‘Calm down,’ Jack said coolly, ‘Calm down and slow down.’
Jenny slowed the vehicle considerably and switched lanes, exiting the main route onto the back streets. The rear view mirror was empty of pursuers. She shook her head and whistled as she exhaled heavily. ‘Okay, okay, calm down he says,’ Jenny mumbled to herself, ‘someone is trying to nail me to a tree and Jack wants me to calm down. Easier said than done, Jack!’
‘I know this is difficult to get your head around but you did brilliantly well,’ he touched her elbow gently. ‘We lost the van and whoever else was following us.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Look behind for yourself,’ he assured her trying to keep his voice calm. ‘If I ever need to rob a bank, you’re my driver.’
‘I don’t want to rob a bank.’
‘I know, but if you did, you would be the driver.’
‘Well, I won’t.’
‘I know.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Neither do I,’ Jack shrugged. ‘It was just a joke.’
‘Do you think this is funny?’
Jack sighed and shook his head. ‘The whole thing is laughable,’ he said looking out of the window as a police car hurtled by with its sirens blaring. The blue lights illuminated the interior of the Audi for a second. Thankfully the officers inside only had a view of the front of the Audi. ‘Definitely not funny but laughable, I mean who would believe it?’
‘I work for Jack Nightingale,’ Jenny shook her head and snorted, ‘so I would believe most anything.’
‘Head for the Olympia but keep off the main roads,’ Jack pointed to a sign for Kensington High Street. ‘If the police see the state of the back of the car, they’ll pull us over. We need to get off the main drag, okay?’ As if the gods were conspiring against him, the rear bumper section fell off with a clatter and a shower of sparks erupted behind them as it dragged along the road. ‘Shit!’ he moaned, ‘Pull over there onto the kerb.’
Jenny bit her bottom lip and swerved to the side. The front wheel thumped up the kerb and another section of the rear fell away and clattered along the road under its own momentum. It came to a standstill under a Post Office truck. ‘Now what?’ Jenny moaned as she turned the engine off.
‘We walk,’ Jack said, taking off his belt and opening the door. ‘Move it quickly before the police get here. They’ll soon realise that we rammed the van at McDonald’s. I’m pretty sure that we can cut through the estate there.’ Jenny climbed out of the Audi, immediately missing the warmth and security that it offered. The light was winning its battle against the darkness but there was no warmth in yet. The summer mornings were months away yet. She instinctively walked to the back of the vehicle and took a sharp intake of breathe and her hand went to her mouth. Jack watched her from the front end hoping that it was repairable. ‘It’ll look like knew after some filler and a touch of paint.’
‘Shut up, Jack!’ she cocked her head to the side and he thought that she looked a little bit mad when she did that. ‘I’m no mechanic but filler isn’t going to cut it here.’ She pointed to the boot which was now concertina shaped, ‘The Restoration Man couldn’t fix this up.’
‘You reversed into a transit van,’ he shrugged. ‘What did you expect it to look like?’
‘Shut up, Jack!’
‘Okay, I’m shut up,’ he made a zip gesture with his hand. ‘We need to move.’ He looked at his watch and a concerned expression appeared on his face. ‘Come on, before it’s too late!’ He turned and crossed the road walking towards a row of terraced houses to their left. The driver of the Post Office van eyed them suspiciously and caught Jack’s gaze. Jack stared at him and made an imaginary gun with his fingers. The driver looked away immediately, gunned the engine and drove towards the main road and the park beyond. He could hardly blame the driver for being suspicious, after all they had parked up a badly damaged car and appeared to be abandoning it. ‘Will you move yourself!’ he called back to Jenny. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. ‘I know, shut up, Jack,’ he mumbled to himself.
