Rapture Falls (14 page)

             
Ba
ine 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. H
e 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 confu
sing spaghetti junction and he hated
it
. T
he 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, th
e Grigori,
the 11
^th
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 ba
sed settings of his colleagues and
preferred a pleasant setting with good food and a pleasant accompanying wine. T
he 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
with
in 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 place
d
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 h
ad 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, p
robing and turning on
all sides but as yet revealing nothing. He looked at his watch it read 5.37pm, the hospital had informed 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 P
ayens 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. H
e 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 ang
r
y
at his prese
nce but powerless to prevent
it
,
the only sound on offer was the soft female weeping emanating from the re
ar 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.