by Peter Laws
‘Hi … and please, call me Matt.’
‘Cool. Cool. Then guess what, Matt?’
He mirrored her wide-eyed, cheery gawp. ‘What?’
‘I’ve read your book.’
He stopped walking. ‘Yeah?’
‘Well, audiobook, but I still think that counts. And I really liked it. Like, I am totally with you on all this supernatural stuff.’ She shook her head. ‘Demons. I mean, come on …’
‘Then, Suzy,’ he smiled, ‘you can stay.’
The closer they got to arrivals the more dense the crowd became. This wasn’t really surprising, since it was often packed. But Ethan’s model face looked worried at just how rammed it was. They saw the usual little kids holding hand-painted signs for ‘Grandpa’ and grumpy drivers in ill-fitting suits holding up clipboards saying ‘Metrogenics’ and ‘The T. T. Group’. But then the atmosphere changed. Because the signs changed, and as soon as they did, Suzy’s camera swung back up.
Bible verses.
He saw Bible verses being pushed up into the air. Some just scrawled with pencil onto A4 sheets, others carefully printed at home on laminated, shiny A2. Various bits of scripture were being thrust up, but by far the most popular was 1 Peter. 5:8
‘Be sober, be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.’
Yeah, that’s just the type of thing you should say to someone with depression.
He spotted Nupa just then, standing in the crowd. She was wrapped in a long black coat, quietly observing it all. She was speaking into a phone clasped in her gloved hands. Soon after, Matt saw three different cameras shimmer out of the crowd. If anything was prowling, it was them. Then the final lens, which Nupa seemed the most interested in, was instructed to follow a commotion that was now coming through the crowd.
Maybe he should have guessed.
It was Reverend Perry, in full clerical collar again. He had a phone to his ear too.
‘Here he comes, everybody,’ Perry called out. His voice sounded whiny when it was loud. ‘Here he comes.’
The applause was telling. The sheer loudness of it. Up till that moment, Matt had assumed the Kissell welcome party was about ten to twelve strong, but that was only the ones with banners. The sudden roar of cheers and clapping made it shockingly clear. Thirty or maybe forty people in this crowd were not here to pick up their sister from a Disney trip. Their eager faces and tiptoe stances were all for Pastor Kissell, whose sudden appearance was marked with a collective happy gasp.
In reality, Kissell simply stepped out of the crowd like everybody else. But to most people it looked like he’d just kind of materialised under the arrivals sign. He wasn’t there one moment and was clearly there the next, dressed in dark blue slacks and a light blue polo shirt. He looked like he’d just stepped off the tennis court, but instead of a racquet, he had a little leather doctor’s bag hanging from one hand. The flock took his appearance as a bona fide, science-busting miracle. Then Kissell, skinny little fella that he was, opened both arms wide and hugged the air, hips swinging. With a mahoosive and goofy grin he shouted, ‘Hello … hello beautiful England!’
Rev. Perry. Sheesh. He almost tumbled over his own eager feet pushing towards Kissell. He was helped when a few burly men, clearly part of the TV crew, opened up a channel for him and his personal camera guy to get through. Matt wasn’t close enough to hear their greeting, but he could see it well enough. There was a sudden flash of nerves on Perry’s face, as he stepped into the same breathing space as his idol. But Kissell rushed over and smothered Perry in a hearty, reassuring, back-slapping embrace.
It was during this hug that the crowd of voices moved from monotone cheers to the beginning of a melody. And before he knew it, singing started to rise. The airport arrivals hall quickly revealed its world-class acoustics. Voices from the thirty or forty harmonised together, and Matt saw other passengers, amused and baffled by this, lifting their cameras. This probably looked like a bizarre flash mob. Or perhaps folks were asking what sort of international rock star turns up at an airport to the strains of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’.
Kissell. He was a total pro. As the singing swelled, he vigorously shook hands with his supporters, always using two hands clasped over theirs. If there’d been babies to kiss, he’d have done it. At one point, he even put a holy palm on a few spiritually hungry foreheads. It made them shudder and spasm and giggle with happiness.
