Rapture Falls (10 page)

“
Mrs.
Thomas I know that no words can ever be appropriate in situations like this, I can only say how sorry I am for your loss”, he explored her face to make sure that he was registering through what must have been a
doctor’s administered
chemical stupor.

“I know that this must be an impossible time for you, I can only offer one thing and that is to find answers”.

At this her face twitched in recognition for the first time a flicker of comprehension, she spoke.

“Did you know my Arwel?
”
her voice was strained but strong.

“Not as well as I would have liked I’m afraid, I am fairly new to the area, but your son was held in the highest esteem by everyone that I have spoken to”.

“Yes he was”, she answered immediately, it was a statement that held no opportunity for debate or contradiction. “He was always such a good boy” she continued, “After his father passed Arwel stayed with me, he liked to take care of me, he could have had his pick of any of the young women of the parish, but he knew his place and his obligations”, McCullum followed her eyes to yet another photograph of a smiling Arwel Thomas that hung from the wall, her eyes moistened once more.

“How was recently, was he unhappy, did he have any problems at home or in his private life?” McCullum knew that this was an accusatory question but he needed to see an honest reaction from the grieving mother.

“My son was wonderful” she replied curtly, “He had his mother and he had the lord to whom he prayed every day with devotion, every answer lies with god and now my son sits beside him as was gods will”.

McCullum noted this with puzzlement as it was the first mention of religion that he had heard in connection with the young man, as he wasn’t a religious man himself he searched for a way of furthering this enquiry without offending the woman through an indiscreet use of phrase.

“Arwel was religiously,..Active?” he ventured.

“Oh yes of course, my son was good god fearing child, he spent his hours serving the lord, attempting to bring the word to the heathens that walk among us” she left this hanging as she stared intently at McCullum for the first time, he took a shot in the dark.

“Amen to that” he said into his navel.

After a pause she seemed appeased. “Arwel was very active in the local community” she continued with pride, “Very well respected in our church organisation, he was always there with
our vicar Father

Jacobs at
St Paul
’s” her voiced slowed again as she seemed to realise that all of these things would never be undertaken again by her son, McCullum saw a window.

“Would it be ok if I looked around Arwels room?” he could already see that
Mrs.
Thomas had slipped back into herself again and raised himself from off the sofa and skirted the now softly weeping woman. He headed back into the entrance hallway and climbed the stairs, he was accompanied by another collection of Arwel photographs as he ascended
, the eyes were watchful and suspicious
. The landing was sparse, only one door of the four
that
he could see was open, it was immediately obvious that this was the room he sought.

The young detective’s room was immaculate, his single bed was covered with a plain pastel duvet, a compact wardrobe stood impassively next to a small well
kept wooden desk. There were no
wall adornments save for a pine shelf that held several police textbooks,
on the desk were several printed flyers all for organised activities for St Paul’s church, youth groups, community out-reach programs and several others all with one priests name connecting them all Andrew Jacobs. McCullum pulled open the top desk drawer, inside were various newspaper cuttings varying in age, all were articles featuring the same priest, the
stories
had been cut
out carefully but
the photographs of Father Jacobs had all been scratched out
with a
violent
slashing motion.
In the second drawer
was a very large and well worn bible
,
McCullum
hoisted the heavy book out and switched on the desk light. T
he pages of the bible were dog-eared and yellowing with age,
a cursory flick through revealed
several slashes of a highlighter pen scream
ing
out in luminous colour
, every word highlighted was the same “Grigori”.

             
Feral rage was brewing, Sam sat within th
e restrictions of the hire car
and its tomb held his activities in check much against his instincts. The 11th Order were stealing a march on them, they had already made their approach to the
one they sought, whilst the Grigori sat meekly like children and waited. He was not used to resting idle and every impulse he had was to rip the world asunder and cleave free the prize they hunted, tearing the flesh and freeing the blood of those who opposed.
Aza sat silently without betraying his emotions adding nothing to the argument; he was a ghost that drifted alongside them without participating whilst
Lucy sat in the
driver’s seat. T
he
combination of Aza’s inactivity and her
patience that she exuded tore at Sam’s very fabric, her attitude of waiting was becoming increasingly impossible to stomach but for now, at least for now, he had to bide.

