“I wish we’d known what she was planning,” said Tim. “I just wish we could have, you know…”
“It’s not your fault,” Angela told him.
“Like hell it isn’t,” Frank said. “You people and your games are probably what sent her over the edge.”
Mike put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Come on, Frank. That’s not true and you know it. Things haven’t been right around here since even before Joseph died. Angela and Tim are just trying to help.”
Frank shoulders dropped slightly as he seemed to accept what Mike was telling him. “Fine,” he said. “Someone just help me get her to the bed. She needs to rest.”
Mike and Tim hoisted Jessica up off the floor, while Tim went and pulled back the covers on the bed. Angela remained where she was, too dazed to move. She focused on the caress of the rain against her bare arms and stared out into the night from the balcony. Things were a mess, she thought to herself. The next thought that came into her head urged her to just get out of there and go back to her uneventful – but safe - life.
I can’t turn my back on Jessica now. She needs my help more than ever.
No, I’m not leaving. I became a priest once, not because of my belief in God, but because I wanted to devote my life to helping other people. I don’t have to be part of the church to uphold that vow. Maybe, I’m only just realising that my life can still have meaning without being a priest.
A rumble of thunder broke Angela from her musings and she went back inside. She closed the French doors behind her and shut off the room from the wind and rain. It still beat against the glass. Jessica was now tucked up in bed, staring up at the ceiling, not blinking.
“I’ll stay with her for now,” said Mike. “I’ll let Graham know what’s happened in the morning.”
“Thank you,” said Frank. “I will keep an eye on Sammie while she recovers.”
“What would you like us to do?” Angela asked Frank.
Frank stared at her for a moment and she expected some sort of verbal tirade, but eventually he let out a sigh and simply said, “Just get some sleep. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”
Angela didn’t argue. In all honesty, her bedroom seemed like the safest place to be. She’d had quite enough of this evening and its stresses, so she left Jessica’s penthouse without complaint, not even bothering to say goodnight.
When she got to her own bedroom a few minutes later, she noticed that her suitcase lay on the bed. It reminded her that she was still wearing the blood-stained clothing she’d had on for two days. It would be good to get into some fresh clothes.
Beside her suitcase was another bag. The old leather satchel sill carried a layer of dust, despite its recent travels. Angela hadn’t looked at the contents inside for a long time, and tonight she didn’t have the energy to. She placed both her suitcase and the satchel onto the floor, then headed into the en suite bathroom.
Angela leant into the room’s shower cubicle and turned on the water. A cold stream hissed from the shower head and slowly began to warm up. She took off her clothes and let them fall to the floor. In the morning she would ask Mike to dispose of them as no amount of washing would save them. The mirror above the sink showed a reflection of her naked body. She cringed, not because her own flesh disgusted her, but because her skin was stained with Sammie’s blood where it had seeped through her clothes.
The blood on her flesh made her think about Charles Crippley.
Will that man ever stop haunting me?
Angela ran a hand under the shower to test the temperature and stepped beneath the hot stream. She shuddered in the heat and watched the dried blood flake and fall off her skin. It wasn’t long before her skin was bare again – yet she still felt stained. She used a nearby bar of soap to lather herself up and finally wash the horrors of the day away. Slowly, Angela’s strength returned.
Her mind started to drift. She thought about Jessica and what had made the woman attempt to kill herself. Then she thought about the images on Tim’s laptop, of Jessica smothering her son.
But there’s no way that could have happened. We were there too quick for her to get all the way upstairs and try to throw herself over the balcony. Plus, Sammie was asleep when we got to him. It was almost like…like we were being sent on a wild goose chase to stop us from finding out what Jessica was planning. Thank God that Frank had been there.
There was still something that didn’t add up at all. Jessica could not have been in two places at once – it was physically impossible – so what exactly had she, Tim, and Mike been seeing on the laptop’s screen? Something else troubling her, equally as impossible, were the drawings on Sammie’s wall. They predicted the rain, the darkness, and everyone being huddled around Tim’s laptop.
They also showed Jessica hanging herself. Sammie had known what was going to happen. He knew.
Angela thought about Charles Crippley again. That man had also possessed certain talents of clairvoyance. He had known Angela was a lesbian before she’d even known herself. He’d also known the sins of her parishioners – he’d called them out in church as he butchered each and every one of them.
Was that what was happening now? Was Crippley inside the boy? Sammie had known Angela when they met; knew her because of his “friend”.
Don’t be ridiculous, Angela. You’re losing your mind. Whatever’s going on here, there’s no reason to think that there’s something – or someone – inside of Sammie.
Angela turned off the shower and let the water drain from her skin. There was steam coming off of her flesh and for a moment she felt light-headed from the heat, but stepping out onto the cold tiles of the bathroom was soothing and brought back her senses. She was careful not to slip as she padded across the room. Her plan was to go to bed and reassess things in the morning. She was too tired to figure anything out right now and at the moment, she felt like she could sleep forever.
As she crept across the tiles, something stopped her dead.
Angela turned to the mirror above the sink and saw that it had steamed up in the heat from the shower. Written into the steam by unseen fingertips were two simple words.
