by Peter Laws
The odd smile vanished, her breath caught.
‘And did you meet with Tom Riley?’
She whispered it. ‘How did you know?’
‘You should clean your car out more.’ He saw her frown. ‘The car park ticket?’
She closed her eyes.
‘Why did you see him … and why did you lie?’
‘Cos I’m selfish. Cos, I’m cold. It’s my fault she died …’
‘You mean, Justine?’
A sob escaped her mouth.
‘Talk to me, Claire.’
‘Tom wasn’t himself … so we can’t really blame him … but me … I wasn’t possessed, was I? I could have chosen the right thing. The good thing … but I didn’t. I did what was right for me …’
He leant forward, though he wasn’t keen to get too close. ‘What are you telling me?’
A sudden flurry of noise made her look towards the door, and he looked too. A totally unexpected sound was filling the dining hall. Laughter. Hearty and jubilant, laughter. Not just one voice, but many.
‘Finally.’ She pushed herself up.
‘Wait. We need to talk.’
‘Sounds like it’s over.’
‘Claire,’ he put a hand on her wrist. It felt cold and dry. ‘Why is it your fault she died?’
A voice boomed from the dining hall, loudly praising God. Simon Perry.
‘Shhhhhh.’ She pressed a hard finger of panic against Matt’s mouth, crushing his lips. Then she walked to the kitchen door. But she paused with her fingers on the handle and turned back. ‘Did you really like my art?’
He nodded. ‘Very much.’
She smiled, only this one didn’t disturb him. It broke his heart. He saw another tear roll down her cheek, and then she smeared it with her palm and nodded at him. Then she was gone through the kitchen door, vanishing into a cloud of laughter.
He went to follow her, but he slowed his step for a moment.
He didn’t like the idea of it, but he did it anyway. He leant towards the magnetic strip and grabbed a short stubby knife. Something he could wrap in a little kitchen roll. Something to dull the edge. That way, it wouldn’t cut one of his balls off when he sat down. He slipped it into his pocket, just in case.
He jumped when a huge roaring cheer lit up the hall outside, and Matt frowned when he heard music start.
You’re kidding me.
‘We Are Family’ by Sister Sledge.
‘That proves it, Jeff, I’m going nuts.’ Matt said it aloud to his therapist, who was just as silent when invisible as when he was actually in the room. Then he slipped the kitchen roll-covered knife into his front trouser pocket and headed through the kitchen door.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Matt walked out into a crowd of pulsing disco lights and happy faces scooping up glasses and sloshing champagne. Some were hugging and slapping backs, while others were letting their hips sway to the music. He saw about fifteen people here, not counting the relieved-looking crew weaving in and out. So a few of the possessed were nowhere to be seen. But most were here.
Perry, who’d now removed his dog collar, caught Matt’s eye and his face lit up. ‘Professor! Join us.’
Matt made a cautious move towards them and was startled when he felt a hand tug at his elbow. It was Deron, face thick with sweat, but smiling. ‘Hey, fella! Come and dance.’ He’d already flung his jacket away, but he still wore the scarf. He started grooving backwards, wagging fingers and pointing them up like rhythmic pistols to the ceiling.
Matt was no stranger to dance floors at parties – Professor Hunter’s break-dancing attempts were legendary – but he politely declined with a raised palm. Deron shrugged and turned his backwards slide into a body pop, then he started moonwalking across the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the dining hall, and people cheered. Perry must have seen Matt’s bafflement. He sidled up next to him with a grin on his face and he slapped a warm hand on his shoulder.
‘Hey, amigo,’ Perry said. ‘You look confused.’
Matt shrugged. ‘I genuinely had no idea that the deeper stages of possession … was disco.’
Perry threw his head back and laughed. ‘Nawwwww. This is the celebration. This is the thanksgiving. Look at them … they’re finally free. Isn’t it a beautiful thing?’
Matt watched them twirling and hugging, but most of all, they were laughing. So much life. ‘I never knew exorcisms had an after-party.’
