by Peter Laws
‘I am Baaaaal-Berith, and I roam through the earth …’ His scream seemed to warp into a bizarrely uneven pitch. ‘I am Baaaaaalll.’
Even Matt gasped.
It was the sound of his voice that was so astonishing. How it doubled up into a windpipe-ripping, inhuman roar. Like an actual screaming hog had somehow learnt the beginnings of speech. For the briefest of moments, the very briefest, the doubled-up voice made Matt feel a flash of confused, horrendous doubt … until something else happened that explained that sound. A fountain suddenly erupted from his mouth. A pint’s worth of pink vomit, splashing between gritted, grinding teeth. It spewed up through the gaps and the sheer force of it ripped the dam apart. Mouth now wide, the sick flooded across his chin and down his chest, dropping into his lap and onto the floor. It slapped loudly into a bubbling pool. Kissell yanked his Bible back, somehow managing to avoid slipping in the puke. The instant acidic stench was appalling. Cupped hands hit mouths and noses at the same time.
The door behind him was smacked open as Ethan ran rushing out, retching. He also saw Perry in the corner, on his knees, but he wasn’t praying now. He was crying, trembling like he was in shock. By now, the nurses had pushed Bernie back to a safe distance, and that nuclear Bible of his was back in its bag.
Tom had stopped screaming completely, though his wailing still echoed, like tinnitus. No more screams though, and no more moving of his head. He just set his drenched chin forward, with a visible face at last. His eyes were darting around the room, blinking sweat away with utter confusion.
‘Tom?’ Governor Bryant stepped forward. ‘Tom, can you hear me?’
He looked at her, chest throbbing.
‘Tom, do you know where you are?’
He shook his head, then he caught Perry’s eyes. He was a child lost on the ocean, finally spotting land. His eyes bulged. ‘Simon?’ His voice, now normal, shuddered out of him, ‘Simon, where am I?’
Perry smeared his sleeve across his face and rushed forward, and though the governor raised her hand for caution, Perry dropped to his knees anyway, trousers splashing into the filth. He took Tom’s cuffed hands into his, fingers trembling but not wriggling any more. They looked like the hands of a different man entirely. Perry’s sob was not for show. ‘Oh, Tom. You are loved, do you hear me? And I think …’ He looked to a gasping Kissell, who nodded back. ‘I think you’re finally free.’
Tom’s face crumbled and Perry started mopping his soaked chin with a handkerchief.
The governor, clearly a little shaken, said, ‘Cameras off. Let’s get him cleaned up.’
The two male nurses took Tom towards the door he’d come in and Bryant followed. Matt noticed Nupa nod to the cameras. Keep rolling, she mouthed. Which was just as well, otherwise they might have missed what Tom said, just before the door closed behind him.
He looked back into the room and found Simon Perry’s eyes through the closing gap. ‘Simon … where’s Justine? Where’s my wife?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
They filed into Governor Bryant’s office. Matt, Kissell, Perry and Nupa, dropping into the chairs in a kind of gaunt, stunned silence. Suzy sat in the corner, camera running. The stale smell of vomit hung in the air, on their clothes, in their nostrils. Matt had some tic tacs, which he passed around. Nobody refused.
As they all sat there desperately sucking freshness into their bodies, Matt saw a shelf behind the governor’s desk. Between some books and a small cactus, he saw a neat coil of rosary beads, bunched into a little heap. Maybe she’d confiscated these from a prisoner as a hanging risk. Or maybe, and this was the one he’d put money on, she was a believer. Which would explain why she would let them do this bizarre ritual tonight, and no doubt why she was so icy with him before.
I’ve heard of you … and that book of yours.
‘So can we speak to him?’ Matt said. ‘After he’s cleaned up?’
Nupa added, ‘And can we film it?’
‘If he’s willing, yes.’ She leant back into her chair, thinking for a moment. ‘You know, Pastor Kissell, if you can calm killers down as quickly as you did just then, I have a whole line of prisoners here who might benefit.’
Kissell caught Nupa’s eye. ‘Perhaps I could come back in a week or so? I’d be glad to exorcise whoever needs it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Even if it’s not real?’ Matt said.
