Rapture Falls Page 7

  CHAPTER V

  SUBTLETY 101

  God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule

  over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over

  the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground."

  So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him;

  male and female he created them.

  Genesis 1:24-27

  Delores Griffin was sixty, broad and proud, with strong working shoulders that testified to a lifetime of hard labour, her thickly callused hands were clasped together in prayer as she looked down at the church office’s crimson stained floor, her life had nearly ended when she found dear Father Jacobs. The sight of all that blood first thing this morning had momentarily shocked her right down to her stocky ankles, she cursed herself for even for a second, doubting God’s plan and her part in it. Father Jacobs was by all accounts making a rapid recovery from injuries that she had been told were far less severe than had first seemed. One of the young adults from Father Jacobs’ youth group “The Samaritan Knights”, had supposed to be helping her but had not turned up. Justin Marsh was bright eyed and normally eager to help around St Paul’s, he was a local boy from a poor family who had all but abandoned him and he had been drifting as so many of the lost children had done since her day. Growing up Delores had been raised in a hard but loving home, her parents had instilled a life of God and work in her with an iron fist, unlike many of today’s lax families who seemed to believe that discipline was a dirty word. Before Father Jacobs had come to their parish the area had long since fallen into a moral decay, low wages and the ever increasing numbers of young parents, still nothing but children themselves, had began reproducing at an alarming rate. Groups of youths had started to gather with aimless lives to waste and chose to make others as miserable as they were, Father Jacobs, God bless him, had taken these wayward and lost souls and had gathered them unto him and into the embrace of the Lord. Soon those who had sought nothing more than mindless destruction and ruin began to exhibit signs of compassion and direction, the local area had been transformed as the churches outreach programmes started to pull in those who had seemed lost forever and transformed them as they transformed their own surrounding environment. Graffiti and rubbish were swept aside under a new broom of hope, those who had once sought only to damage were now repairing, the streets became safe to walk for everyone and those few who had not fallen in line had moved away without being seen again and good riddance. Delores had seen optimism run riot throughout the community as the church assumed its rightful place at the heart of the community, all things now ran through St Paul’s and she felt the pride of contributing in her own small way. She ran the churches schedules with military precision, from being the only volunteer to work at St Paul’s she now supervised sixteen others. They cleaned all corners of God’s house leaving the interior gleaming with pride, she organised the functions and rotas for activities such as the crèche and the soup kitchens, she personally cooked all of Father Jacobs’ meals and ran his diary. She was the only one granted access to the small rear office and now sat on her knees scrubbing the stone floor with cold harsh water and a coarse wooden brush, she ignored the screaming pain from her fingers as she paid her penance for arriving late this morning and not being at her masters side, the water ran red through the stone grooves as she attempted to eliminate the guilt through sheer effort and willpower.

  Baine sat dispirited and confused on the park’s cold wooden bench, the once leafy green expanse was now dark and cold, the skeletal tree arms stripped bare of their coverings hung thin shadows over the brown mushy ground. The park was deserted save for an intrepid dog walker in the distance flinging a stick for a mindless dog of some indiscernible breed to monotonously retrieve it. He was not yet broken but very close to it, his unshakable belief in his place atop the food chain had been shattered and the physical ease in which the priest had dealt with him had left an indelible mark. The corporeal wounds on his body had now faded away but their pain had sank deeper than the flesh, for the first time since this life, or any other he would wager, he had felt the debilitating gut wrench of fear and uncertainty. So he had wondered the streets allowing his injury’s to heal themselves in his customary manner, the priest had been faster and stronger than he could have imagined, he had been toyed with and patronised but a truly superior being. Now he stood at a metaphorical crossroads, his physical dissection had wounded him grievously, affecting his confidence more than anything. Gabriel had directed him to St Paul’s without any warning of just what awaited there, did Gabriel not know, was he perhaps not as powerful as he had led Baine to believe, perhaps Gabriel and the priest were somehow in league together, was the Cube truly real and did it hold the power attributed to it. The questions whirled around his head making him nauseous, normally his life had been laid out and simple, options were not an option, he was given a name, he followed that name until he took its life. Now he was awake, for the first time he stood alone, the choices splayed before him like a twisting confusing spaghetti junction and he hated it. The resentment burned deeply within him that he had been a tool of another, the stink of someone else’s clammy hands all over his life made him feel dirty and cheep and he was not eager to return to servitude. He knew in his dark heart that he would not be left alone now that his freedom was unmasked they would come to put him back into their box. Gabriel, the priest, the Grigori, the 11th Order he could not trust any of them, the one thing that he could place his trust in was the Cube, they all searched for it, so at the very least the Cube would provide him leverage as an item that they wanted. If he could find the Cube he would hold sway over those who sought it, even if the mystical powers were bullshit he would still hold power. He had tasted his first defeat and it was bitter, he did not care much for the lingering stench of failure that clung to him, he would have to play this smarter, he did not know just what he faced but he would not be caught short through over confidence again.

