by Peter Laws
He dropped to his knees and quickly pulled it loose and let that grim circle of torchlight move down to see her skinny legs strewn, tracksuit bottom and pants gathered at her ankles, like a binding rope. Trembling knees were locked together. No socks. No jacket. Just snowflakes melting on her bare kneecaps.
‘Oh, God,’ he’d said, which had been one of his purest ever prayers.
She’d groaned in response. He’d already torn off his gloves, so he could grab her frozen hand. Then he dragged his big, Street Angels puffa jacket off so he could cover her bottom half up. He’d considered pulling her tracksuit back up, then realised that might not be the right procedure. There’d be evidence to gather. So, he just sat there heartbroken at how pitiful it was, and how shameful she must have felt, shivering under his coat.
Throughout all this, Matt had called for the others to come. His booming shout filled the alley and made her open her eyes. So, he squeezed her hand and said, ‘It’s okay.’ She flinched so sharply that he apologised and set her hand down. He called for the others again. When they didn’t arrive, he did the only thing he could think to do. He prayed frantically, saying, ‘Father God, be with this girl.’ That’s what he said. ‘Father God. Be with her. Be with her, father God.’ Which is when she screamed and tried to scramble away. Then the others came, and they seemed to scare her even more than he did, so she reached out and held his hand. She looked up into the falling snow, utterly confused. He told her there was help and hope.
He blinked again and the cold of the snow vanished. The cold of the vestry replaced it.
‘You’re wrong, Jess.’
‘Verity!’ She smacked a fist on the floor. ‘My name is Verity now because that means truth. And I am telling the truth.’
Matt stumbled on his words, ‘… Verity, I didn’t do anything to you.’
‘You were leering over me.’
‘I was checking you were alive.’
‘You were getting dressed.’
‘I was dressing you. I called the others over.’
‘After you were done.’
‘You know this. I turned a corner and found you, then I called them over. Remember, we all carried you to the ambulance? Remember a few of us slipped in the snow and you laughed about it?’
Dust looked over, frowning. ‘You said he was alone, Verity.’
‘He was alone. At the start.’
Dust bit his lip and turned silent.
‘Jess … you were out of it. You’d been on something. The whole team took you to hospital. Me and a lady called Dee came with you. You couldn’t remember who attacked you, but you never said it was me, Jess. In fact, you asked me to stay in your room with you the whole night.’
‘But you wouldn’t, would you?’ she said. ‘You said a woman had to do it.’
‘That was the policy.’
‘Then the next morning, when I asked for your address, you said you couldn’t give it out and gave me a helpline instead.’
He nodded. ‘There were procedures in place. I had to follow them.’
‘And that day? A month after. Was that procedure?’ A tear dropped from her eye. It exploded on the floor. He saw that gaunt look of shame in her face, and the thick bandage wrapped around her throat, as she stood on his doorstep weeks after the attack and all he could think was not, Is she doing okay?, but rather, How did she find my house? ‘And when I came to the vicarage,’ she said, ‘I was standing in the rain with nowhere to sleep. And I asked if I could stay on your couch for the night and you said you’d call a shelter instead, like you couldn’t bear to be near me.’
He’d told her she couldn’t come inside, because the church had strict child-safety rules. Grown-ups were not allowed to be alone with kids. It protected everybody from abuse, or accusation. She’d gawped at him, and said she wasn’t a child, and he’d said that technically speaking she really was. Then she cried and said he cared more about church gossip than child safety. Which was actually quite true. That and the thought she could be a thief and that he might wake up tomorrow with an empty wallet and a hole where his laptop used to be. Then the moment when she said, ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you trust yourself with a girl?’ He remembered that part, especially.
That was when he’d flung out a leaflet for another shelter. He tossed it like meat to a whimpering dog. Then as she tried to step inside, he closed the door in her face. She kicked it hard, but only once. He sat on his welcome mat, feeling like crap until her whisper came through the letter box, sharing her little revelation.