Matt looked across at Nupa who had climbed up onto a little wall, to watch. Arms folded she scanned the crowd, the singing, the prayers, the thoroughly awkward frown on Matt’s face – which he only now remembered was being constantly captured in Suzy’s lens. Through all this Nupa started to smirk. This was, to be fair, a pretty solid opening scene for a TV show.
‘Matthew!’
He turned to see Kissell striding his bandy legs towards him. With every step, the singing died down into, finally, silence. Kissell walked up with his cameraman gliding, and Matt took a step forward, with Suzy’s camera next to him. Matt put out a hand and said, respectful and polite, ‘Pastor Kissell. It’s nice to meet you in the flesh. And I have to hand it to you, you really make an entrance.’
‘Now, Matthew …’ He put one hand on his hip and waggled a finger at him. ‘I insist you call me Bernie. All my friends do.’ Up close you could see his age, particularly around the eyes behind those huge glasses of his. But that smile was so filled with boyish wonder that it was like a young Huck Finn was living inside of Kissell, beaming at the wonders of the big, beautiful airport.
‘Okay, Bernie it is …’ Matt said. ‘So how was your fl—’
Matt couldn’t finish, because the wind was knocked out of him with Kissell’s huge and crushing hug. He smelt mostly of coconut. The two nearby camera lenses started to revolve around this embrace. Which could make a fella really overthink his own mid-hug facial expressions.
Then just as soon as the hug started, Kissell pulled away quickly. ‘Aww, darn it. Forgive me, Matt.’
‘Something wrong?’ Matt said.
His nod looked sad, ‘No rest for the wicked.’
The crowd fell suddenly silent.
Kissell’s eyes narrowed, as he stared into the crowd. Scanning, scanning, scanning and then snap. He clicked his finger and raised his hand. He moved the palm slowly from one side and then to the other, suddenly locking into one position.
His fingers curled in, leaving one finger pointing.
‘Valac!’ he said.
Hands flew to mouths at the sound of this name and immediately it sounded like something heavy had slumped in the crowd.
‘Over here,’ someone shouted.
Another, ‘Let the pastor through!’
‘Friend?’ Kissell put a hand on Matt’s shoulder. ‘You should see this.’
They walked through the opening channel in the crowd, cameras hovering as close as flies. And soon, in the centre of the floor, Matt saw a woman in her fifties in a pink T-shirt and flowery leggings. She was curled in the foetal position, grunting the words, ‘Fuck a dog, fuck a dog.’
Oh, for crying out loud, Matt thought, halfway between despair and hilarity. This is so dumb.
Kissell started rummaging through his little doctor’s bag and quickly pulled out a thick wooden cross. ‘Valac!’ he shouted. ‘What are you doing in there?’
The woman started to moan and shudder, ‘Fuck a dog, good and proper.’
An unseen child in the crowd burst into laughter.
‘You have no right to be in this kind-hearted lady,’ Bernie shouted. ‘Valac! I command you to leave.’
Over the heads of the crowd, Matt saw two confused-looking airport security officers pushing through, lips pressed against their two-way radios. But before they could get much closer, it all hit its crescendo.
Bernie dropped to his knees and placed the simple wooden cross against her. Not on the woman’s head, like Matt had expected, but against the base of her spine. Her strange moaning cl
ipped into a jerking stop, like a hiccup. Then her face lit up with a Christmas-morning smile. Matt had to look up to make sure Nupa hadn’t arranged some sort of spotlight beam to be aimed at her face. She hadn’t. The now bright-faced woman looked up at Bernie Kissell like she was at the feet of Christ himself. She blinked the tears away. ‘He’s gone. Hallelujah, he’s gone.’
The security guys finally got through, and after staring at this in bewilderment, they started dispersing the crowd, telling people they were causing an obstruction. After a few hugs from Kissell, Matt saw the weeping woman getting collared by one of the crew. They pulled out a release sheet for her to sign, so they had permission to use the footage. She happily scrawled her name. Now she was standing, he noticed what the slogan on her T-Shirt said. Cat Addict: Help Meowt!
Nupa appeared at Matt’s shoulder. ‘Let’s get moving.’ She nodded for Perry and Kissell to walk towards the entrance.
