Shepherd's Cross Page 30

  ‘Why not?’ he said, getting to his feet and brushing himself down.

  Cara stood up and joined him. As they began to shout and holler for help, she didn’t dare tell him about Sergeant Jennings. Her mind drifted to the ruthless manner in which he’d been murdered and the sadistic grin she’d seen spread across King’s face. She then thought of Chloe, and of herself and Ben, and wondered how long it would be before they met with the same fate.

  Chapter 17

  5.30pm:

  ‘Lord Lucifer, Angel of Darkness,

  Knowledge incarnate, Keeper of truth,

  I beg that you cast your favour upon the five who kneel in your presence;

  And lead us, so that we may follow your every command.

  Bestow on us your covenant as we trust in you alone,

  And let us hear your counsel, in order that we may act as your will commands.

  May our lives be at your mercy, and may we serve you until the end of days.’

  Although Benedict Blackmoor had already read aloud several passages from the book he was holding, it had taken until this particular verse for anyone to notice any discernible changes in the ambience within the Round Room. The five witnesses, who up until that moment had knelt with bowed heads on their respective points of the pentagram, simultaneously looked up to see the burning fire set into the wall suddenly begin to spark and hiss, as if some invisible lighter fluid had been poured over it. They watched as the flames turned from orange to green to white, releasing a pale blue smoke that drifted into the room and hovered menacingly above Blackmoor and the others like a murky fog. The temperature in the room fell dramatically, as if the fire was no longer a fire but the mouth of a demon that had been freed from its icy prison; its chilled breath seeping into the room and suffocating everyone and everything within it.

  ‘Don’t look up,’ Blackmoor said, returning his eyes to the next passage in his book. ‘You mustn’t look up until He commands it. And under no circumstances should you leave your position. Not until I have finished reading.’ With that, he continued:

  ‘Lord Lucifer, we are yours to mould as your heart desires.

  We stand alongside you to crucify the remnants of Christianity as it lies dying

  in the gutter, cast aside by its followers as they yearn the arrival of a new

  leader, a leader who will bring power and wealth in this life to those who follow

  Him and His way.

  Black candles burn in your honour, Lord Lucifer.

  The Sigil of Baphomet is drawn to invoke your presence to this earthly world.’

  A low, steady rumbling appeared to come from the direction of the fire, spreading across the floor and vibrating against the feet and ankles of the witnesses. It was only Bronwyn who shivered with fear as she felt the demon’s presence forming. She was now completely awake and aware of the reality of her situation, the panic growing steadily inside as she considered the magnitude and severity of the madness she was caught up in. She shuddered as she thought to herself what the others, what He, would do to her when they realised she was no longer under Blackmoor’s hypnotic influence. They would show her no mercy, she was certain of that. After all, she had witnessed and participated in enough unspeakable atrocities to understand only too well their disdain for showing leniency towards those who got in their way. Life and death meant nothing to these people.

  Blackmoor, sensing His presence among them, reached for the horn that hung from the spike in the centre of the pentagram. His eyes were now blood-red with the excitement and power of the words he spoke:

  ‘My Master, I spill this blood in your honour,

  The suffering of men is offered to you as a sign of our devotion.

  I beg you, accept our offer and come forth into the world.

  Consume our souls with your essence.’

  When he had finished his verse, Blackmoor tipped the mouth of the horn in the middle of the pentagram. The combined blood of the men and boys they had killed poured out of it and splattered against the polished cobbles of the floor, running along the cracks and spreading outwards towards the others. Smoke sizzled up from the blood as it met the earth, a smell of burning hair and flesh wafting up into the air and joining the cloud of blue smoke that lingered above them. The low, rumbling noise grew louder: morphing into a growl and then laughter; deep, throaty laughter that echoed around the room and up towards the glass roof. After a while, the laughter subdued and all became calm once more, but He was with them – they all knew it. They could feel Him.

  ‘He’s here,’ King whispered, his voice uncharacteristically uneven and weak. ‘He’s here.’

