Shepherd's Cross (18 page)

Blackmoor opened his arms, inviting the
boy to join him. ‘Come here,’ he said to him, beckoning him over. ‘I can help
you.’

The boy stared helplessly into Blackmoor’s
eyes, drowning in their depths just as his father and brothers had before him.
Without saying a word, he stood up and walked slowly towards him, like an
abandoned lamb searching for its mother.

Blackmoor smiled, and drew out his
knife.

3.30pm:
They’d hardly spoken to one another for almost an hour now, preferring instead
to pass the time by half-heartedly attending to paperwork and minor
administrative duties. If the truth be told, neither Cara Jones nor Brian
Jennings was in much of a mood for talking as they awaited the imminent arrival
of Mick Carter. They didn’t know what to expect; how could they? How could they
begin to understand the thoughts that would be running through the mind of a
man who’d just lost two of his children in such a tragic way? All they could do
was hope that they could manage to keep him calm, while at the same time
preparing themselves for the distinct possibility that keeping calm would be
the last thing he was likely to do.

For what must have been the twentieth
time in as many minutes, Jennings checked the clock on the Station wall and
then looked at his watch to make doubly sure it was telling him the correct
time. He and Cara had been waiting in the Station for over an hour now; Carter
had agreed to come for three o’clock, but as yet there was still no sign of
him. Jennings stood up and went to the window, peering through the blinds to
see if he could see him approaching. When it became evident that he wasn’t, he
began pacing the floor of the Station like a caged tiger: back and forth, back
and forth; his eyes focusing on the floor in front of him. Cara pretended not
to notice him, trying to keep her eyes on the computer screen. The atmosphere
was tense enough without her adding to it by questioning the state of her
boss’s mental health. Of course he wasn’t alright – why would he be, given the
circumstances? She wasn’t exactly the happiest camper in the park either. Far
from it. She’d never had to deal with a situation like this before; or anything
that had come even remotely close to it. Jennings had told her earlier that she
didn’t need to be here when Carter came, that perhaps it would be better if he
handled the situation alone, but Cara had insisted otherwise. She wanted to be there
to support him; she wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving the two men alone together.
Besides, what if Carter lost his temper and tried to tear the place apart? What
if he came armed, ready to take his anger out on Jennings? After all, hadn’t
Jennings been responsible for the boys’ welfare? Couldn’t he,
shouldn’t
he, have realised that something was wrong? No; there was no way on earth she
was prepared to leave him to face Mick Carter alone.

Jennings suddenly stopped pacing and
rushed to the window again, looking up and down the street as if he had heard
someone coming. When he was absolutely sure that there was nobody there, he
sighed and returned to his seat on the opposite side of the desk to Cara. ‘Where
the hell is he?’ he asked. ‘He was supposed to be here over half an hour ago.
It’s not like it’s your average run-of-the-mill appointment down at the
dentist, is it?’

‘Maybe he’s got stuck in the snow,’ she said,
keen to try and fire up a conversation. ‘Do you think we should try to call
him?’

‘I’m not sure he even has electricity,
never mind a telephone,’ replied Jennings. ‘He’ll not be stuck, either; he’ll
be coming in his tractor. I’m telling you, Cara, something’s not right. No man
in his right mind would turn up late to see his dead children. What could be
more urgent than that?’

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘But you know,
there’s always the chance that he’s changed his mind. I mean, it can’t be easy
for him to come down here knowing what’s waiting for him.’

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t stack up, but
maybe you’re right. Either way, I’m not prepared to wait here all afternoon to
find out. I’ll give it another half an hour. If he decides to come any later
than that, he’ll just have to wait ‘til tomorrow.’

‘Oh, that reminds me,’ said Cara. ‘Headquarters
called earlier. They’re bringing a team in on Monday. That’s the earliest they
can get a council plough to clear the road all the way up here. The council’s
operating with a skeleton crew as it is, and it would appear that Shepherd’s
Cross isn’t a priority, dead people or no dead people.’

