by Peter Laws
‘Claire?’ Perry shrugged. ‘She’s already gone.’
One of the students was standing near the doorway. He nodded. ‘She was scared. She needed air.’
‘And I don’t blame her.’ Perry folded his arms. ‘This was the first exorcism she’s seen, first-hand. It can be very unsettling indeed.’
Matt rushed into the corridor to call Claire back, but saw Professor Lisa Hammond instead. She was leaning against the wall in the otherwise empty corridor, chewing at the inside of her mouth. Her phone was pressed to her ear and he just knew it, from that smug line of those thin, leather lips of hers. She was calling the principle and reporting Matt’s unruly experiment, and now, his wild accusations.
Wearily, Matt turned to Kissell. ‘What are you even doing here? You agreed to give me space today.’
‘I apologise for the change in plan but we felt unsettled, Matt. We got a strong sense we were needed here, and look … we were right.’
‘But they were fine.’ Matt threw his arms in the air. ‘They were all fine, until—’
‘I wasn’t fine,’ Richie said, as the nurses helped him to his feet. Then he walked up to Kissell and said, ‘I am now, though. I feel amazing. I really think it’s gone.’
Wait. Matt span towards the camera guy. ‘You were filming? The entire time?’
‘Course.’
‘Then I want to see that film as soon as—’
‘Professor Hunter.’ It was Richie, walking forward with a hand out to shake. ‘Thanks for not stopping it this time. Like in the TV studio, I mean. I can’t wait to tell my parents I’m better.’
Matt, his mind racing, looked down at that thick hand of his. ‘I’m … just … I’m … I really think you should stay a while. You haven’t heard the test results yet.’
‘There’s no point now … and … well, it’s pretty clear which theory was right.’ He looked back at Kissell, who was washing his face and hands at the sink. ‘And don’t worry, Professor, there’s no hard feelings. I believe we’re all on a journey, and I have a feeling you’ll get there. You’ll see the truth one day. And the truth …’
‘Will set you free,’ Kissell said, as he slipped his clean and shiny glasses back into place.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Matt sat in his dark garden, alone.
He had his head tilted back so he could watch the slow clouds creep past the stars, blinking distant suns off, then on, then off again. These chunky grey rattan chairs felt like a fake throne, but God they were cosy with all these bright-yellow cushions tucked around him. He and Wren often sat out here at night, when it was warm enough. Sipping red wine and discussing everything from the deep threat of climate change, to their shared grief at the passing of Saturday morning Kids TV.
But tonight it was just him. And it wasn’t wine he was drinking, it was vodka in a highball glass. It wasn’t even warm enough to sit outside, either. In fact, it was cold. So he’d dragged a starfield blanket from his office and wrapped it around him, up and around his head. He looked like a little Romanian lady, making doilies in the street. Like ET stuffed into a BMX basket. Yeah, he was really rocking this Friday night.
The leaves shook and filled the air with distant tambourines, and he took another gulp, a big one. He winced as it went down.
Damn, today was a mess.
He’d genuinely thought they were going to benefit from another angle on their condition. But after what happened to Richie Gregor, all of them – except Abby – had refused to hear their test results. He wasn’t sure if that was Perry’s suggestion or Kissell’s, or if they’d decided it themselves over doughnuts, before the screaming had started. But Pavel, Deron and Richie politely declined. They feared the distraction might affect their faith and make them more vulnerable at The Reed. ‘The tests themselves must have set Richie off, today,’ Pavel had said. Such bizarre logic wasn’t easy to follow, but in the world of the possessed, every tiny detail seemed to take on meaning.
It was so frustrating, and deeply embarrassing too. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Lisa Hammond pointing her fake nail at him, shaking her head.
And then there were the results. Or rather, Abby Linh’s results. He was not expecting that.
He took another sip and glanced at the table. He’d put a garden rock on his clipboard, to stop Abby’s stats blowing off. Though part of him wished they would. Wished they’d spiral up into the sky, and vaporise into a star, like they didn’t exist. The breeze happily rattled those papers around the stone. Mocking him with their fluttering.