  ‘No,’ replied Blackmoor, spilling the last drop of blood from the horn before returning it to its hook on the pole. ‘His spirit is here, but His body remains below. We must proceed to the final act. The virgin sacrifice that will bring Him forth. We must not delay…His patience will run dry if we do not act quickly. We must get the girl.’

  King nodded and began walking to the door. ‘Wait!’ shouted Bronwyn. ‘Let me. Please?’

  Blackmoor looked at her with suspicion and surprise. As terrified as she was, Bronwyn managed to maintain her composure as she continued: ‘Professor Blackmore, I know Chloe…I mean the girl. She will trust me if I go to her. If he goes,’ she said, pointing to King, ‘the girl will only struggle and scream and delay our objective. If I go, however, I am sure she will come with me freely and without any resistance. It will make it easier for all of us. Please; will you let me do this for Him?’

  Blackmoor rubbed his chin and considered her request. ‘Very well,’ he said, ignoring the disapproving look on King’s face. ‘You can get her. But hurry; we don’t want to try His patience.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’ She hurried to the door and turned the key in the lock. Opening the door, she crouched down and shuffled through into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Benedict,’ said King, when she was gone. ‘Far be it from me to question your wisdom, but do you think it is wise to allocate such an important task to her? Should I not have been the one to bring the girl here?’

  ‘Patience, Reuben. Is there not good reason behind everything I do? I thought I would set a test for our young nymphet. A test of her loyalty…a loyalty that I believe is beginning to falter somewhat.’ He closed his eyes and smiled, revelling in the room’s electrified atmosphere. He’s here, he thought, almost floating now with the dark energy around him. Just one more sacrifice. But King’s right…she can’t be trusted with the girl. ‘My friend,’ he said, opening his eyes and glancing across the room to King. ‘You’re right. I would like you to follow her and make sure she behaves herself. We can’t afford any last minute mishaps. Off you go.’

  Pulling down the hood of his robe to reveal his wide, bald head, Reuben King wasted no time in getting to the door, snatching it open and disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. If that cheating whore is up to something, he thought, I will take great pleasure in punishing her…great pleasure indeed.

  Chapter 18

  5.45pm: ‘It’s no use,’ said Ben, turning away from the door. ‘We can shout all we want, but nobody’s going to come. There’s nobody out there to hear us.’

  Cara didn’t reply. She still had some fight left in her, although she couldn’t deny feeling increasingly frustrated. Her mind flashed to Jennings, bound and helpless in his final moments. At least he never gave them the satisfaction of seeing him afraid; I could see the resolve in his eyes. If only I’d been stronger…maybe I could have done something. Maybe I could have –’

  The sound of footsteps approaching them broke her chain of thought. ‘Listen! There’s someone coming,’ she whispered. ‘Hold your nerve, Ben. This may be our one and only chance to get out of here.’ Her hand automatically dropped to the empty space on her belt that would normally have held her truncheon. ‘We better be careful,’ she said, taking a couple of precautionary steps away from the door. ‘Get ready.’

  Ben wasn
’t listening to her. ‘Hello…hello…is there anybody there? We’re in here,’ he shouted, banging his fist against the door. ‘Can you let us out? Please!’

  The footsteps grew closer until eventually they stopped outside their door. A voice came from the other side, a woman’s voice, instructing them to be quiet. Cara knew immediately who it belonged to; the slightly nasal, Antipodean twang unmistakeable. ‘Bronwyn!’ she shouted, unable to conceal her excitement. ‘Bronwyn, we’re in here!’

  ‘Ssshhh,’ came the reply from the other side. ‘Be quiet, will you? I’ve come to get you out of here.’ The sound of a key turning in a lock was followed by the door being pushed open, the faint light of the hallway serving as a much needed antidote to the near pitch-black darkness inside the room. Cara could tell immediately by looking at her that the old Bronwyn was back: the vacant expression and glazed eyes had been replaced by signs of life…and fear.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Cara asked, glancing down the corridor behind her friend to check that this wasn’t all a big joke and that Blackmoor and his gang weren’t skulking in the shadows behind her. ‘How did you get away? Where are the others?’