Jenny pulled her coat tightly around her and jogged to catch up with Jack. They walked the rest of the journey and spent most of it speculating about who had killed the woman and gone to all the trouble of using Photoshop to send a dreadful message to him. At some point he would have to speak to the Police and he would need something more convincing to tell them than he had at the moment. A Photoshop image and a hunch would make him sound like he was either a participant or a fruitcake. ‘They’re not the only Satanists on the block,’ Jenny said, slightly out of breath. They were walking quickly. Jack seemed to be on a mission. They were both of the opinion that Jack was being targeted by the Order of Nine Angles once more and that rattled him. ‘After the last lot I did some research on others outside of the ONA,’ she said, a little nervously.
‘I told you that was a bad idea,’ Jack stopped suddenly and turned to her. ‘What type of research did you do exactly?’
She looked sheepish as she answered, ‘I used the internet, of course.’
‘Tell me that you didn’t set up any false profiles to sign into their websites?’ Jack asked, sternly. ‘Tell me you didn’t.’
She looked away and walked on ignoring his stare. It wasn’t often that she had to admit to being wrong but Jack could tell that she was hiding the truth. ‘I set up two. That’s all.’ Jack walked quickly to keep up with her. He grabbed her by the arm and stopped her turning her to face him. ‘You’re hurting my arm, Jack.’ She shrugged free and tried to walk on but he held her tightly. ‘Okay, okay. I set up two profiles, just to monitor their chat boards.’
‘Who?’ he snapped and shook his head. ‘Who did you look at?’
‘The New Church of Satan and the Nine Angels,’ she quipped, as if it was irrelevant. ‘Not angles, angels.’
‘Yes, I know who they are, Jenny.’
‘Good,’ she turned and walked away.
‘Jenny, they make the others look like boy scouts,’ Jack said, angrily. ‘They broke away from the Order Of Nine Angles because they weren’t quite sick enough!’
‘Don’t exaggerate, Jack.’
‘You have no idea how dangerous they are,’ he shook his head incredulously. ‘I know exactly who they are.’
‘Then you’ll know that it’s important that we have a handle on them,’ she said stubbornly. ‘We can see their chat rooms from my profiles and if there’s anything on there about you, then we’ll have advanced warning,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It is important that we can see them.’
‘And they can see you, Jenny.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘They can follow a URL address and trace the link to whoever owns the email address,’ he explained in a heated fashion. ‘Once they have an owner’s identity, they have a name and an address. Then they have you, Jenny.’
‘They can’t do that.’
‘They obviously have done that.’
She stopped again and put her hands on her hips. Her lips were quivering and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Are you saying that this is my fault?’
Jack looked at her and despite his frustrations, he shook his head. ‘Not really, no.’
‘You are.’
‘You weren’t to know.’ He couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘They may have come after me anyway.’
‘Maybe, but I rattled their cage didn’t I?’
‘We can’t change that now.’ He looked at the road as he spoke. ‘We need to get you safe and then I can fix this.’
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ she muttered. A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I was trying to help.’
‘Best intentions line the road to hell, Jenny,’ he muttered. He gestured to an alley between the houses. Larger buildings made from brick with corrugated iron roofs loomed behind them. ‘We’re nearly there, through here and across the industrial estate. It will take us twenty minutes at best.’
Exactly twenty minutes later, Jack pointed to a Vi
ctorian terraced house which had the number 9 on the door. ‘That’s very apt,’ he quipped, ‘I wonder if they chose it on purpose.’ Wide stone steps climbed from the pavement to the door and spiked metal railings formed a barrier to the basement flat below. ‘He lives down there in the flat,’ Jack said, crossing the road at a jog. ‘I can only hope that we’re in time.’
‘Why do you keep saying that?’ Jenny moaned. ‘In time for what?’
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ Jack shook his head, ‘therein lies the problem.’
‘Is there where I’m supposed to be safe?’ Jenny frowned at the scruffy basement windows.
‘No, but the occupier will know.’ He paused at the top of the steps which led down to the basement. The road was clear in both directions. ‘I want you to stay here and wait for me.’
‘Not a chance,’ she said adamantly. ‘I am not waiting anywhere on my own.’