Bryant didn’t even bother to hide the glare. ‘Listen to me. I am not naive. I am not deluded. We have been trying to connect with Tom Riley since the moment he got here, all with zero impact … but placebo or not, what just happened there did something.’
‘Matt …’ Kissell was smiling. ‘Surely after that, you’re a teeny-weeny bit closer to acceptance?’
‘There was nothing I just witnessed that couldn’t be explained psychologically.’
They all stared at him.
‘You were in there with us, weren’t you?’ Perry said. ‘You saw the screaming, the swearing, the way he reacted to the Bible?’
‘Yes, and it was all so …’
‘So what?’
‘Cliché.’
‘What?’ Perry’s mouth was open again. It often was. ‘And the inhuman voice?’
‘Next time you’re about to hurl, try and articulate a sentence. You’ll probably sound like the Devil himself.’ Matt shifted in his chair. ‘Look. Culture works like a closed loop of reference. It tells us how to act in certain scenarios. We clap our hands at a concert, for example. It’s a custom we’ve learnt and repeated over and over, without thinking. It’d look totally bizarre to an alien, but to us it’s what appreciation looks like. Hollywood and pop culture make possession look a certain way. Vomiting, crude language. We see it on screen and it confirms our image of what possession looks like. So if someone thinks they’re possessed, how else are they going to act? They follow the cultural signifiers, and the loop starts again. We think it’s authentic exorcism, but what we just saw in there was … was learnt behaviour from culture.’
Perry narrowed his eyes. ‘So Tom’s lying, is he?’
‘No. It’s more like subconscious, psychological theatre.’
‘Jargon!’ Perry snapped the word, like it was one of the deadly sins.
‘I think Tom has completely lost his mind and killed his wife. So he’s subconsciously formulating some sort of disassociation technique to help him cope.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘And your theory isn’t?’ Matt said. ‘And what’s worse, you’re facilitating his illusion with an exorcism. I’m sorry, but I still think it’s entirely possible that you pumped the demon idea into his head in the first place.’
‘How dare you.’
Matt thumbed his ear. ‘Look, it’s clear that you care about him …’
Perry listened quietly, appreciative of that, at least.
‘But what if Tom was troubled already and he simply absorbed the possession narrative you gave him? No matter how innocently it was given. Just like they’re all absorbing it. The cat woman in the airport today, or that muscle guy … Richie … in the audience at the TV studio. Am I the only one who can see they’re taking all their cues from … from bad horror movies?’
The shrill ring of her desk phone burst into the room, and the governor quickly grabbed it. ‘Yeah? Okay … okay … cheers.’ She hung up. ‘Tom’s clean.’
Nupa sat up. ‘So can we talk to him?’
‘Yes, but no filming. At least for now.’
The noise Nupa made was the exact sound Amelia made whenever he said she couldn’t have a hammock in her room.
As they all stood, Perry said, ‘Governor? When do we tell him about Justine?’
‘Not yet. Let’s not risk him losing it again. For now, we just talk.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Tom, Version 2.0, was in a bright room, quietly sitting in a much more comfortable-looking armchair. He was still strapped across his chest and legs, but this time he had his head up. His hair was s
wiped back into a long, stylish wave. Seeing his face meant you could catch the whole, paper-white haunt of it. A baffled man, he kept staring at his handcuffs with a silent, confused beat of dread. When they all walked in, Tom saw Perry and a heartbreaking smile broke across his face, but Tom kept his eyes mostly on Bernie Kissell.
‘Thank you,’ Tom said to Kissell as they sat down. It was so odd to hear a normal voice in his mouth. ‘Thank you for saving me.’
‘Thank him,’ Kissell pointed to the ceiling. This made Tom nod with a sniffle.
Perry called to one of the guards. ‘I don’t think the handcuffs are needed any more.’
‘One step at a time.’ Bryant sank her hefty frame onto an overly creaky chair. ‘Now, Tom, we just have a few questions for you.’
He nodded.
‘Do you understand what happened to you, just now?’
‘Yes. I’ve been possessed for a while, but now it’s gone.’
‘So you feel better?’