As they went, Kissell trotted up to Matt. ‘Would you like me to explain who Valac is?’
Matt said, ‘Isn’t it the winged baby-demon who rides on a dragon?’
Kissell’s eyebrows went up. ‘Hot dog.’ He pronounced it ‘dawwwg’. He turned to Nupa. ‘He’s good.’
Perry stepped between them, a smile lifting his red beard. ‘And isn’t Valac from the Malleus Maleficarum?’
‘Not quite,’ Matt said. ‘It’s from the Lesser Key of Solomon, am I right?’
Perry’s shoulders dropped a little.
‘Bullseye.’ Kissell was wide-eyed. ‘You know, with your sort of knowledge, you’d make an excellent exorcist.’
‘Ha. I just lack some of the more fundamental qualifications, don’t you think?’
Kissell laughed and slapped a hand on Matt’s shoulder. ‘I’m glad you’re involved, Matt. I’m pleased you said yes.’
‘Well, I just want to make sure your clients aren’t hurt in any way.’
‘Does she look hurt?’ Perry pointed towards a doughnut stand. Cat Addict was laughing her head off, standing like a celebrity, while people lined up to not only hug her, but to get selfies too.
They reached the kerb outside, where it felt warmer than usual. Pleasantly so. The sun had broken through the clouds and the entire airport car park seemed to blaze under a lazy, pretty light. Nupa gathered them all together, by the pleasant trickling of a fountain.
‘Okay, so here’s the plan. We drive to London and get a bite to eat in Bernie’s hotel. But we all drive together so we can discuss the show. There’s a lot to talk through, but I’m very confident we can put together a fascinating …’ She trailed off when she saw Kissell raise his hand. ‘You have a question?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t want to go to the hotel straight away.’
‘Oh?’ She frowned. ‘What would you like to do?’
‘I need to see Tom Riley.’
Matt and Nupa exchanged a glance.
‘He’s in custody,’ Matt said.
‘Then, I’ll visit him in custody.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s possible,’ Nupa said.
‘Surely prisoners can have visitors in England? You haven’t chained him in ye olde tower, have you?’ he grinned at them.
Matt waited for Nupa to speak, but she was too busy looking at the pavement, pondering it. So he said, ‘Problem is, Tom is dangerous. He seriously wounded an officer while he was restrained so I—’
‘And that’s precisely why he needs me. Now.’
Matt bit his lip and turned to Nupa. She was on the phone.
Kissell slid off his glasses and started cleaning them with a handkerchief. His eyes looked freakishly tiny without the lenses. ‘And forgive me for correcting you, Matt, but technically speaking, it wasn’t Tom who did anything. In my own, humble opinion, of course.’ He lifted the glasses and looked through the lenses at arm’s length. Then he nodded, slipped them back into place, and smiled, ‘That’s better.’
Two cars and what looked like a plush-looking minibus rolled up. They all climbed inside the bus while Nupa stayed out on the pavement, pacing with her phone. It looked like the A-Team van inside, with a bunch of comfy grey seats that could swivel and pivot so they could discuss things together. As they waited for Nupa, Matt kept advising Kissell that seeing Tom wouldn’t achieve anything, though in the back of his mind he knew full well that it’d probably make a good scene in the show. Still, he couldn’t imagine it being allowed, anyway. A thought that faded rather quickly when Nupa climbed into the back with them and stuck up her thumb.
‘Buckle up.’ She did her patented hand slap on the back of the driver’s headrest. ‘Get us to Whitemoor Prison, Cambridgeshire. We’ll grab some food on the way.’
The journey was the polar opposite of the one he’d had with Ray. That was an hour of silence, but here it was constant talk as the motorways whizzed by. They talked through the logistics (and potential − that word kept cropping up) of the world’s first mass exorcism on TV. Whenever they stopped for a rare breath, Matt would grab his chance and speak up. He’d point out the danger of all this. He’d list all the ways a mass exorcism might potentially go haywire. They listened politely, but he couldn’t help but notice that whenever his mouth was moving, their fingers were drumming. Then, once Professor Chicken Licken had delivered his warning, they nodded sagely and with thanks they turned back into their huddle and the car would fill with sound again.