‘You will be fine for two minutes. I need to make sure that it is safe, okay?’
‘Two minutes, Jack,’ she whined. ‘Please don’t leave me here any longer than that.’
‘I promise.’ He turned and ran down the steps, peering into the grimy windows. His face wrinkled as he tried to see inside. He cupped his hands against the glass and tapped with his right hand.
‘Jack,’ Jenny called from the pavement. He turned to see her face looking over the railings. ‘Who lives here?’
He knocked louder on the glass and ignored her question. Inside, the net curtains and dust conspired to stop him seeing anything clearly but he could make out the shapes of a settee and a dining table. He could also see that everything was draped thick with cobwebs. A shiver ran down his spine. He checked his watch and moved towards the front door. It was a four panel wooden fitting. The paint was blistered and cracked. At the base of the frame where the weather bar would be fitted, six inches of leaves and fast food wrappers were piled against it. It hadn’t been opened for months, if not years.
He pushed at the door beneath the lock and it creaked open slightly. Peering into the darkness behind it, he shoved a bit harder and it moved some more. Something behind it was stopping it from opening completely. His instincts told him to leave it well alone, but he couldn’t. Jenny didn’t know it yet but they had taken her cousin already. She was a young girl called Constance. Jack had no idea that she existed until now but they had told him to be at the flat below number 9 Otley Way, before seven o’clock. He checked his watch and it read ten past the hour. They had said that if he didn’t get Jenny there on time, the young girl would take her place on the cross.
Left with few options, Jack had taken the sawn-off shotgun, which he had purchased from his associate T-Bone, a local hood and intended to comply with their instructions, until he could get the girls away safely. If that meant leaving a trail of dead Satanists, then so be it. He had no choice. Kill them, or they would kill Constance. He nudged the door with his shoulder and looked behind it. A substantial mound of junk mail had been causing the problem. He took the sawn-off from his inside pocket and shoved the door with his shoulder to open it completely.
The cloying smell of damp stuck in his nostrils. Specks of dust circled in the weak beams of light which tried to penetrate the deep blackness of the hallway. Jack felt that eyes watched him from the shadows; evil eyes. As he took his first step inside, he heard Jenny screaming. Her scream was cut short and an engine roared. Jack bolted up the steps three at a time. He gripped the shotgun tightly, his knuckles white with the pressure. As he reached the top of the steps he saw a Post Office van screeching around the corner at the end of the street. All that remained of Jenny was a pink Puma training shoe.
The temptation to ring the Police was overwhelming, but what would he say to them? At this point in time, it could do more harm than good. He had no choice. He had had no choice from the beginning. There was a reason why they had chosen that address. He had to find out what that was. Maybe that would lead him to wherever that had taken Jenny and Constance. The Satanists had upped the stakes and he had to react accordingly. They had threatened his family before. It was time for him to cross the line into their world. Instead of waiting for them to come for him, this time he had to become the hunter.
He took the steps running and burst into the hallway, shotgun raised. The darkness seemed to inch backwards visibly, as if it had life and form of its own. His Hush puppies crunched brittle leaves beneath them. He reached for the light switch and ever the optimist, switched it on. It clicked and the bare light bulb fizzled and then exploded in a shower of glass. Jack covered his eyes to protect them but the images he had seen were etched into his brain; the fleeting vision of thousands of shapes.
Jack kicked at the pile of junk behind the door and grabbed a copy of the local free paper. He twisted it tightly and lit one end with his lighter. As the flame glowed, the shapes at the end of the hallway became clearer. Books. Hundreds and thousands of books. He edged along the hallway and studied the titles as he past piles which were taller than himself. Magick, witchcraft, wicca, ley lines, satanic worshipping; the entire spectrum of the occult and dark religions was covered by this incredible collection. He knew that he was in the right place.
As he neared the only doorway which led off the hallway, another smell drifted to him with the dankness. It was the rotting stench of death. He had experienced it before, both consciously and unconsciously. Its foul sweet odour was almost palpable. Jack reached around the door frame and searched for the light switch. His fingers felt exposed as they touched the cold damp plaster. He touched the cover and flicked the switch.