True, the male clients had spectacularly failed, just as predicted. With folks screaming at a pencil on their heads or hissing like snakes when they touched spring water from the campus Starbucks.
Yet now they refused to hear, or even release their results, all these colossal fails weren’t even going to make the show. Though Richie was glad to let the footage from his bathroom exorcism be shown. Of course they’d show all that stuff. They’d just leave out the part when he freaked out at the Holy Ghost power of a chopstick. But then there was Abby, who failed all her tests too … except the holy water.
He groaned at her figures.
She identified the bowl of blessed water out of ten bowls. Not just once … but eight times. Just hearing that figure in his head made him feel a bit sick. How was it even possible? He’d calculated that as a one in 2.7 billion chance. Everyone on the research team was talking about it. He just shook his head. Took another wince-inducing swallow. Good job he had the bottle here too. He topped up the glass.
So … tomorrow was the big day. He’d be heading off to The Reed with the exact same troupe of exorcees from the tests. As well as Deron and Pavel, Nupa had said there may be one or two others, but that’d be it. It was good to know there’d be at least one less, now that Richie was ‘cured’. Star pupil Abby would be there, of course …
He jumped when his phone went off. Yoda, crying out across the garden. The neighbours must hate him by now for this tone. He snapped into focus. The email he’d been waiting for. From Nupa.
He squinted into the screen’s glow, setting the sloshing drink aside. Above him, he thought he felt a single drop of rain on the back of his hand. A frantic thumb found the email.
Bathroom Footage.
Yes! Finally.
He ignored Nupa’s message and clicked the file. He forgot to knock his volume down, so when the footage started, Richie’s wild and jerking pig screams screeched into the garden. He tapped the volume with a frantic thumb, and in his tipsiness, dropped the phone on the grass. He winced when he saw next door’s light come on. He scooped it up, and killed the screams, then he watched the scene play out in silence instead.
It was strange to watch an exorcism in pure silence. It looked like a dance. Like performance art. Or in other words, it looked like what it was.
The moment came. He held the phone closer for the money shot.
With a frown he tapped the slider back and watched it again. This time with a pinch-zoom and a hawk’s eye. Another frown, another wind back. He watched it again. Then again. Then … he felt his grip on the phone tightening, because his brain was suggesting an alternative response. Throw this phone into the bushes and scream.
There was nothing. No sign of a device, only a brief moment when there could have been, but the angle was wrong. The camera, which never lies, was backing Kissell up, not him. He wanted to shout ‘fuck’ really loudly – like a possessed person might, and he briefly understood their attraction to it. Then he let his lips flap with bitter breath and read Nupa’s note that he’d missed before.
We don’t see any device, sorry. Take a look and see what we’re missing.
He stared at the phone, thinking. Then he tossed a peanut into his mouth and started googling again. Calling up all the sites he’d found earlier this evening, in his frantic search for answers.
A picture of Kissell stared up at him, with his homespun glint and his ‘hey-guys!’ smile. Matt flicked back through the
articles and profiles that charted the birth of his ministry, only about five years ago. An ordinary medical supplies salesman, whose wife had died tragically in a horrendous hit and run. When Kissell shared a tearful prayer during her funeral, someone in the pew had started writhing.
The rest, the articles said, was history. For whenever Bernie Kissell prays, the demons flee, which seemed like qualification enough. Might as well call this salesman a pastor and be done with it. So people did. Matt stared at an old picture of Kissell and his wife, Sandra, standing on a cruise ship and waving to the camera. He was skinny and long, she was huge and round. Together they looked like the number ten. He looked so happy in the picture, champagne glass raised at the ‘Sail Away’ party. But her … there was a haunt in her eye. He drilled a little deeper, but found no more about her, other than the words ‘hit and run’.
