Hiding From the Light (51 page)

‘No.’ Emma tried to push her away. ‘No, Lyndsey. I’ve had enough. I am not going to do this. It’s dangerous and I’m scared! I want you to leave.’

Lyndsey raised her hand and gave Emma a stinging slap on the face. ‘Pull yourself together. Stand aside. Let Sarah in!’

‘I won’t. I won’t, Lyndsey. You can’t make me. I am not going to hurt Mike.’

‘You are going to kill Mike.’ Lyndsey hissed the words into her ear. ‘Do you hear me? It is the only way. You are going to kill him because Hopkins is inside him. Matthew Hopkins escaped you, Sarah. Do you remember? You waited and waited to have your revenge and he escaped you. Did he flee to America? Or did he die, drowning in his own blood? Or perhaps the people of Manningtree lynched him without you. Did they kill him before you got the chance? Remember how your anger festered, Sarah? Remember how you couldn’t be happy, even with your new husband and your children? It was Liza’s magic that gave you those children, wasn’t it, Sarah. You owed her everything. And you promised her, didn’t you Sarah, that you would avenge her one day.’

‘But Mike is not Hopkins.’ Emma put her hands to her head, clutching at the last shreds of her sanity. ‘Mike is not him, Lyn. He’s not. And I am not Sarah!’ Desperately she turned, and running to the window she flung back the curtains. Scrabbling for the latch, she pushed the window open. ‘I am not Sarah!’ she cried out. ‘I’m not! And I’m not going to let her in.’ She was taking huge desperate gulps of cold night air.

Lyndsey smiled coldly. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. You have to stop fighting it. You have no choice. Sarah is here.’ She paused, raising her hand and pointing. ‘Look behind you, Emma. See her waiting? You and she have a job to do. A man is going to die tonight Emma, at your hand, and only then will history be satisfied.’

Jane Good had scrubbed the carpet of the rectory bedroom and removed the bedclothes and the rug, but the stains were still unmistakable on the floor in front of the window. Mike stood in the doorway and stared sadly round. She had found fresh bedclothes and made up the bed, but somehow he doubted if he would sleep in this room again. What on earth had Judith been doing sleeping in his bed anyway? Somehow he preferred not to pursue that thought.

Running downstairs, he went into the study. He had lit the fire there and every light was on. He was still thinking about Emma. He had to rescue her from Lyndsey and soon. At first he had been surprised at how young and innocuous Lyndsey looked, with her gamine hairstyle and her vivid blue eyes. Then he had seen the hatred in those eyes and he had felt himself waver. Somehow she seemed to have won Emma’s trust. But James Good would make sure all was well before he left. He would wait till Emma was asleep and Lyndsey was safely on her way.

Wouldn’t he?

He walked over to the fire and stood gazing down into it. He could feel Hopkins nearby. In the room. Watchful. So, he hadn’t entirely vanquished him during his vigil in the church. He turned and stared round, narrowing his eyes. ‘I’m a match for you, my friend. So, don’t try it, you hear me?’ He reached for Ruth’s silver cross which he was wearing under his shirt.

And now suddenly, he knew what he had to do. Somehow he had to give the cross to Emma. Her need was greater by far than his. His prayers were strong. Tony had seen to that. He was protected. But Emma was vulnerable. A hereditary witch indeed! He shuddered. Christ watch over her. Christ be with her, Christ within her …

The doorbell made him jump out of his skin.

He let Mark and Colin in and brought them into the study.

‘We thought we’d come back and give you some moral support. And fill you in on what’s been happening.’ Mark threw himself down into a chair. ‘Col and I are supposed to be in London first thing tomorrow but this is more important. Things have got right out of hand, Mike. And I do feel we’re a bit responsible. You warned us. You tried to stop us; that woman Lyndsey came to the shop twice, trying to stop us as well. She said we were going to have trouble.’

‘And you were both right.’ Colin nodded soberly. ‘The shop was trashed, Mike. All our equipment, cameras, film. There was writing on the wall.’ He shuddered. ‘In blood.’