  McCullum sat in the small city centre bistro poring through the hardback notebook that held his thoughts and case musings, he did not favour the usual alcohol based settings of his colleagues and preferred a pleasant setting with good food and a pleasant accompanying wine. The assault at the church had as of yet revealed nothing, only within the confines of the television set were crimes complete witnessless mysteries, in real life you tended to find the culprit had been spotted several times over from several different angles. You could trace their movements within hours covering the whole crime from start to finish, fingerprints and or DNA were normally to be found in abundance at the scene and suspects were scooped within hours, normally wearing the same bloody clothes or even holding their ill gotten gains. This was different, no-one had seen anything and this was not the normal; potential witnesses said that they hadn’t seen anything but had, and merely did not want to get involved. All enquires had placed the priest, Father Jacobs, so far beyond reproach that it should have raised suspicions within McCullum’s keen senses, he knew this, but could still not find it within himself to alter his emotions. He approached this strange turn of events in an intellectual manner, he knew that his feelings of awe and an almost capitulation at the priest, had arisen quickly and had been slow to subside and only begun to ebb away with time and distance, but still left a bitter aftertaste. McCullum was a man who believed solely and arrogantly in his own eyes and ears, the idea that a man through force of will could control another with seeming ease belonged within the pages of fiction, but he had sat across from the priest and felt what he had felt, so therefore it existed, the only question now was what exactly it meant and what he intended to do about it. He stirred his cooling capochino, watching the swirling chocolate blend with the frothed milk making patterns that showed him faces and symbols as his mind drifted over the subject, probing and turning on all sides but as yet revealing nothing. He looked at his watch it read 5.37pm, the hospital had info
rmed him that Jacobs would be able to take visitors at 6.30pm, apparently the injuries suffered by the priest were not life threatening and barely serious. For PR reasons Superintendent Irving had taken over the supervision of the case and made a great show of being the officer to visit and question Jacobs taking along a surprisingly well groomed DCI Jones. The result of the press covered questioning had discovered a saintly priest plying his trade with a rather unsympathetic and unwilling teenager from a questionable background, the youth in question, one Justin March was being sought to aid the police with their enquires. Jacobs was said to be well and happy, charming the press, police and doctors alike and he was unwilling to press charges on the poor unfortunate child who had acted out of panic and fear, he merely wanted the wayward youth found for his own safety and pleaded for him via the evening news to come forward.

  McCullum stood and retrieved his jacket from the back of the stylish high backed Italian chair, he paid his bill at the till and headed out into the street, the bitter evening was on the march, stealing the fading sunshine and lengthening the shadows. McCullum headed for the taxi rank as he was always cautious over the mileage racked up in the police issued Mondeo, he waved over the nearest taxi that sat paused and eager to pounce, the blast of warm air from the cars interior buffeted him as he climbed into the rear. He gave the driver the hospitals destination and withdrew from the conversation before it began, the driver had obviously been in the business long enough to instantly spot those customers who wished to engage and those who did not. They drew into one of the hospitals “dropping off” parking bay, McCullum left the taxi with a generous tip as he had appreciated being left alone, he headed into the hospitals main reception area, he flashed his ID and requested the priests room. He was unsurprised to be directed to a large private room set within a private wing of rooms far removed from the general discomfort of the NHS wards. McCullum paused outside of the room there were many voices emanating from within, most seemed to be gushing, he sought to steel himself as he had already started to feel excited at the prospect of meeting the priest again, an involuntary smile had spread across his face. He summoned up every ounce of self control and turned back around in the narrow corridor, there was a lone nurse’s cart at the far end of the corridor he headed for it. He looked around to make sure that he was unwatched before rummaging through the cart, quickly he found what he wanted, a new and sealed hypodermic needle, he stripped off the covering and slipped it into his right hand trouser pocket. He walked slowly back to the Jacobs room feeling the pleasant sleepy draw of the priest creep over him again, he placed his right hand into his right pocket, his hand wrapped around the hypodermic and his fingers found the sharp point of the needle, he positioned his thumb over the needles point and pushed down the instant sharp pain snapped his world back into focus, he had one thumb and four fingers, he hoped that it would give him enough time. He was about to enter the room when he was unsurprised to hear the priests voice.

  “Do come in Inspector”.

  McCullum took a deep breath and entered the lions den.