Matt sighed and tapped his phone off. The garden was suddenly thrown into darkness again. So he set the phone down and leant back, taking a final few sips. He heard her footsteps before he saw her. Just a crunch of trainers on the path. It was Lucy standing in her pyjamas. He turned to face her. She stood there, moon-coloured.
‘Hey.’ He quickly yanked that dumb-looking blanket off his head. ‘Can’t you sleep?’
She shook her head.
‘Well you’re welcome to pull up a chair and watch the stars with me. I’ll grab another blanket if—’
‘Thanks, but … no. I had a question.’
‘Okay.’
‘That box …’ The breeze blew suddenly and made her pause and look off into the shadows. Her hair rose and danced, and she slapped it quickly down. ‘Is it still here?’
‘It’s in my office. Why?’
‘When’s it going?’
‘Tomorrow. I’m away for the weekend. I’ll take it with me.’
‘I just think you should take it away, soon.’
‘Lucy?’
She didn’t speak.
‘Lucy, did you touch the box last night?’
She waited.
‘It’s just I’m sure it was turned around when I—’
‘I needed a lightbulb and I saw it. I was curious. Is it bad that I touched it?’
‘Nah, it’s just a box.’
‘Is it bad that I picked it up?’
He went to stand. ‘It’s just a box.’
‘Is it bad that I heard it sing?’
His face, which had been in some sort of sympathetic wince for her, slowly dropped. ‘Lucy, I’ve had a crappy day. I’m not in the mood for a joke.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Er, hello? Look at my face.’
He did, and then he felt cold. ‘I’m sorry. Go on.’
‘It sang …’
‘Hey,’ she let him take her hand, ‘you’re trembling.’
‘Can you remember that ancient song? The one you used to sing when I was litt—oh, I mean … shit …’ A beat of panic flashed in her eyes. That sometimes happened whenever she got her dads mixed up. ‘I’m sorry.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Not a problem. What song?’
‘That really old one? Hush … um … Hush …’
‘Little baby?’
She shivered and nodded. ‘My dad used to sing that to me, when I was really small. I don’t know why I still remember it but … I do. And I heard it last night.’
‘Are you sure it came from the box?’
‘I think so. I don’t know. I just … I just want to know if it was bad that I touched it?’
‘It’s absolutely fine you touched it, and there is nothing about that box you should worry about. Seriously.’
‘Okay …’ She turned before he could speak, and he watched her move to the sliding door. She paused when she touched the handle. ‘But can you take it away tonight?’
‘How about I put it in my car boot? Then in the morning it’ll be gone.’
‘Okay. Good.’
After she went inside, he watched the clouds cover the moon for a long time. He only took his eyes off them when his phone threw its feeble glow up into the dark air. An email from Fenn.
Matt. Re: Car Park Ticket. You’re right, I’ve got Claire Perry’s car placed at Melody Public Park at 13:20 p.m. on the day of the murder. That’s in Sneddon, the next village. So she either lied, or someone used her car. I’ll have a dig around. Enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame btw! Martin. PS. Pam’s recovering well. Way better than we expected, thank God.
He set the phone down and looked up at the moon again. It was hidden now. As black and smudged as one of Claire Perry’s creepy-looking artworks. Why did Claire lie? He sat there, thinking about that, and about Lucy, and the box, and Abby’s results … until the shivering got too much. He dipped into his office and grabbed the stupid box, putting it into the boot of his car without incident. Then he went into the lounge where Wren was reading. She hadn’t noticed Lucy come down. Or back up again.
Matt waved his half-full glass towards her. ‘You want the rest of this?’
She screwed up her face. ‘No thanks, comrade.’
‘Then I reckon I might just go to bed.’
‘Wait,’ she had her eyes on the clipboard. ‘Is that the test results? From today?’
‘Yup.’
‘Then why the long face …’ She set the book down. ‘Don’t tell me they beat your challenges.’
‘The vast majority failed them miserably.’
One of her eyebrows went up. ‘And the minority?’
He shrugged. ‘A fluke, I guess.’
‘Show me.’ She leapt up and grabbed the clipboard, running her finger through the figures.
