“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 boy,” 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 he saw: a black, featureless night broken only by the ethereal glow of the moon and stars.
Twinkle twinkle little star…
Sammie broke from his stare and looked up at Angela. “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 asked her, drilling into her with his coal-black eyes.
“For what?”
“For licking pussy and seducing young girls. 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 came over her so quickly that it almost took control. “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 and, along with Tim and Frank, they all made their way upstairs. Sammie continued to hum and swung his hand back and forth gleefully. Angela had to fight to hold on to it.
Tim asked a question as they travelled through the house. “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 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,” Sammie chimed in. “I’m sure if he could send you a message somehow he would forgive you.”
Frank’s head shot back up and he scowled at the boy. It was the first time Angela had seen the man show anything but concern for 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. The stink of sweat hit them as they entered the room and Angela immediately felt the walls closing in on her. 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? The adults need to talk alone for a moment.”
Sammie did as he was told but had a sly grin on his face. Angela took Tim and Frank into a corner of the room and 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. “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 Kevin Costner than anybody else.”
Frank growled.
“Okay,” Angela said. “If I’m not back in ten minutes…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-EIGHT
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 Tim knew this particular power cut had nothing to do with the National Grid.
He had a sickening feeling that by the time the electricity finally did return, more people would probably be dead.
Just hope I’m not one of them.
Tim took a hard look at Frank. The strong man now seemed weak, standing over Sammie with almost fatherly concern. Of all the tragedies that had befallen the house, they had clearly hurt Frank worst. It was obvious the man had loved Jessica, and most probably her late husband, too. Sammie’s safety was now the only concern the man had left – and even that was a lost cause as far as Tim was concerned.
Tim went over to check on Frank. “How you holding up?”
Frank looked up at Tim 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 Angela 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. Then he scowled at Tim. “You’re right, I’ve killed men – but never once have I killed a man that wouldn’t have killed me first. 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 said, deciding to change the subject. “What really happened to you on the road? You were gone a long time, hombre.”
Fra
nk sighed and rolled his eyes. “To be honest with you, I don’t know what happened on the road, but I do know one thing: 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.
“I don’t know,” Frank said eventually. “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 sense of 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 man’s family. 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 he was hiding.
At least nothing that’s any of my business.
Tim went and took a seat at Sammie’s drawing desk then swivelled around so that he was directly facing the boy in his bed. The last thing Tim was willing to do was sit with his back to Sammie. Angela seemed to have faith 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:
That kid is dangerous.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
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 prefer 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 the lion’s den about to be eaten.
When Angela had left Sammie’s room she’d headed back down the grand staircase. She now stood in the piano lounge, trying to ignore the stench of blood. Jessica lay on the floor, her body twisted, her 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 the dead woman’s eyes.
Angela knelt beside the 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 had 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 war 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, panicked. Whatever his sins, he was a human being that obviously had his own reasons for what he’d done. Angela knelt down beside him.
“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 indeed dead as she knew he had to be. Yet he was sat up and looking at her now.
In a raspy voice Mike spoke to her. “Time is running out. Hisss power is growing. You must ssslay the beassst.”
Angela stared at Mike’s body, shocked 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 musssst separate the beasssst…from the pure one.”
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 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 beast. Exorcisssm…not enough…”
Mike’s lower jaw hung down low and then dislocated from his head. It fell to the floor with a clunk! Then Mike’s body collapsed, face down, on the floor.
Angela sighed. Guess that’s the end of that conversation.
What exactly had the message meant, and who had given it to her? Was it Sammie, Chamuel, or somebody else?
The conversation had given Angela more questions than answers, but one part of it gave her cause for concern: Exorcism…not enough. Whatever that meant, it indicated that there were more trials ahead of her than she’d expected. She would still go ahead as planned, though, for she had no other plan. The only thing she had been told to do was: separate the beast from the innocent, and that sounded like an exorcism as far as she was concerned. So that was what she was going to do.
Angela clutched the ceremonial dagger beneath her cassock and dragged herself up off the floor.
CHAPTER FORTY
Tim jumped out of his skin when Angela arrived back at Sammie’s room. It wasn’t because she had opened the door so forcefully; it was more because his nerves had become so taut that a fly on a windowpane would have been enough to make him flinch. It was the effect of being around Sammie; the impossibility of feeling anything close to calm, safe, or in control.
“Everything been okay in here?” Angela asked as she walked into the room.
“Yeah, nobody died, if that’s what you mean?” Tim didn’t mean it humorously.
Angela gave him a reassuring smile and it actually succeeded in putting his mind a little at ease. Something about Angela’s current manner gave Tim hope that things might just work out okay. Perhaps it was because she always seemed so sure that things would be okay. As much as Tim expected the worst, Angela ex
pected the best.
“Did you get everything you needed?” Tim asked her.
“I’ve got everything I need. We should begin.”
Tim swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded. “Ready when you are. Just let me know what you need.”
“I just need you to be vigilant,” she said. “Do not touch Sammie, do not speak to Sammie, and whatever happens you must not interfere.” She looked at Frank specifically when she’d given the last order.
Frank sighed, but gave a nod of compliance.
“Okay, then. Let’s begin. I’ll start by talking to Sammie. I need to try and learn as much about the entity inside of him as I can. Knowledge will be power if a battle of wills ensues.”
Tim wanted to get himself into the habit of remaining silent so he made no reply. He simply smiled; a gesture of solidarity for Angela that he was there if she needed him. Frank was standing beside Tim and gave no such gesture himself, but it seemed that he was at least onboard for the time being.
Angela pulled the chair away from the drawing desk and dragged it up beside Sammie’s bed. She plonked herself down on it and leant forward. “Sammie,” she said quietly. “What is your favourite thing?”
Sammie looked at her, grinned, and immediately said, “South Park.”
“Why? Why do you like South Park?”
“Because it shows me what the world is like.”
Angela frowned. “I don’t think so. South Park is a cartoon. It’s not real life.”
“I disagree. It is more like real life than you realise. Prejudice, sex, drugs, violence; it is all happening behind every closed door, yet I am stuck here unable to experience anything of life.”
“Does that make you angry, Sammie? That you don’t get to leave the house?”
“No, not angry. My time will come. Until then, it appears that I am not the only one who cannot leave this house.”
“Is it you that’s keeping us trapped inside, Sammie?”
“No.”
Tim shook his head in the background. Lying, little shit.
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