The flames from the torch burnt his fingers. The paper had burned away unnoticed. He threw it down and stamped on the burning embers. Sparks floated upwards threatening to set fire to the mountains of books. ‘Shit!’ he mumbled as he extinguished the flames. The low wattage bulb flickered and then glowed dimly. Jack looked around the room. It had a feeling of abandonment to it. Something that once thrived here had gone. The walls were lined with stacks of books piled above head height. There was no television, which after seeing the number of books was no surprise. A dining table with barley twist legs stood against one wall. On it, half a dozen books lay open.
Jack entered and the smell of death thickened to the point where he could almost taste it. It filled his airways and tried to suffocate him. The urge to turn and run was powerful, almost impossible to defy. Jack knew it was a trick of the mind. Someone or something was testing his resolve. He shook his head and composed himself. Breathing deeply, he crossed the room to the table. In the centre was an ornately covered book, titled The Beast. It was open at a page which depicted the burning of a sacrifice. Two females tied back to back either side of a post, flames devouring their bodies. They were mother and daughter. He didn’t know how he knew but he did. Next to it was a manuscript, ‘The Sigil of Baphomet’. It too described the selection and abduction of female victims. The other books were opened at similar subjects. A notebook lay to one side, the entries written by someone deranged, numbers and snippets of text were scrawled next to sketches of demons that no parent would allow their children to see. Scribbled in the notebook next to a sketch of a young girl being tied up, was an address. Black Mound Mill. Jack eyed a line of text which explained that the name was used in connection with the burning of the innocent to empower the dark ones.
* * *
Four hours and a hundred and fifty miles away, Jack studied the mill from the safety of some trees. The mill was a single storey structure with a vaulted loft space constructed of timber and breeze-block walls with a corrugated iron roof. A window above its double doors was protected by a mesh grill. There were two cars parked on a gravel path which didn’t move all the time that Jack watched. Another vehicle arrived and a bald man in his fifties stepped out of the mill and shook hands with the driver who, handed over a carrier bag with a logo resembling a pasty printed on it. They chatted for a moment then the bald man went back inside and the vehicle left. Jack assumed it was
a delivery of pastries to keep the captors and the hostage from starving to death. He guessed that it would only take five minutes for him to cross the field between where he was hiding and the mill. Rapeseed was growing waist high and its intense yellow flowers were almost dazzling to the eye; its scent sweet. He ducked low and headed towards the side of the mill where there were no windows.
There was a path around the mill, made from tons of compacted waste sawdust. Waist high grasses leaned over from either side, threatening to swamp it forever. Jack headed for the rear of the building hoping that the images on Google were recent. They were and he thought he had seen a way in, but until he saw it close up, he couldn’t be sure. A conveyor belt protruded from the rear elevation, its cogs and wheels red with rust. The hatch above it was padlocked but below it was a flywheel, half in the building and half out. The axle was fitted to the rear wall, its belt twisted and warped by time and the elements. The mill had once supplied wooden beams to the coal industry, which were used to support the miles of tunnels deep beneath his feet. When the pits were closed, the mill went bust with them and it had never been sold on. There was a gap between the flywheel and the wall, which he had guessed was big enough for him to squeeze through. It was a tight fit but Jack was inside the mill in seconds.
The smell of freshly cut wood had long since been replaced by must and mould, damp and decay. Armoured grey wood lice in their thousands scurried beneath his Hush Puppies, making the floor look alive. Every footstep seemed to crush a hundred of them, their crunching bodies threatening to give away his arrival. The loft above him was supported by a suspended wooden platform, thick curtains of grey cobwebs dangled from every crack in the floorboards. An antiquated giant band-saw dominated the ground floor and he had to skirt around it to reach the front of the building.
Blood Bath (Seven Free Jack Nightingale Short Stories) Page 12