‘So I leave in the morning. This thing at The Reed runs overnight tomorrow, so I can leave mid-morning on Sunday. I was wondering if you fancy going out for a meal or—’
‘This Abby woman …’ Wren looked up, jaw hanging. ‘She’s psychic. She’s Uri flipping Geller.’
‘She did not pass everything. She didn’t levitate anything. She failed the Latin a couple of—’
‘This holy water stuff, though … that’s creepy …’ she said. ‘Don’t you think it’s creepy?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe she cheated.’
‘At your tests? If she did, then wouldn’t that look bad, on you?’ She winced. ‘Sorry.’
‘Why do you think I’ve got vodka?’ He took a final swig and sloshed the rest out into the sink. ‘I’m heading up.’
She watched him. She knew him well enough to know that this was one of those times that he didn’t need a hug or a kind word. He just needed normalcy. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I’ll stay down here for a bit and keep reading my book. The president’s about to steal a helicopter.’
He smiled at her and headed up.
He didn’t sleep much.
Not only because alcohol had a tendency to keep him awake these days, but next door had their TV on too loud again. Even though they were detached, he could still hear their music coming from the trees. So he lay there, listening to the lullaby melodies from the neighbours. He listened out for Lucy’s door too. Worrying that even though she wanted rid of it, she still might get up again, grab his keys and head out to his car. Just so she could find it and hold it to her ear. But Wren was still up, and she’d tell her to go to bed, anyway.
Unless …
As he fell into sleep he had a mental picture of them both, Wren and Lucy, and then Amelia too, walking silently to his car, hand in hand, bare feet in the grass and following the pretty music. And the slow, in-and-out of his breath reminded him of when he was a boy on the storm-soaked nights on the Suffolk coast, counting the space between the thunder and lightning out at sea. Working out how far away it was, or how close.
PART THREE
DEVOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Matt sat in the back of the Subaru, feeling like his seat belt was on way too tight. Next to him, Nupa was rapid-chatting on her phone. She’d gone for the cream look today. Cream trousers, cream shirt, pointy cream shoes. Since the leat
her of the car was also cream he figured that if he squinted his eyes, she’d turn into nothing more than a floating head.
He listened to her prep for the shot of them rolling up in the car. She had quite a grating voice, he decided. Husky and strained. The kind of ‘this-is-what-cool-women-sound-like’ tone you heard constantly on TV shows and ads. She had a MacBook Air sitting on her lap, which she kept tapping incessantly. She played that thing like a concert piano.
Today’s driver was Ray, who still didn’t do conversation. With nobody to talk to, Matt leant forward and looked through the front seats. Kissell and Perry were travelling ahead of them in the silver minivan. He could see their heads talking and laughing. It looked like there was room for Matt in there but—
‘Great. You’re the best, Anders.’ Nupa said it like she was announcing the top forty. Playin all the hits! ‘See you soon.’
Matt turned in his seat and smiled at her. ‘Okay, so can we talk now?’
She glanced at her laptop, shrugged, then closed the lid. ‘I’m all yours.’
‘So … I take it you’re keeping me away from the pastors?’
‘Yes, but that’s because Reverend Perry said you weren’t speaking to them. Not after what happened at the university.’
‘Not speaking?’ he said. ‘I’m not twelve.’
‘Then maybe I misunderstood. I still think it’s best we keep things as calm as possible before the event. I saw that bathroom footage, Matt … It did get a bit … frisky between you three.’
‘Yeah, but Richie Gregor was fine until they turned up.’
‘You know, Pastor Kissell was quite hurt by what you said.’ She leant closer. ‘The accusation, I mean.’
‘I’m telling you, I saw something in his hand. A device.’
‘Did you see wires?’
‘Those things don’t always need wires.’
‘And what colour was it again?’
‘Flesh. Easier to disguise.’
‘Maybe it was flesh-coloured because … it was just flesh.’ She started to click her fingernail. ‘Matt, are you absolutely sure you saw something?’