‘We think,’ Mark put in.

‘The surviving time-lapse film shows that nothing happened for a long, long time, then suddenly stuff starts levitating and flying about the room, then the film goes blank.’

Mike was appalled. He could feel the cold back in the pit of his stomach. ‘No sign of anyone?’

‘No sign.’

‘So it couldn’t have been vandals?’

‘The door was locked. The windows weren’t broken.’

‘What about other people who have the key?’

‘A camera was pointing straight at the stairs, Mike! Anyone coming into that room would have shown up on the film, if only for a second. There was no one there. No one visible, anyway.’ Mark shuddered.

‘I think it’s time for your exorcism,’ Colin put in quietly. ‘Now that you’re back.’

‘And I suppose you want to film it?’

‘It would be nice. I can get a camera brought down here fast.’

‘And we would like your comments, Mike. You have to put the church’s side of it. At the moment the witches are making all the running.’

Mike heaved a deep sigh. He threw himself down in the chair facing his desk and put his head in his hands. ‘I’d have to consult the bishop about filming.’ He reached for his diary. ‘And I’m going to contact the diocesan deliverance team now.’ Their number was pencilled inside the front cover. He dialled, listened, and thumped the receiver down with an unecclesiastical curse. ‘Where is everybody tonight! Just when we need them.’

Behind them the fire flickered, licking at the logs. There was a hiss as a drop of rain made its way down the tall chimney. Upstairs a door banged.

Mark and Colin exchanged glances. ‘So, what do we do?’ Mark asked nervously. ‘Presumably they – whoever they are – can’t reach us here?’

Mike glanced up at the ceiling. ‘They killed Judith here.’

Mark frowned. ‘You mean you don’t think it was natural causes. Or at least a reaction to her medication? Warfarin, the chaps in the pub thought.’ He did not pass on their ribald comments about rats.

‘Judith was identified in someone’s mind with the woman who was the witch-pricker for Hopkins,’ Mike said slowly. He cleared his throat. ‘She died of a thousand pricks. She bled to death, murdered by a witch who sought revenge.’

‘Shit.’ Mark gave a violent shiver. ‘You really believe that?’

Mike nodded. ‘I think I do.’ He coughed.

Again the fire hissed. The flame died for a moment, then flared an angry acidic yellow.

Clearing his throat, Mike reached for the phone again. ‘I’ll try another number. There’s something building up again. I can feel her in my head, searching for him.’ He frowned. He was breathing heavily, the sweat standing out on his forehead. Reaching into his pocket he found a handkerchief and dabbed at his face distractedly as the phone rang on unanswered. ‘Isn’t there a single clergyman at home anywhere this evening?’ he asked desperately. He closed his eyes for a moment.
Christ be with me, Christ within me
.

She was there, so close inside his head. He could feel the hatred. Slamming down the receiver, he fought back the paroxysm of coughing he could feel building in his chest.

‘Pray with me. We have to hold her off. She’s looking for Hopkins.’ He could taste the iron in his throat now, feel the blood welling from somewhere inside his lungs. ‘Jesus Christ be with us here.’ He clamped the handkerchief against his mouth.

Mark took a step towards him. ‘Oh, God! Mike! Shall I ring for an ambulance? What do you want us to do?’

‘An ambulance can’t do anything.’ Mike coughed again. ‘Let’s get out of here, to the church. I feel safer there. Why can’t I hold her at bay?’ He staggered to his feet. ‘The key. Where is the key?’ He dragged open the top drawer of his desk, scrabbling wildly amongst pencils and paperclips till he found the large iron key. ‘In the church I can contain her. She can’t get to my lungs. I drove her away in church before. I can do it again. The bitch. She’s trying to kill me!’

He grabbed his already wet jacket and forced his arms into the sleeves. Mark and Colin looked at one another, each seeing the fear in the other’s eyes before they followed him out of the door into the dark.