‘Kissell’s always do. And I think it’s just perfect. Here’ − he grabbed a flute of champagne for Matt − ‘drink with us. Celebrate.’
‘Thanks, but … no.’
‘Oh, come on, amigo, just one—’
‘Why do you keep calling me amigo?’
Perry stared at him with his mouth open, and then his red beard burst forth laughter again. ‘Because I’m happy, Matt. And they’re happy too. And guess what … newsflash … this just in’ − he cupped his hand around his mouth − ‘you’re allowed to be happy too. Just because you lost doesn’t—’
‘Lost?’
‘Sure. All those tests and things. But look at them now.’
‘Perry, this wasn’t a competition.’
‘Well, it wasn’t in my eyes … but are you really sure that’s not how you saw it? Hmmm? But look, no hard feelings. Bottom line is that this whole exorcism thing has been a raging success … and there’s only one way to sum that up.’ He thrust his glass towards the ceiling and threw half of it down his throat. ‘Praise Jesus!’
‘Yeah, but …’ Matt caught his eye. ‘How long is this going to last, amigo?’
‘It’ll last. You’ll see.’
‘Richie had to come back for more, didn’t he? Where is he, by the way?’
‘Last I saw him, he popped out for a stroll. Said he wanted to see the Milky Way and thank God direct … he’s cured, Matt.’
‘And Abby? And what about Pavel for crying out loud, he’s still miss—’
‘Pffft, you atheists are no fun at all.’ Perry shook his head and downed the rest of his drink. ‘But us Christians, we know how to loosen up. We know how to partaaay.’
Don’t … Matt thought. Please for the love of all that is right and noble, don’t, please …
Perry started to jerk his shoulders up and down to the beat and he made a subtle (but not subtle enough) chicken bob with his head back and forth. Then he broke into a form of dad dancing that was, ironically, the closest proof that Matt had so far seen that demonic possession truly did exist after all. He spoke up, to prevent the horror. ‘Perry? Where’s Kissell. And the others?’
Perry froze his repellent flapping. ‘They’re still in the main hall. Guess some demons are more stubborn than others. In fact …’ He checked his watch. ‘Ooo, that’s a shame. I better toddle back in and lend a hand.’
‘Is Abby still in there?’
He broke into a huge smile just at the mention of her name, then he pointed towards the window. ‘She’s right there!’ She was standing at the window with Claire Perry. Both of them hugging. ‘You know she was one of the first to be set free. She just walked up to Tom Riley’s box and went to touch it. But Bernie took her hand instead, and he prayed for her. She screamed, she cried, she smiled, she sang. Oh, and good news, she said she remembered breaking into your room when you slept, so you’re off the hook.’
A breath that he’d been holding for a few hours finally fled him.
‘But praise God, look at her now. It’ll be a whole new life for her and her son … but hey, if you’ll excuse me …’ He checked the time again. ‘I guess some of the possessed are a bit tougher to liberate than others … but they’ll be free. Just you watch.’ He clicked a finger at Matt, then danced back through the crowd, grabbing people’s hands as he went, congratulating them that they were now (ironically) what Matt had been saying all along: one hundred per cent Satan-free.
The pounding music slunk into a new song. ‘Celebrate’ by Kool and the Gang. A part of him, a part that was drawn to r
etreat, told him to relax and get dancing. Maybe it was over. But the night remained dark, and the sun showed no true sign of being closer. So he pushed through the crowd towards the windows, jerking away from a hand that slapped him on the backside, tugging him into a dance. He was worried they’d feel the knife in his pocket after all. Or that they’d see it, at least. His hip certainly bulged with it.
When he reached the two women, Abby was laughing, with one hand on her hip, and the other buried into her hair.
‘Ladies,’ Matt said as he came near.
Abby spun around so quickly that when she stopped she looked a little dizzy.
‘Excuse me,’ Claire said. ‘I’ll let you two talk.’
‘You don’t have to go,’ Matt said.
‘Stay!’ Abby laughed, and her face really did fill up with light and life. ‘Matt, it’s amazing. It really is.’
‘It worked?’ he said.