‘I do.’
Matt smiled at him. ‘Hi, I’m Matt. Can I just ask … what made you come to the conclusion that you were possessed?’
‘It was obvious.’
‘May I ask if Reverend Perry brought the idea up first?’
Perry muttered something in annoyance, but Kissell shushed him.
‘No. I brought it up first because I knew something was wrong. I was having horrible thoughts. I couldn’t bear the Bible any more. And I kept hearing his name in my head.’
‘Whose name?’ the governor asked.
‘Baal-Berith,’ Tom said. ‘He’s the demon who helps run hell.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I read a book on it. Then I felt him, telling me to do things.’ Tom looked at Perry, eyes lowered in shame. ‘I turned up at Simon’s house once, in the middle of the night. And I just acted really crazy on his doorstep. It was bad.’
‘I see,’ Matt said. ‘And when did this all start?’
Perry shook his head. ‘That’s a pointless question, it’s impossible to tell. The demon could have been dormant in Tom for years, or—’
‘I know exactly when it started,’ Tom said. ‘It was the 4th of January.’
Perry frowned. ‘Tom?’
‘That’s when it started. The 4th.’
Perry looked at them all, confused. He turned back. ‘What happened on the 4th of January?’
‘That’s the day Justine bought the box.’
A beat of silence. ‘What box?’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this, Simon. I tried to but he wouldn’t … I mean the thing in me wouldn’t let me.’
Kissell clasped his hands together and gently tapped them on his chin. ‘Baal-Berith is gone now. There’s no need to fear him any more. So … you must tell us. What box?’
After a moment he said, ‘My wife bought a wooden box. A kind of small crate from a car boot sale. It had little padlocks on it. The man on the stall said it was an antique with a spooky history. He said the box was haunted, and we best not open it. She liked that kind of thing, so she bought it.’
Perry said nothing. He just started to shake his head in silent shock, but it was Kissell who gasped out a response. ‘Why on earth would you let her have something like that?’
‘I don’t know. I was pretty down around then. I guess he made me. She brought it home and put it in her salon. I think she thought it’d look shabby and chic. But she soon lost interest because … well, Justine has phases. I just kept thinking about this box, though. Kept looking at it too. The old locks especially.’
‘What was inside?’ Matt said.
‘Oh, I didn’t dare open it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because there was something in it. Something evil.’
Perry let out a long sigh. ‘You should have told me this, Tom.’
‘I’m sorry … but Baal-Berith … he wouldn’t let me.’
Kissell was nodding. ‘This makes sense. I’ve had a lot of cases that start with some sort of cursed object. The box was clearly demonically infested.’
Matt rolled his eyes.
‘Justine got bored with it in her salon, so I put it in the lounge,’ Tom went on, ‘but then she asked me to move it out. She felt like it was watching her. So I put it in my workshop in the garage. I like to fix things. And some nights, I’d be doing some odd job and it felt like that box was looking at me. Sounds crazy, I know. It wasn’t long after that I heard the voice start in my head.’
‘Oh, Tom …’ Perry said. ‘You poor thing.’
Kissell shook his head. ‘This is a classic infestation.’
‘It said my name. Sang my name, even. I knew if I destroyed that box, whatever was in there might come out.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘Baal-Berith told me.’
‘So what did you do with it?’ Nupa asked.
‘Next best thing. I buried it in my front garden at home. I bet it’s still there right now, under the earth. But ever since I buried it, things just got worse and worse. Till I forgot who I was any more. Which is why I’m scared to ask my question.’ Tom’s eyes locked onto the floor. ‘Where is my wife?’
‘You really can’t remember?’ Matt said.
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
The governor turned to Nupa. ‘I’ll stay with Tom a while. Can you folks wait outside?’
Nupa looked disappointed, but she nodded, and they all rose.
‘Reverend Perry?’ Bryant said.
‘Yes?’
‘Can you stay for a little while? So Tom has a friend?’
‘I’d be honoured.’ Perry sat back down. ‘May I hold his hand?’
Bryant shook her head. ‘Best not.’