The three men ran across the gravel towards the gate and out into the lane, heading for the church which lay in darkness. Mike fumbled for the iron latch on the gate, pushed it open and they ran up the path between the dark yew trees, splashing through the mud. The light was on in the porch, where a forty-watt bulb barely lit the notice which had been Sellotaped to the door:

‘Oh, God.’ Mike looked at the notice. ‘Judith was going to take the service. I wonder who put the notice up.’ He was scrabbling with the key with shaking hands, trying to fit it into the lock. A trickle of blood ran down his chin.

‘Here, let me.’ Mark took the key from him and inserted it, pushing the heavy door open. They hurried in and Mark slammed it behind them. ‘How do I lock it? There’s no keyhole this side.’ His voice slid up in a panic.

‘Wedge it with something. Wait, I’ll get the lights.’ Mike was groping his way into the darkness.

Mark reached out and caught Colin’s sleeve. They stood without moving.

They heard Mike bang into something and swear under his breath, then suddenly the lights came on in the chancel. Mike had found a dishcloth amongst the flower arranging materials behind a curtain to the side of the main aisle. Mopping his face, he moved up to the altar, fighting back another paroxysm of coughing which racked his body.

‘Help me pray.’ He half turned to the others. ‘Do you know the Lord’s prayer?’

Mark and Colin nodded.

‘Our Father …’ Mike knelt in front of the altar, using one hand to prop himself upright. Mark went and stood behind him and after a moment’s hesitation Colin did the same. They recited the prayer together.

‘She is using some kind of psychic projection. Attacking me by making me imagine I’m someone I’m not.’ Mike could barely speak. ‘Either that or she really thinks I am possessed by Hopkins. It’s him she’s attacking. He died of TB.’ He coughed painfully.

‘Jesus!’ Colin said fervently. ‘What can we do?’

‘Keep praying.’ Mike was really struggling to talk now. ‘Pray with me. We can defeat this. We can send her packing.’ He reached under his shirt for the little cross and held it tightly.

He paused, collecting himself.

‘Sarah Paxman. I charge you in the name of Christ begone. You cannot touch me in the house of God. This is a place of holy sanctuary. You cannot harm any of us three here. My chest is whole and healed in the name of Jesus Christ; and may the soul of Matthew Hopkins be forgiven whatever sins he committed in his lifetime, so that he may rest in peace. I hereby commit him to the mercy and the keeping of Our Lord.’ He paused. The church was very silent. His chest was clearing and he felt stronger suddenly. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. He took a deep breath. ‘And now we pray for the safety and peace of thy daughter, Emma. Remove the spirit of Sarah Paxman from her. Make her strong. Save her from the powers of evil. Take the soul of Sarah – ’

‘
No!
’

A scream rang out through the church, echoing under the high beams of the chancel.

The three men reeled back, looking round. Mike recovered first. ‘Christ be with us, Christ within us. In the name of Christ, Sarah Paxman, begone. I command you, leave this place – ’

‘No.’ The voice was deeper now. Still recognisably female, and somehow all around them in the silence. ‘Emma is mine!’

‘Lord, grant rest to the soul of your servant, Sarah. Take her and give her peace. Save Emma from her. Hold her in the light.’ Mike’s voice was gaining strength.

There was a quiet laugh. ‘Emma is mine!’ The words resonated round the church. ‘By her own choice.’

‘Emma belongs to God!’ Mike stood up. He raised his hands. ‘In the name of Our Lord, Jesus Christ, leave her alone!’

‘I can’t reach him. He is fighting me.’

Emma subsided to the floor, exhausted. The voice was still not her own. She ran her fingers over her face wearily and looked up. Then she frowned. ‘Lyn?’ She stared round, confused.

‘It’s OK, Emma.’ Lyndsey took her hand and dragged her to her feet again. ‘We have to go outside. To the churchyard. We can focus the power there better, over the grave. Use all that dark energy from the mist. You can finish him there.’

Emma stared at her, disorientated. ‘I don’t want to go out. This is not right, Lyn. What have you made me do?’ She shook her head.