‘Ahhhhhh, I see …’ she’d said. ‘So you’re not angels at all. You’re devils. You’re devils in a world full of devils.’ She’d laughed as she’d said it, crouching at his door, then eventually she went. He watched her through a gap in the curtains, vanishing into the rain. The echoed voice of his Bible college tutors tried to reassure him – Got to be wise as serpents, and as innocent as doves – Mustn’t be alone with a vulnerable teenager – Don’t give the homeless cash, they’ll spend it on drugs. He remembered how rotten it felt to be so professional.
Matt opened his eyes and saw the vestry carpet flashing from the lightning outside. He looked up and saw her wiping tears across her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t give you more help,’ he said. ‘I was trying to … to be wise. I’m sorry.’
‘Wise?’ She cleared her throat. ‘Yeah, well I moved away after that and I found a brand-new family and a brand-new faith. A real faith. They didn’t turn me away, and they even helped me raise my baby in the end.’
‘But I swear to you, I didn’t—’
She was oblivious. ‘And the moment I saw him born I knew. Like, I’d been blinded up until then … but then I knew full well why you didn’t want me at your church … because you couldn’t bear to see what you’d put inside me—’
‘Ah, but he’ll see tonight …’
A new voice split the space. It came from across the room.
Of course he knew who it was, even before he saw the face. He just heard the slow creak of the vestry door swing open, and there she was, walking in like it wasn’t a big deal. Strolling up with her hands clasped across her tummy, not even looking awkward about it. She sat herself into an old rickety chair opposite and just smiled. The type of smile you do when a kitten runs past, or you see a gameshow win, or your host refills your glass with some more red wine.
He said her name, but it came out more like a long, distant breath. ‘Miriam.’
She laughed. ‘Aw, come on Matt. We’re friends now. We’re buds …’ She looked relaxed, heartfelt and horribly psychotic. ‘You can call me Hope.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
‘Do you know what the amazing thing is, Matt? Or should I call you Reverend?’ she said. ‘The amazing thing is you were always meant for Ever.’
He stopped struggling and squirming for a moment. ‘What does that even mean? What the hell are you talking about?’
She smiled at him.
They all did.
She put both hands on her knees and leant forward in the chair. ‘I’ve been listening at the door just now, cos I just love to hear Verity’s story. About what you did to her. She told us about it the other night, Matt. The full detail. And it wasn’t easy for her – to tell us all where Ever really came from. There was a lot of shame in it, but she was very brave, and of course it changed everything.’
‘You can’t keep me here, you can’t—’
‘And it’s a pretty story, Reverend. Shall I tell you why? Because it shows how Jesus takes the very worst of the world and turns it very good.’ She ran her gaze around the vestry, shaking her head in disgust. ‘We thought if Micah killed David it would work. A son killing a holy father. That’d be our symbol to change the world, but he couldn’t bear to do it properly. It all felt so … it felt so wasted. But it wasn’t wasted, because with Jesus, nothing is wasted.’
‘What are you even saying?’
‘I’m saying that we make our little plans, but Jesus has a f
ar bigger vision. I’m saying that Micah was only ever meant to bring you in. It’s amazing. It’s all connected. You know, when Verity saw you on TV that night she cried out hallelujah, and she wept at the grace of it, Matt. We all did. We wept …’ Her eyes were glistening, and there was something in those brimming tears that was scarier than anything else. They were real tears, and this was real belief. ‘Back in that alley, you thought you were hurting her … but he was working out a far bigger purpose. And all you did was create the very one that’d hurt you eventually. You made Ever in hate, and now he’ll kill you in love, Reverend.’
‘Stop calling me Reverend, dammit,’ Matt shouted, truly shaking now.
‘And that love’s going to bring Jesus back, see? Because symbols and rituals … they’re powerful. I mean listen to what it’s doing to the weather. Listen to the rain! Have you ever heard anything like it?’