Tom was trembling now, his face filling with a stress so overwhelming that it was very clear that somewhere in his brain he understood what those cuffs meant. He looked up and said, ‘Can the exorcist stay too?’
‘Of course.’
Kissell bowed in service and sat.
When Bryant saw Matt and Nupa still hovering she said, ‘I think you folks have got enough for today. We’ll meet you in the car park. My staff’ll show you out.’
Matt stepped into the corridor first, and noticed Nupa do something odd on the way out. There was a mat on the floor. She slid it back with her foot, so that it lipped over the doorframe, just a touch. When the door closed, it was still open just a crack. The movement she made was so fluid, he just knew that she’d done that many times before. She grabbed her phone, clicked it to video, and set it against the gap. It was too small a crack to see, but they could still hear the talking.
‘Don’t,’ Matt said.
Nupa slammed a finger to her lips, just as the sound came out. A slow, but growing wail of despair. It didn’t last long at those levels. It dissolved into deep and bitter crying. Matt kicked the mat back, and pulled the door shut.
It was a depressing end to a bizarre day, and when they finally gathered in the car park outside, Matt was glad of the fresh air. When Perry arrived, he looked shell-shocked. He’d clearly been crying. As annoying as this guy was, Matt did pity him. He just hoped that some of the tears might be a sense of guilt. Of personal responsibility.
Matt assumed it was time to head home and so the blossoming thoughts of cosy lamps, a comfy couch and mindless sitcoms on TV with his wife felt like the sun blooming over very dark mountains. Plus, he had two more full days before the weekend at The Reed. Enough time to devise those tests he’d suggested.
But after they shook Bryant’s hand and climbed into the van, Nupa checked her watch and swung her chair around to Matt, Perry and Kissell. ‘Just one more stop, before home. Okay boys?’
‘Huh?’ Matt said, ‘Where now?’
‘Cheddington.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘We’re going to dig up that box.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Places look scarier at night. That’s not exactly revelatory. Just kill the lights, let the shadows roam and your brain i
s going to dutifully fill in the blanks. Inky voids in the corner become the burglar choosing his moment. Rolling, brittle leaves? Legions of cockroaches, scuttling hungrily for your toes.
So it wasn’t really a shock to find that standing outside of Tom Riley’s house at ten at night felt rather different than it did yesterday afternoon. Bathed in moonlight and standing black against a cloudy sky, Tom’s house was positively gothic without the sun, especially with that wind still sweeping the fields around them.
Not that there was a lot of time to ponder what everything looked like. Most heads were down, not up.
Tom’s front lawn was a mass of activity with Matt, Perry and other crew members thrusting spades into soil and scraping back dirt. They’d found a few shovels in Tom’s garage, and borrowed some more from neighbours. The ground was so rocky that Suzy tried to get them all singing some old chain-gang song, only she didn’t know any actual chain-gang songs, so she tried to improvise. Folks weren’t in the mood anyway, and besides … Nupa made it pretty clear that out of tune singers attempting the Bee Gees ‘Staying Alive’ did not suit this particular scene of the show. So she shut all that down, and told them to dig in moody silence. This was punctured only by heavy breath and metal hitting the beetle-ridden ground.
The cameras watched it all.
Despite the icy breeze, Matt swiped sweat from his forehead, but he kept on going. He was determined to find this little hunk of junk and crack it wide open. Show Perry and Kissell, and the cameras most of all, that there was nothing inside this car boot sale box except a pair of old shoes perhaps, or a set of melted Star Wars figures. Or who knows, a bag of rusty antique medals that might be worth millions, which Tom could have sold on eBay to fund a pleasant round-the-world trip with his wife. As opposed to a crate of supernatural evil telling him to tear his wife’s tongue out instead. It was so, so depressing, when Matt thought about it, so unnecessary. To pollute the already murky waters of mental health with a bloody great influx of ancient, theological poison.
He looked up when a huge gust of wind laid the fields out again. It rattled the roof tiles of the other houses in the street. Many of which had their bedroom lights on, so folks could stare out at the TV crew, whispering their theories to each other. Surely, this was a dig for another of Tom Riley’s victims? The dawning of a serial killer next door. But none of them came out to ask. They were way too scared for that.