‘Totally.’ She took Matt’s hand in hers and reached for Claire’s with the other and held it. ‘I feel so much better. It’s like this cloud has gone. This weight.’ She laughed. ‘Sorry, but I can only think in clichés right now. It’s just … so overwhelming. I can’t wait to see my son.’ She took his hand. ‘Matt?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Are you pleased for me?’
He looked at her.
‘Surely, you can see I’m better?’
He threw a fake smile on his face. ‘It’s good to see you smiling. But can I just ask …’
‘Uh-oh … what now?’
‘Your medication. You said you’d take it.’
She crossed one finger over the other and pushed a crucifix at him. ‘Get thee behind me, Satan.’ She said it with a guffaw while he stared back, baffled. ‘Sorry, Matt, I didn’t take them, but,’ she raised a finger to calm him, ‘but … that’s fine, because there’s no need for those pills anyway. Not now.’
Matt let his gaze drop to his own shoes and tried all he could not to shake his head.
‘Thing is,’ she went on, ‘I’m thinking Perry was right and the meds were the doorway in.’
‘For the demons, you mean? He said that?’
She nodded. ‘Pretty interesting theory.’
He shared a glance with Claire, and he realised then that both he and Perry’s wife probably shared the exact same look. They were both smiling at Abby, sure, but these smiles were cautious and assembled, looking for cracks in Abby. They both had that slight bite of a nervous lip.
Abby grabbed his hand. She felt clammy. ‘And Matt, I’m so sorry about what happened in your room. I think I just needed to be close to someone I trust. But you didn’t do anything wrong, and I’ll make sure they all know that.’
‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’
‘Awesome. Then if you don’t mind, I need more champagne!’ She giggled and went to turn, but something odd happened. Her body turned, and so did her head, but her fingertips stayed laced into Matt’s hand. So that she felt her arm lock back as she tried to walk away. Matt frowned and Claire did too. And they all looked down at her hands, which seemed to tremble, stuck there with invisible glue.
‘Abby? You okay?’ Matt caught a shadow of something crossing her face. A dull click of fear in her eyes, as she stared at her own, disobedient hands.
Then she blinked slowly, like a robot resetting itself, and when her eyes opened again her hands were free. ‘I’m gonna dance all night.’ Her smile was wide. So wide. Too wide. Then she spun and skipped towards the others. Multiple hands thrust champagne her way, and she grabbed two. They cheered at that.
‘So …’ Matt turned to Claire. ‘Opinion?’
Claire bit her lip.
‘You can be honest.’
‘She’s not right.’
‘Then you need to talk to your husband, and tell him this is dangerous …’ He tilted his head. ‘Why did you meet him, Claire? On the day of the murder. Why did you lie? And why is it your fault she died?’
‘Because I chose my pain over hers,’ she whispered, then suddenly, ‘oh and if there’s anybody dangerous here, why can’t it be the guy with a knife in his pocket?’
She nodded at the bulge in his side; the blade had worked itself out of his pocket so that it was hanging a little, mostly unravelled and ready to drop. He pushed it back inside, and just watched her walk off, despite his calling her name. She didn’t head towards the dance floor where the others were, but back out into the lobby. Maybe she was going back to her husband, in the suite of exorcism. He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t follow her, though. Because his eyes were distracted by something that didn’t sit right.
It was Abby, dancing near Ethan, who had changed out of his Pokémon pyjamas, and was back into black skinny jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt, smattered with cactuses. He must have come in a few moments ago and she’d dragged him on to the dance floor. Now she was draping her hands across his shoulders, fingertips gliding across his cheek and neck.
Nobody else seemed to notice. Perhaps because by now there were other sounds amongst the disco. The wailing screams were back, as Kissell and Perry went to round two. So now, the recently free were slowing their dance, and staring at the door towards the lobby, and the Ash Suite beyond it. Raising a glass in a bizarre prayer, that their still lost comrades would join them soon.
Staring at that door meant that none of them saw Abby slide a hand into the open collar of Ethan’s shirt. Matt took a step forward, just as she pulled Ethan away from the others, towards the kitchen door where he’d just been.