Lyndsey smiled. ‘I did nothing. It was Sarah. She has grown wonderfully strong. She is using both of us. The two women of her blood.’ She laughed in delight. ‘Come on, you have to get dressed.’ She pulled Emma to her feet and reached for her jeans and sweater, scolding and bullying until she was ready. Then she pushed her towards the door.

Emma was too tired, too dazed to argue. Somehow she found herself following Lyndsey down into the hall. Her arms were being forced into her jacket and her feet into her boots. ‘Hurry!’ Lyndsey’s face was animated, her eyes glittering with suppressed excitement. She reached for her bag which had been lying on the side-table. The little ebony-handled knife was still there on the coffee table, where the doctor had dropped it. Picking it up, she carefully tucked it in with the rest of her things. ‘I have my tools here. We will perform a ritual over the grave. It will reach him. The final push. We are so nearly there, Em!’

‘Where’s Mike now?’ Emma was staring round. Her eyes were unfocused. She felt drunk. ‘He came back. He was here.’

‘No, my dear. You went to see him. Here.’ Lyndsey tapped her own forehead. ‘He’s inside your head. But it wasn’t him, it was Hopkins, and it wasn’t you, was it. You were Sarah.’

‘Christ –’ Emma was groping for the words. ‘Christ be with me – ’ She broke off with a small cry as Lyndsey turned round and hit her, hard, across the mouth.

‘Shut up!’ She was furious. ‘Don’t say another word. You belong to the goddess now. Come on!’ She grabbed Emma by the wrist and pulled open the door.

Rain was still pouring down, slanting icily from the north. Lyndsey cursed silently. She had forgotten to bring the torch. Never mind. She had visited the churchyard so often now that she could have found her way over the wall blindfold. Somehow she dragged Emma with her, aware that every second they wasted Emma, the real Emma, was growing stronger and less confused.

‘Go on.’ She half pushed her, half dragged her over the wall and once they were safely over, caught her hand again, heading between the sodden thistles and brambles. She was breathing hard.

‘No. I’m tired.’ Emma was reeling. ‘Lyn, this is all crazy. What are we doing here? For God’s sake. I’m hallucinating.’

Lyndsey gave a grim smile. She was pulling her ritual tools out of the bag. ‘Stand here while I cast the circle.’ She manhandled Emma into the partial shelter of a tree. ‘That’s it. Now, don’t move.’

‘I can feel Sarah!’ Emma was shaking her head. ‘I wish she’d leave me alone.’

Lyndsey smiled again. ‘She will. One more time. That’s all it will take. She needs you, Emma. One more time and we will be rid of Hopkins forever. The town will be safe. The whole area will breathe more easily. His ghost and his evil memory will have gone for good. Only you can make it happen. You want to do that, don’t you?’ She stared hard into Emma’s face. In the dark they could barely see one another, but Emma could feel the power of the other woman’s personality reaching out towards her.

‘I am not going to do it, Lyn.’ Her voice was stronger now. ‘You can’t force me.’ She looked up at the sky. To the east the heavy cloud was a strange livid red, reflecting the lights of Felixstowe and Harwich. Beyond it was the dark.

‘I won’t need to force you, Emma.’ Lyndsey turned away. ‘She just needs to borrow your body. She is already part of you, Emma. Only this once. That’s all it will take.’ Quickly she was arranging the small glass candle-holders on the ground. In the lee of her jacket, with her back to the wind, she managed to strike a match but it was no use. She couldn’t light the candles. In a second she had given up. What did it matter? She glanced at Emma quickly and swore, the words lost in the wind. Emma was moving off towards the wall, back to the road, stumbling in the darkness. ‘No!’ Lyndsey grabbed her athame, the black-handled knife, out of the bag. Cast the circle, that’s all that was needed. Raise the cone of magic power. The strong, incredible magic power. Then bring Emma back and force her into the centre where she would be trapped. Then, at last, Sarah would fully be able to enter her soul and finish the job she had returned to earth to perform.