‘Symbols are symbols!’ he shouted. ‘They do nothing.’
She started laughing. A huge belly-laugh of hilarious disbelief. ‘Ah, but symbols and ritual do everything because they’re doorways. They change things. Think of that cross … a father killing his son ended up ruining this world, but …’ she raised her finger, ‘what if the sight that’ll set things right is when a son kills his father? A reverend, no less … a Hollow. Dead at the hands of … his only son …’ She laughed against her hand. ‘It’s … it’s … it’s fucking poetry.’
Matt writhed against the ropes. They tore into his skin. ‘The police are coming.’
‘No, they aren’t.’ It was Verity, finally looking up from her hands.
‘They’ll be here.’
She shook her head, ‘No, think about it, Rev. You said you were at the farmhouse, remember? Not here.’
His breath came out, sounding thin and jittery.
Miriam smiled and was up on her feet, because the thunder was crashing harder than ever and it must have been like the sweetest music to her. She started to dance around the room, twirling and laughing in the white-hot flashes. Then Verity was laughing too, even though she was weeping at the same time. And in the corner, Dust was on his knees, hard in prayer. The women turned and embraced, and laughed and cried and sang of old things made new.
The sheer, flashing shock of it all threw Matt deep into his own mind, and he tumbled through blackness to find himself in a plush banqueting chair, watching himself speaking at a conference in Berlin. A memory of two years back, when he spoke on ‘The Psychology of Religion and Cults’. He heard himself saying how cults isolate themselves and create ‘well-controlled feedback loops’. A phrase he liked. And how even the most rational, professional people can fall into a kind of group psychosis, as long as outside influence was kept away.
‘Let me tell you the truly scary thing about cults, particularly the very small ones,’ he’d said, to that distinguished hall of the learned and loved – and he’d said it with a mocking grin on his face, because they were all amused at his extreme examples too. Like it was all a sad joke. He said, ‘Some cults preach the most whacky things you’ve ever heard – that God wants his people to move to Venus’ − pause for chortle − ‘that mushrooms are satanic’ − pause for snorts − ‘or that sex with pigs will bring heaven to earth’ − pause for guffaw − ‘or that God demands commuters are poisoned on a Tokyo subway’ − pause for awkwardness. ‘And you’d think most folks would see these gonzo ideas for what they are – kooky and totally irrational. Until you realise these are all true cases.’ Which is when he stopped smiling and threw up shots of the happy folks at Guyana.
And oh, how they all laughed afterwards, he and the civilised delegates. Oh, how they’d laughed as they’d mingled in the exquisite ballroom with the painted ceiling. When they asked if the Chardonnay was laced with poisoned Kool-Aid. Oh, how they’d laughed at that joke, because it was better to snigger into their glasses than to think that all those little children, folded onto each other on the Jonestown floor, were real children from a non-fiction world.
And here he was, two years later, watching the true believers dance. And they were the ones laughing now.
Beyond the turning women he saw a bizarre, skin-tightening sight. The rest of the group had now bundled themselves against the door frame. A mass of faces not looking evil or even manic, but reverent and awestruck at his presence. He was, after all, a gift delivered. They were the shepherds and wise men at the stable.
Then Miriam stopped dancing and simply said, ‘Now,’ which was like a match to petrol. They spillled into the room, tumbling over one another. And though he forced himself back and willed himself to vanish, they reached out their arms and their hands slid across his body.
Matt heard himself whimpering and wondered, if he survived this, whether he’d remember this as the moment his mind collapsed. When they danced and wailed and covered him in hands. He said, ‘Please, please, don’t …’ as they dragged him up.
Miriam led the way. Her happy voice echoed into the church as she skipped, even ran, to the altar. ‘Remember, everybody,’ she shouted, ‘don’t let it look at you, but we’ll keep its blindfold off so it sees Ever. It’s important that it knows what it made.’
Then something happened, just as they were dragging him through the vestry door.