And nobody saw Abby and Ethan vanish into the kitchen, because by then the muffled screams had reached such horrendous levels that people were looking suddenly guilty for their premature celebration. In fact, somebody was turning the music down, and it seemed that nobody wanted to dance to a melody of sheer pain and lament.
God, that sounded loud out there. More chaotic than ever. Sounded like things were being smashed.
Matt ignored it all, as best he could. Because right now all he could think of was that wide, mannequin grin of Abby’s. And the way she’d been unable to move her hands, and had looked at him and Claire with eyes made of wood. When he rushed through the crowd into the kitchen, he thought he might see them in there just talking or kissing in the corner. He wondered how he’d explain his insistence that Ethan stay away from her. But when he got inside the room it was totally empty. The only reflection in the sheer metal panels was his own distorted face, warped and deformed and worried-looking as he walked through.
Then he saw a door, which he thought had been some sort of fridge, earlier. But when he got closer, he felt a cold breeze seeping through the gaps. It was locked, and when he looked around, he saw a rack of keys, but one hook was empty.
He had no other option than to run back through the dining hall, where the music had stopped altogether and lights were now on full. The others were on their knees now, drinks discarded, and heads bowed in prayer. Though he didn’t like the way some of them were rocking back and forth with it. He headed back into the lobby, wondering if Claire might be there too. She wasn’t, in fact nobody was.
So he ran through the deserted sofas and armchairs and headed to the lift so he could head down and check outside. Just to make sure Ethan was okay with her. That Matt’s instincts were hopefully incorrect. At one point, he had to physically cover his ears with his palms, as he crossed the lobby floor, to block out the awful sound of unseen souls screaming from the depths of agony.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Matt stepped out of the thankfully rabbit-free lift and into the chilly night, then he broke into a jog around the building. The dining hall was on the other side, and when he got there he found a metal staircase, like a fire escape, leading up to the kitchen. They must have come down—
He froze. It was a sound, unlike anything else he’d heard so far tonight. A splash of water.
The boating lake.
He spun around and jogged back the way he’d come, only this time he ignored the lift
doors. He rushed straight down the path instead. When he reached the water’s edge he squinted into the darkness. Something was bobbing on the moonlit lake. It was one of the boats. He couldn’t see either Abby or Ethan, but then he figured it was entirely possible they might be lying down in that boat right now. Kissing or undressing or doing whatever else those crazy twenty-somethings do, these days. He felt like a nosy dad spying on his kid, and was very tempted to turn away, until he saw a strange surge of white foam bubbling in front of the boat.
What if she’s jumped in? What if she’s drowning?
He cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted, ‘Ethan? Abby?’
In response, muffled screams came from behind.
He looked back over his shoulder and stared at the mushroom of The Reed. It glowed against the trees now, and it looked utterly surreal. A UFO, landed in the forest. He could see the disconcerting sight of silhouettes, moving about at the windows. Some in rooms with lights on, and some in rooms that didn’t have lights on. That last part unsettled him. All those black shapes creeping and walking and … hunched. The muffled roars went on, and in some ways they were like the normal soundtrack of life here. Yet he wondered if their frequency − and urgency − seemed much more intense right now.
Was that the sound of glass shattering, up there?
He turned back to the lake, which was nothing but an ominous, deep and silent disc. A mute mirror distorting the sky. He still saw no sign of them on the water.
Better check.
He slammed both heels into the sand and pushed at the rim of one of the other boats that were left. His shoes loudly splashed into the water and he hopped up over the back end. The craft dipped and bobbed madly as he scrabbled into position and he felt the front of his socks instantly contract with the soak. He grabbed both oars and started to row, as fast as he could.
For a few moments, there was an almost pretty sense of peace about it. The fast, rhythmic splashing of the oars soothed him. And so did the low breeze that was rolling all the trees to the side. The smell of the ferns. But most of all, he liked that sense of distance he was building between him and that place. What if he just rowed out here and waited till morning?