  The church stood dark and hollow, without its master it became once again a building of heartless stone, devoid of life and holding but one inhabitant Delores Griffen, she walked its floors carrying the echo of sorrow for her fallen priest. St Paul’s waited for de Payens return, its flowing lifeblood and energy sat confined to another’s bed for the night, the shadows lengthened within its darkening corners and it could but wait. Delores would not leave, she could not, long after the last dust particle was dispatched, the last hall was swept and the last inch was polished, the overpowering aroma of lemon scent was all that hung in the air save for Delores’ heartache. Delores paced the worshipped ground almost wearing a groove in the centuries old stone ground. Everything must be perfect she obsessed with a sweating zeal that drove her shattered mind and body onwards, everything must be perfect for her master’s return, she grabbed a gaudy bright yellow duster and attacked the nearest pew once again, the wooden bench’s varnished surface cried for mercy but she viciously ploughed on.

  Baine watched St Paul’s drowned in black he wore black combats and a black sweatshirt cover within the night sky, the church now felt empty, lacking the intense power of his morning visit, the priest was obviously the battery on which the church ran and without him the building was merely a building once again. He circled twice for safety and assured himself of the one occupant, from her duties she was apparently a cleaner or housekeeper of some sort, from her age she could not be a vicar’s wife matched to de Payens age. Despite the seeming lack of threat Baine proceeded with extreme caution, he did not fancy running into another of de Payens ability after being dispatched so effortlessly the first time. He slipped silently over the rear ground railings and landed in a rectangle base filled with white marble chippings and faced with a large black granite headstone. He proceeded toward the church using the graves with filled surrounds as leaving footprints in the wet grass was now not part of his new careful approach. Baine’s footwork was downright dainty as he sprang from grave to grave making sure to not leave any disturbing marks and avoiding all vases and memorabilia left by the grieving before reaching the gravel path that encased St Paul’s. He edged his way back to the now destroyed door which had earlier aided his escape, the very thought of him having to escape anything filled his gut with churning anger. The doorway was now covered with a sheet of opaque heavy duty plastic in a temporary attempt to secure the church against unwanted visitors, Baine plucked the small tacks on one side of the sheet with a small multi-tool that was clipped to his belt and squeezed into St Paul’s leaving the plastic still covering the hole but unpicked on one side, enough to slip past but not enough slack to flutter and attract attention. The church was angry at his presence but powerless to prevent it, the only sound on offer was the soft female weeping emanating from the rear office. A firelight glow flickered its dancing light around the ajar door, Baine walked stealthily toward the room. He reached out and pushed open the door, Delores was sitting in the priests chair facing the warming heat of the fire, she turned slowly to face him the misty tears in her eyes prevented instant realization of a lack of recognition.

  “I’m sorry son but the church is closed, we, we’ve suffered a terrible tragedy, but by God’s grace we’ll come through and so will Father Jacobs who is lying in a hospital bed this very evening, is that.., is that why you’re here to pay your respects?” she asked.

  “Not exactly lady, I put him there” Baine answered absently, he was looking around the room seeking anything that would catch his attention anything that he could use.

  Delores heaved herself out of the chair shaking incredulously with rage “You, you did that, you heathen, you monster” she walked toward him trembling with hatred.

  Baine turned a dismissive amount of his attention momentarily back towards her “Lady, sit the fuck back down and keep out of my way”

  She continued to approach him, her eyes burned but her body seemed frail, however after this mornings festivities Baine was not in the mood to take chances, he stepped into her approach and smashed her full in the face, by the way she instantly crumpled Baine knew that she had been no physical threat, he mentally shrugged to himself and stepped over her fallen form and around to the large wooden desk from which de Payens had pulled his mojo book this morning. The desk held two large drawers on either side, beneath which sat a large cupboard door, of the four drawers and two doors only one door was locked, Baine started with that. Before his altercation with grandma his intention had been one of stealth and a lack of detection but now that she was laid out on the woven round rug all bets were off, he carried a set of lock picking tools but they were no longer necessary. He gripped the small pewter handle and ripped the whole door from its moorings, he disguarded the door and sank to his knees in order to peer in to the cupboard at eye level. The interior revealed only one item, the priest’s book, it had been returned back into its resting place presumably by the now bleeding house
keeper, he pulled it out and hefted its weight, it was surprisingly heavy, the binding was an unusual dark coarse leather which carried a strange odor and no discernable markings. Baine knelt before the firelight and opened the book, the pages were thick and dry, the words were of an indistinguishable language and written in red scratches, despite the ancient age of the workings Baine’s nose picked up the scent of faint blood remnants contained within the pages, obviously accounting for the text’s red colouring. The book was full of page after page of strange symbols and drawings that made no sense, the words were written in styles and forms that appeared to be in many differing languages, all of whom he did not recognise. Baine pondered, he was stood in the middle of a crime scene, a building that he had broken in to, a room that he had ransacked, a housekeeper that he had assaulted and he was holding a stolen book that he could not read, it was definitely time to leave.