  ‘We haven’t got time for all that now. They’re waiting for me in the Round Room; they’re expecting me to return with Chloe.’ She noticed the pupils of Ben’s eyes dilate at the mention of his daughter’s name. ‘Look…we haven’t got long. They’ll be coming for me any minute now.’ She suddenly thought of the presence in the Round Room; the laughter, the coldness…the evil. Then another thought hit her, prompting her heart to pound even harder against her chest. She looked at Ben. ‘If those murdering bastards get their hands on Chloe before we do, we’ll all be done for. They need your daughter to complete the ceremony.’

  ‘What ceremony?’ asked Cara.

  ‘They’re trying to summon some kind of demon or evil spirit…maybe even the Devil himself. And if we don’t get Chloe out of here right now, I’m pretty sure they’re going to do just that.’

  Cara shook her head disbelievingly. ‘I don’t know what in God’s name you’re banging on about, Bronwyn, but I’m not about to waste time arguing with you. Come on, let’s go.’

  The three of them set off down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen, Bronwyn leading the way - left, right and then left again - until a short while later they arrived at the opening. The trapdoor was closed, and even though she told herself not to, Cara turned to see Jennings still hanging there; his head drooping down against his chest. A wave of sadness flowed over her and caused her eyes to well up with tears.

  Fortunately for Ben, he didn’t notice Jennings; he was far too focused on saving his daughter. Instead, he made directly for the trapdoor, flinging it open and heading downstairs, hardly sparing a second thought for the dried pool of his own blood on the top step. He disappeared from view. Bronwyn started after him, but was pulled back by Cara. ‘Let him go,’ she said. ‘He’ll get her. We’ll be better off standing guard up here.’

  ‘How very wise of you, although I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?’ Bronwyn and Cara spun around to see the stout figure of King standing in the open doorway, his broad features dark and menacing against the weak candlelight. He looked at Bronwyn, who cowered away in fear. ‘I knew all along you would turn out to be a traitor,’ King said. ‘I knew you couldn’t be trusted, you lying, cheating…cunt of a witness. Your role here is no longer necessary – He is with us now. How unfortunate for you that you have become…surplus to requirements.’ He moved slowly towards her, his face now clearly visible, his eyes wild and potent. Without warning, her legs gave way under her and she dropped to the floor, quivering with fear as he drew nearer to her.

  ‘Hey, limp-dick…get away from her.’ Cara didn’t know where this sudden surge in bravado came from, and for an instant she regretted her outburst, but the fire was now in her belly; she was no longer afraid of the man who had killed her partner in cold blood, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him do the same to her friend. ‘You know,’ she continued, ‘you’re nothing more than a coward, wagging your tail like a stupid puppy whenever your master calls you. You lot won’t last two minutes in a place like Shepherd’s Cross: out here they breed real men; not feeble bullies like you and your halfwit boss. You’re pathetic, do you know that?’

  King turned away from Bronwyn and faced Cara, doing all he could to keep his temper under control. He tried to smile, but Cara could tell she’d rattled him. A vein near his right temple pulsed angrily, and his short, stubby fingers curled up into fists. He began walking towards her, forcing her to step backwards in the direction of Sergeant Jennings’s lifeless corpse. She was unarmed, but her face showed no fear. She knew in all likelihood that he would get the better of her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for mercy. She smiled at him. ‘You know what they say about bullies, don’t you? That they never pick on anyone bigger than them; that they only prey on the little guy. That’s what you are, Mr King; an ugly, fat, impotent bully.’ She shuddered as she backed into Jennings, feeling his dangling legs against her back. She could go no further. Without taking her eyes away from the approaching King, she lifted her hand up and felt blindly for Jennings’s hand, wanting his reassurance for the last time. As her hand moved up, it caught against his belt, and then brushed past the hard, black truncheon that was still attached to it. Her mind-set immediately switched from stoic resignation to hope; the firm feel of the weapon against her fingers sparking her survival instinct and igniting her desire to fight back.