             
Baine walked
purposefully
back to his apartment lightened by his decision
, he did not know just how his search would begin, but he knew that his decision to quest for the Cube had been heard
and would be very soon answered. For the first time in this existence he felt a responsibility for his actions and a purpose for his life, he was his own man, well his own being at least, the true nature of himself was still relatively unclear as was the consequences of his choice.
Once he found the Cube he would not have
to
fear slipping back into the darkness, into an unwelcome hibernation to awake again with no memory or purpose other than one laid before him like a woeful child. The Cube offered him salvation and freedom, a prize that he was now on the trail of and one that he would not be denied.
If every
thing that Gabriel had told him was true, and that was a subject still up for debate as far as he was concerned, there were forces more powerful than he
,
both supporting and opposing his selection of destiny. He obviously had a master that had guided him, the jobs that he had performed had all arrived at his feet unsolicited and he knew not how, whatever master had ruled his unconscious drifting life was bound to be pissed but now, so was Baine.

The
Grigori had sent two of its Nephilim to greet him and he had dispatched them straight back to hell, so let them come, let them all come and he’d burn them all down.

A
large padded envelope
greeted his arrival home, the
package
radiated intentions from its seated position outside of his door. The
envelopes exterior
did not carry any printed labels
or franking
indicative of delivery through any normal means, Baine picked up the
envelope
surprised at the weight
, he plucked a small pairing knife from the kitchen rack and slid the sharp blade along the
brown tape that sealed the package exposing its contents. Inside lay several glossy A4 photographs
, the first was of a church, scrawled across the picture was a name St Paul’s, and underneath was an address. The second photo was of a middle aged vicar identified by the dog collar, he was tall and lean with powder white medium length hair and a kindly smile that seemed to Baine to not quite touch his eyes, again written across the picture was a name “Father Andrew Jacobs” and a message that simply read “He knows”.

Baine pulled out an A-Z map that he frequently used for locating those who fell across his path in a professional sense,
he soon found the church’s location, it was situated in a pleasant enough looking suburban area towards the outskirts of the city. Baine checked his watch, it told him the time was
8.20pm
, he walked over to the lush ivory sofa and sat down, it was too late to pay Father Jacobs a visit now so he would have to wait until morning. Baine as always faced the window the lights from the city invaded his home and he welcomed their intrusion, he sat amongst the shadows and waited for dawn, passing his time with thoughts of encouragements for the priest.

             
McCullum sat,
waiting and trying
not to wilt
for his night had been busy
, the reality of his profession was far removed from fiction, “Stakeouts” as the American term dictated, were very dull and very long, not once in his experience had anything ever happened within five minutes of sitting down. Almost exclusively surveillance operations consisted of taking photo’s with long lenses at very drawn out intervals. So here he sat at a discreet distance from
St Paul
’s Church of the Holy Serenity to give it its full and distinguished moniker.
He had looked into the churches reputation as inconspicuously as he
did
not wanting his superiors, specifically DCI Jones, notified of his intentions to pursue the suicide of DC Thomas. He clentched the steering wheel in anger, his finger digging deep into the leather, no-one else had looked into the young detectives pleading eyes, no-one else had heard his mournful voice that had sought redemption, McCullum had, and now he had no choice but to find the truth.
The rank of DI allowed a certain level of independence and lack of questioning from the majority of his colleagues, he only had to avoid DCI Jones in order to pursue his objective.

The church itself had an excellent reputation amongst
the local community and beyond.
St Paul’s had many arms that encompassed its parishioners, from the regular religious services, it also operated a free crèche for local working
families
, many money raising charity functions and despite the relative lack of serious trouble amongst the local youths
,
the churches
Samaritan Knights
S
ociety seemed to be very popular. The
youth club had an impeachable status within the police themselves, during his surreptitious nosing McCullum had found that the levels of anti-social behavior within the territory of St Paul’s were practically nil and in any city in Britain in this day and age if you found that sort of success then y
ou worshipped the architect. This
architect in question
,
was Father Andrew Jacobs, a popular priest who hailed originally
from Ireland
, he was a man greatly respected and revered within his community. He had arrived in the parish around eight years ago and had set about his new environment with a whirlwind of actions, he had instigated all of
St Paul
’s outreach programs and within twelve months had raised the churches attendances tenfold so that now the church was the central hub of the community and everything flowed through it.
The fact that the church seemed to hold such sway had immediately raised hackles on McCullum, he put it down at first to his suspicious cynical nature, but as he moved through the local population
last evening
chatting casually with those in the local shops and parks under the guise of community relations
,
he soon found that the
almost blind reverence in which they held
St Paul’s and Fathe
r Jacobs
,
was
troubling
to a police officer who spent the majority of his time scrapping up the
remnants
of one
tyrant’s
retributions visited upon a
n innocent culture
.