SAVE ME.
***
Angela dared not look at her watch for fear that it would show a time closer to dawn than to midnight. Sleep deprivation was one of her biggest dislikes and it felt like she had lain awake in bed for hours. If she checked her watch and saw that it was nearly time to get up it would depress her unbelievably.
Angela could be a bad sleeper at the best of times, but tonight there were several causes for her insomnia. Her head was filled with questions. The main one being: Who had been in her bathroom while she showered and wrote a message the mirror? If it was a joke, she didn’t find it very funny. Tomorrow she would get to the bottom of it, but right now there was something else demanding her attention; the main reason she could not sleep.
Sammie’s voice was an endless babble of noise, muffled by the floors between them, but still loud. Angela found it hard to believe that the boy’s voice could travel so far. The words he spoke were indecipherable at such a distance, but Angela knew what Sammie was babbling about. Frank had already told her that Sammie liked to quote the Bible during the small hours. That was no doubt what the boy was doing now.
Angela was tucked in beneath Egyptian sheets, listening to the ramblings of a mentally disturbed ten-year old, whilst his billionaire mother lay upstairs recovering from a suicide attempt. Surreal didn’t even begin to describe it.
As she tossed and turned, struggling to get to sleep, something occurred to Angela. When Frank had first told her about Sammie’s nightly activities, she had asked him to record the verses the boy was quoting. Whether Frank had done so and forgotten, or just not done so at all, was unclear, but so far he had not even mentioned her request. It was something she needed to remember to ask him about tomorrow. The Bible verses could point to subconscious messages that Sammie was unable to communicate in other ways. They could provide vital clues on how to help the
boy.
Angela finally gave in and checked her watch. It was a little past 3AM – not as bad as she thought. She actually started to feel a little hopeful about getting at least a modicum of sleep.
That was, until the power went off again and the rain began falling even harder. The only reason Angela cared about power going off was because she had been trying to sleep with the light on. Being surrounded by the pitch-black darkness of an unfamiliar room sent shivers along her skin. The rain had gotten so hard against the windowpane that it almost drowned out the sound of Sammie’s chanting voice.
Almost.
Angela shook her head and cursed in the darkness. “I really hate this house.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tim awoke, well rested, in his van at 10AM. Frank had offered him a room inside the house when he’d arrived, but to Tim, the van was home. He didn’t see any reason to obligate himself to anybody else. Sleeping in his vehicle also gave him the option of a midnight getaway if things got too intense. Running away was one of the ways Tim survived.
Although he fully intended to see this job through, with the way things were going, Tim was prepared to leave at the first sign of danger.
Rain still fell from the ashen sky and the grounds were now waterlogged and glistening. Fat crows stalked the gardens, looking for worms.
Tim rummaged around in the cloths hamper he kept in the bay of his van and pulled on a pair of jeans and a bright orange ATARI t-shirt that went well with his hair. Tim knew that he looked like a massive nerd, but that was just his protection – his camouflage. It was difficult to look in the mirror and face the man he was. Growing his bright ginger hair out into a shaggy mess, not shaving, and wearing teenager’s clothes was a penance of sorts. Tim deserved nobody’s respect so he ensured that he received none. Without anybody respecting him, there was no reason for him ever to confront his past, or for anybody to expect anything from him in the future.
Tim hopped out of the van, his trainers crunching in the wet gravel of the driveway. The large Mercedes was parked nearby, but neither Mike nor Graham was inside. Tim remembered it was because they were on suicide watch.
Poor Jessica. She must have been through hell to reach such desperation.
When Tim reached the front door of the house, he discovered he was locked out. Thankfully, when he pressed the buzzer, it didn’t take long for Frank to arrive and let him in out the rain.
The Chief of House looked exhausted. His sunken eyes were as grey as his hair and new wrinkles had appeared all over his face. If Tim knew any better, he would say that Frank hadn’t slept in days.
“Everything okay, Frank?”
Frank tilted his head as if he was too tired to hold it up. “As well as can be expected,” he said. “Sammie is in his room and Ms Raymeady is sleeping. I trust that there will be no disruptions today?”
Tim shrugged. “No intentional disruptions, but they seem to be a regular occurrence around here regardless.”
Frank didn’t say anything. Perhaps he agreed.
“Is Angela awake yet?” Tim asked.
“I believe not. I am yet to see her this morning. Perhaps you should call on her.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“No need.” Angela was coming down the staircase. She looked exhausted too, but at least she had a clean set of clothes on: a thin blue sweater and black trousers. She was holding a satchel.
“How’d you sleep?” Tim asked her.
“I didn’t.”
“That sucks. You going to be okay?”
Angela nodded. “Don’t worry about me. Frank, did you record the things that Sammie has been saying during the night? You said that you would.”
Frank shook his head dismissively, but it was clear by the brief flicker in his expression that he had forgotten. “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten around to it.”
Angela shook her head and seemed angry. “Frank, you brought us here to help. How can we do that if you’re not helping us?”
Frank seemed insulted by her chastisement and stiffened up defiantly. “I don’t see what knowledge it would provide you anyway. Seems like a fool’s errand to me.”