  King reached her and held out his arms, taking her throat into his hands. She put up no resistance, wanting instead to draw him as near to her as possible. Her hand slipped further around the truncheon, until she was sure that she had a firm grip. ‘They say that strangulation is one of the most painful ways to die,’ he said to her, his foul breath almost making her retch all over him. ‘Of course, I don’t know if that is true. Perhaps you can tell me if we meet again in the next life.’ He began to squeeze, slowly increasing the pressure until it became unbearable.

  Cara knew that it was now or never. Straining every muscle in her neck, she hissed: ‘Go to hell…you murdering bastard.’ She saw the confusion in his eyes, and without waiting any longer, she yanked the truncheon from its clasp and swung her arm down towards him. Fate or good luck, it didn’t matter; the end result was the same. The truncheon caught King on the side of his head, the hard rubber striking against his skull with a resounding thud. He collapsed like a punctured lung, clutching the side of his head as he fell to the floor. Cara wasted no time in lashing out a second time, bearing down on him with a wild scream, an image of Sergeant Jennings flashing behind her eyes, only to be consumed by the red mist that surrounded her. Again and again she laid into him, pounding his body like a boxer pounds a punch-bag, until eventually the last of the strength in her right arm left her. Panting heavily, she straightened up and backed away from him, dropping the truncheon onto the cold, concrete floor. King lay motionless, bleeding heavily from one of his ears; his face smashed to a pulp. Cara looked at him, feeling nothing but hate and anger.

  Ben emerged from the cellar carrying his daughter. Suspecting the worst, Cara’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she looked across at Chloe, her body lying limply in her father’s arms. Bronwyn climbed to her feet and ran over to them. ‘Oh Ben, what’s wrong with her?’ she asked. ‘Is she alright?’

  ‘I think so,’ he replied, setting her down on one of the work surfaces attached to the wall. ‘She’s breathing fine, but she won’t wake up. She seems exhausted, and she’s hot. I think she’s running a fever. But she’s alive.’ As he looked across at Cara, his eyes fell to the crumpled body of King and Sergeant Jennings hanging on the wall behind him. ‘Jesus Christ – what happened to them? Did you –’

  Cara stopped him. ‘There’s no time for that now. We need to get out of here. What’s the best way, Bronwyn?’

  ‘We need to stay well clear of the R
ound Room. That’s off to the right, so I reckon we’re best heading left to the dining room – if we pass through that it takes us straight to the main entrance. They’ll come for us though, you do know that? They can’t summon that…that creature without Chloe.’

  ‘Okay,’ Cara said. ‘But we only have to make it as far as the Land Rover – it’s not parked far from here. If we can get back to The Cross we should be safe.’ She remembered the keys that Jennings had slipped under the sun visor; it was as if he had known there would be a chance that they’d need to make a run for it without him.

  Ben clasped his fingers together and flexed his arms, before lifting his daughter off the worktop and holding her closely against him. ‘Ready?’ he asked, looking at Cara and then Bronwyn.

  ‘Ready.’

  ‘Ready.’

  They headed out of the kitchen, Cara pausing to retrieve Jennings’s bloodied truncheon that she’d left lying on the floor beside King. She took one last look at her superior, before looking at down at King. She was glad she’d killed him.

  It didn’t take long before they reached the dining room’s double doors that Cara and Ben – and Jennings before them – had so carefully tiptoed past only a short while earlier. Ben stood outside them, unwilling to push them open; his mind imagining Blackmoor, Gowland and Wilson to be waiting behind them. Bronwyn didn’t share Ben’s trepidation, almost knocking him over to get past; desperate now to escape the nightmare she’d been made to endure. She flung the doors open, revealing an empty room, the only sign of life being the abandoned fire that by now had burnt down to glowing embers. ‘Over there,’ she said, pointing across the room to another door. ‘The entrance hall’s behind that. Come on, we’re almost there.’

  Cara and Ben struggled to keep up with Bronwyn as she sprinted across the dining room to the other door. Luckily for them, they hadn’t seen or felt what she had back in the Round Room. She knew that Blackmoor wouldn’t let them escape that easily; his whole world was devoted to raising that evil beast from hell. She was certain it was only a matter of time before he came for them.