A bizarre sound that stopped everybody dead. One that none of them were expecting. It took him a few seconds to realise exactly what it was.
A call you have! A CALL you have, A CALL you HAVE!
Holy shit, he thought. My phone.
Heads snapped towards the vestry desk, where Matt’s iPhone rattled and vibrated. The screen came on for a few seconds. By now Miriam was still out in the church. She’d run right up to the chancel. She called back, ‘What’s going on?’ Then that old boxer guy from Bessie’s house stomped in. Milton. He rushed across the room and stared at the phone. Scared to touch it. ‘It says Bowland …’ He looked up. ‘Who’s Bowland?’
The screen winked out, like a candle.
Miriam shouted from the church, ‘Just leave it. Come on.’
‘Says she’s left a message …’
It was Dust who moved first. He plucked the phone up and dropped next to Matt and spoke his words, fast and frantic. ‘Make it work.’
‘What?’
‘The phone. Make it work again, so we can hear.’
‘Again?’ Matt blinked for a moment and remembered being half-conscious as they pushed his thumbprint into the phone earlier.
Sick of waiting, Dust just grabbed his hand and did it. ‘I want to hear. Just in case the police are coming.’
‘Don’t. We’ll be done soon.’ Miriam was rushing back through the church. ‘Then we won’t have to worry about any Hollows.’
‘We need to listen,’ Dust said. ‘Just in case …’
Milton glared at Dust. ‘In case what?’
‘In case all this doesn’t work.’
The old man’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re doubting it?’
‘Put that fucking thing down.’ Miriam was at the door, trying to push through them all, ‘and get Ever and this thing to the altar, now.’
But Dust took the phone into the corner just as Bowland’s disembodied voice entered the room. For a moment, everybody froze, transfixed by it.
Matt, it’s me, Bowland said. You were right … we found the car, and the body inside. One of the local coppers recognised him. He’s an ex-member who used to live with them. His five-year-old daughter still does. The mum’s, um … handicapped …
‘We haven’t got time for this,’ Miriam said.
Dust pressed himself into the corner and held the phone higher. A magical box, buzzing out secrets.
… No sign of anyone. Found a chapel up on the hill, though. It’s filled with upturned crosses, so I guess Micah really was in with these guys … but Matt there’s another thing. A big thing …
‘Turn it off,’ Miriam said.
On the other side of the hill, not far from the outer gate … we found a bunch of birds pecking a
t the ground …
‘Turn it off!’ She rushed in, but Matt managed a hard lean into her. He could do that much, even tied up. She was moving so fast that she toppled to the side for a second. She fell against a bookshelf.
We’ve found her, Matt, in a shallow grave.
Miriam scrambled to her feet.
Dust closed his eyes.
It’s Zara East, no doubt about it.
‘Stop it,’ Miriam shouted.
Dust’s hand slid across his own gaping mouth.
Someone’s strangled her—
‘Stop!’ Miriam swatted the phone from Dust’s hand and they all watched it shatter against the wall. Bowland’s voice vanished in a crackle.
All those arms that were dragging and holding Matt suddenly weakened because the bodies attached to them seemed to stagger. Confused voices filled the room and, for a strange moment, even the rain and thunder seemed to stop dead. Milton shook his head, stared at the floor and walked into the church.
Dust was the only one to speak. He pulled the palm from his face and said it calmly. ‘What did you do, Hope? What did you do?’
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The church filled with an explosion of voices.
Ever looked up from the altar, where he’d been told to wait. He’d been on his knees, praying with Prosper, with an intensity he never thought possible. But then he heard the commotion from all the adults. Prosper sprang to his feet and gulped because Milton was stumbling away from the vestry door.
‘What’s happening?’ Prosper ran down the aisle and Ever ran after him. ‘What’s all the shouting about?’
‘She lied …’ Milton shook his head. ‘She killed her.’
Prosper’s face changed instantly. Ever saw it as clear as day. The skin flicked to white.