instructs, his eyes alive with a crazed fire.

  Rebecca shakes her head, blubbering ‘No, no, no.’ down at me through snot dribbling down from her running nose, joining tears from her cheeks, all slavering onto her quivering lips.

  ‘Look at Jacob. Think about Jacob.’ I plead through gritted teeth, still riding the agony of broken fingers. Still wondering, why the pain? ‘Don’t procrastinate, just fucking do it!’ I scream, shocking Rebecca out of her grief. She twists the restraints, sending me into a maelstrom of oblivion, riding on the piercing of a scream. Consciousness swims around me, threatening to leave under the pains intensity, but then the instant shock starts to subside and lucidity returns. I hear Adam laughing in agony.

  ‘Zeroes and ones John. We are made from DNA. DNA that holds the physical characteristics of our ancestors. DNA that holds the animal instincts of our ancestors. DNA that holds the mental state of our ancestors. That’s what the scientist in me knows. This is what the scientist in me believes: DNA also holds their memories. My research has found a way to unlock those memories in DNA. Just think. A person that has the ability to recall every single memory from every single one of the ancestors in their family tree. Now tell me, does that sound like immortality. We don’t have to go searching the stars, we don’t have to create nebulous deities. We just have to open up the blockers in our own DNA. Jacob is the first human with those blockers removed.’