In the end, Matt watched the trees whizzing by instead, in a smudge of grey and green and in time he noticed a high-pitched moan coming from outside. Just a 70 mph motorway wind, pushing itself through an unseen gap in the glass. Despite multiple button prods to raise the window, that groan of air was an insistent companion. Like a very quiet scream.
When he turned from the window, he saw Kissell was looking at him, smiling. He put a thumb up and mouthed the words, You okay?
Matt shrugged, and nodded back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The van barrelled along the motorway while Nupa, Perry and Kissell made furious lists and plans for the weekend. They’d been doing that for almost thirty minutes now until Matt made a coughing noise, and raised a hand, ‘Excuse me.’
Faces turned to him. Voices sank to silence.
‘I have another question.’
Nupa’s pencil hung from her teeth like a cigar. She took a breath, then, ‘Go ahead.’
‘Well, I notice that you haven’t locked down the numbers yet.’ He looked at Kissell. ‘You really need to decide how many of your clients are going to attend this … event.’
‘I have a question.’ Perry raised his hand too, his voice a little mocking. ‘Why are you calling them clients? I’m not keen on that word at all.’
Matt shrugged. ‘What’s your preference? Exorcees?’
Nupa pulled the pencil from her mouth. ‘Go on, Matt. How many … people … do you think is manageable? Give me a number.’
He looked at Kissell. ‘Four. Maybe five at the most.’
The van erupted with moans as Perry and Kissell shook their heads. Nupa wasn’t impressed either.
‘Four?’ Perry wiped his hand across his beard. ‘You want to ration out healing? Since when was Jesus stingy?’
‘If you take on too many people it might descend into total chaos. Remember, some of these people aren’t exactly stable. No offence. Oh, and by the way, Jesus was a pretty heavy rationer of healing.’
‘He was not,’ Perry said.
‘Read the gospels. He never zapped an entire crowd. He healed specific people, not everybody at once.’
Bernie Kissell shuffled forward in his chair. ‘What about Matthew 15? Doesn’t he heal the multitudes?’
‘Ah, but the multitudes brought the sick people with them. So by definition there were less sick people than—’
‘Ahem,’ Nupa coughed. ‘As fascinating as this is, we do need a number. Bernie … how many possessed people do you have on your waiting list?’
‘In the UK? Thirty-one. The Reed has plenty of space for all of them
.’
Matt’s jaw dropped.
‘And don’t forget we’ll have security on hand,’ Nupa said.
‘And psychiatric nurses too?’ Matt tutted.
‘We’ve got that covered.’
He looked at her. ‘Nupa, that’s way too many. It’s dangerous.’ He saw her stony gaze and took another road. ‘Besides. Don’t you think that’s a few too many faces for the viewers to keep track of? You don’t get thirty contestants on Strictly Come Dancing, do you?’
‘What an odd comparison …’ she said, but then she immediately started tapping her pencil off her chin. He noticed the van was coming off the motorway and heading down a slip road. ‘We could cut those numbers a bit.’
‘To four,’ Matt said.
Perry groaned.
‘Not four,’ she said, ‘but yeah … not thirty-one … how about twelve?’
‘I think five’s a reasonable—’
‘Ten?’
Matt winced, and bit his lip, ‘That’s a lot.’
‘Tell you what. Let’s come back to the numbers later, eh?’
Kissell turned to her. ‘Not to be rude, Nupa, but we can just do this event ourselves and have no number restriction at all.’
‘True. Or you can do it with us and share your mission with the entire world. And hey, if it works well, we could do another episode for the rest.’
‘Ooo …’ Kissell’s eyebrows leapt above his glasses. ‘Could be a whole series.’
She nodded. ‘But let’s move on from numbers for now. We need to talk cameras. I want as much footage as possible of the entire weekend. We’ll lose the hand-held cameras and go for discreet, fixed cameras instead, scattered throughout the complex.’
‘You mean like a reality show?’ Matt said. ‘This sounds like Big Brother from hell.’
Perry spoke from the corner of his mouth. ‘Big Brother was always from hell.’