“That’s your opinion. Now I have to wait another night to find out what Sammie’s been saying during the night.”
“No you don’t,” Tim said. “When the power came back on, so did the video feeds I set up. I’ll have audio recordings of anything Sammie said last night.”
Angela smiled, but then it quickly turned to a frown. “But the power went off again during the night.”
Tim shrugged. Having slept outside, he had not been aware of the power cut, but as he looked around he saw that the electricity was still yet to come back on. “Well, I’ll have recordings up until that point at least. May still be helpful.”
“You’re right,” said Angela, patting him on the back like a buddy. “Good work.”
“My laptop is still in the piano lounge. Shall we go and have a look now?”
Angela was in favour of the suggestion, so they got going. Before they left the foyer, however, Frank had one last thing to say to them. “Let me know if you intend on seeing Sammie. No one sees him without informing me first.”
“Sure thing,” said Tim, actually preferring Frank to be there when they went to see Sammie again.
In the lounge, Tim’s laptop was still on the table where he’d left it. The lid was closed so he pushed it open and took a seat. The screen was black for a few seconds while the computer came out of sleep mode. Then several images popped up on screen.
The video and audio feeds were no longer live. An error log reported that they had been interrupted by a hardware failure, which must have been when the power went out. He checked the video cache and was pleased to see that there were still several hours of recordings. With any luck, there would be plenty of footage that Angela could work with.
He clicked on the backup file.
A video popped up on screen. Tim moved the laptop so that Angela could see it.
“What time is this from?” she asked him.
“It’s from…half-past-twelve.”
“Can you fast forward it? To about 2AM?”
“Yeah, sure. Did something happen then?”
Angela nodded. “I was awake. Sammie was rambling at that time.”
Tim clicked on the video’s timeline, finding the approximate time. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.”
The video stuttered briefly and then begun playing smoothly. Sammie was pacing his room like a caged lion, sticking close to the walls on all sides, never encroaching on the centre of the room. It was the behaviour of a trapped animal. The boy was shouting.
“Behold, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to everyone according to what he has done.”
“What does that mean?” asked Tim as he listened to the boy’s guttural expulsions.
“It’s from Revelations,” Angela explained. “It’s about being judged for our sins when the end comes.”
“The end?”
“Yeah, you know. The whole Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse shebang.”
Tim smiled grimly. “That’s comforting.”
“Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good. A brave man is a man who dares to look the Devil in the face and tell him he is a Devil. Be ever engaged, so that whenever the Devil calls he may find you occupied.”
“What’s he quoting now?”
Angela shook her head. “Various chapters, but they all seem to be about the Devil or having evil tempt us.”
“Isn’t that all a bit cliché? I mean, we’re here to maybe perform an exorcism and Sammie’s quoting verses about the Devil. Next he’ll be puking mushy peas at us.”
Angela shrugged. “Could be mental illness. Religious mania tends to take a focus on the Devil. It’s an excuse for the afflicted to explain their actions – to pass the burden of responsibility onto some intangible force.”
“Are we still thinking the kid is just a regular
flavour whacko then?”
“I don’t know,” Angela admitted. “If it were not for the past two days then I wouldn’t hesitate in saying that, but with all the strangeness that has been going on, I think I’m ready to take this to the next step.”
Tim thought about his experience at the duck pond and knew what she was talking about when she spoke about strangeness. “So what is the next step?” he enquired.
Angela looked at him and sighed. “I’m going to conduct an exorcism. I’m going to do what Jessica brought me here to do.”
Despite his years in the “ghost business” Tim had never actually been involved in an exorcism. To be honest, the thought made him a little anxious. “Can I be of any help?” he asked, not wanting his cowardice to show through completely.
Angela nodded. “I’m sure you can. For moral support if nothing else.”
The laptop’s video feed went black.
“Must have been when the power went off,” said Tim. “Hmm, that’s interesting. It went off at 3AM exactly.”
“Yeah,” Angela said. “I checked my watch. It was about that time.”
“The witching hour,” Tim said. “Jesus was crucified at 3PM, but 3AM is said to belong to the Devil. Between midnight and 3AM is when the veil between our world and the next is at its thinnest.”
“Are you shitting me?” Angela said while laughing.
Tim giggled. “I’m being serious. Not saying I believe it, but it’s yet another cliché to add to the list. We’re well ensconced in horror movie territory now.”
“Well, maybe they only became clichés because they’re true. Who knows? Are you trying to say that you still think this is a set up?”
Tim cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair. “I really don’t know. I guess not. I think there’s definitely a mystery here. But, let’s just say that Sammie was possessed – hypothetically – why him? It’s not like there’s a long list of people possessed by demons. It’s a rarity – if it even exists at all – so what is so special about Sammie that it happened to him?”
Angela thought about it. “I don’t know. Some schools of thought say that only the devout are at risk of an evil entity invading their soul. Others say that repetition of a specific sin attracts the Devil’s minions – such as excessive masturbation or swearing. Some say it is a random occurrence while others say that for a demon to inhabit your soul you must consciously invite it.”
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