‘Skeleton crew? The lazy buggers!’

‘Council cuts, I’m afraid. They’ve
clamped right down on weekend overtime. They’ve taken all the goodwill out of
the job. I’m not surprised the staff are holding firm.’

‘Hmm…all the same, it’d be nice if
we
could just turn up to work whenever we felt like it. Still, I suppose another
day or so isn’t going to hurt.’

‘Do you think we ought to go down and
check on them?’ Cara asked.

‘What for - in case they’ve decided to
smuggle some booze in and invite a few mates over for a sly game of cards?’ He
noticed the hurt expression on Cara’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, the tiredness
in his voice evident as he spoke. ‘I know you’re only trying to be helpful.
This can’t be easy for you, either. How are you bearing up?’

Cara smiled. ‘Oh, you needn’t worry
about me, Sarge. I’m tougher than you think. To be honest, I’m more concerned
about you. You look exhausted.’

Jennings removed his glasses and placed
them on the desk. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘I can’t
remember the last time I was so tired.’

‘Then why don’t you go home to bed?’ she
asked. ‘Try to get some sleep. It doesn’t look like Carter’s coming any time
soon, and there’s nothing else needing your attention. Besides, I’m meant to be
the officer on duty…I can cope. And if I need your help, I know where to find
you. Come on, Sarge’ she said. ‘It isn’t doing you any good at all just sitting
here.’

Jennings smiled at his deputy. He really
did think the world of her: in all his years spent training up new recruits,
he’d never encountered anyone with such a compassionate and altruistic nature;
a true heart of gold in a cynical profession like theirs. He pretended to be
serious and gave her a firm, stiff salute. ‘Yes, ma’am!’ he said, ‘Understood,
ma’am…loud and clear!’

The two officers shared a laugh
together; unusually for them, it was the first time they’d done so all day.
Jennings wiped his glasses with a nearby tissue and rested them back on his
nose. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m not much use here. And I could certainly do
with the rest. I’ll hang around ‘til four o’clock, just in case Carter turns
up. After that, I suggest we both get out of here – I don’t want you stuck here
by yourself if he decides to drop by later. No way. By all means, divert the Station
phone to the Youth Hostel, but don’t stay here alone. It’s too dangerous. I’d
never forgive myself if something happened to you while I was tucked up in bed
with my fluffy hot water bottle!’

‘Okay,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, it’ll give
me more time to doll myself up for my hot date tonight.’

‘Hot date?’ he asked. ‘I wasn’t aware of
any date – you kept that quiet, didn’t you?’

‘He only asked me a couple of hours ago.
It’s not really a date; more of a dinner-type thingamajig. To tell you the
truth, I don’t know if I can be bothered now. I’m pretty tired myself.’

‘Rubbish, woman. You’re only a bairn!
When I was your age…well, actually when I was your age I would have still been
tucked up in bed with a fluffy hot water bottle…but, if I was your age again,
I’d be out there having fun and enjoying myself. You only live once, you know?’

‘I suppose you’re right. And he is
rather dishy, even if I say so myself.’

‘May I ask who the lucky man is? I’m
only interested in a professional capacity, of course.’

‘Ben Price.’

‘What, the Ben Price who loves nothing
more than to spend his evenings howling at the moon?’

‘Yep – the very same. Although I think
you’ll find he was having a nightmare, actually. Even I’m not desperate enough
to start dating werewolves. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Oooohh…there’s no need to be so
defensive! Well, at least you’ve gone for somebody with a few quid, I’ll give
you that. Then again, I never had you down as a gold digger.’

Cara reached over the desk and playfully
slapped his face. ‘How dare you? I’ll have you know that I couldn’t give two
hoots if he has any money or not. He’s a nice man, that’s all. Anyway, I’m only
going over to his place for dinner; I’m not intending to marry the bloke.’

‘You never know,’ said Jennings. ‘As
The
Boss
himself once said, ‘you can’t start a fire without a spark.’’

‘The Boss?’ asked Cara.

‘You’re joking, aren’t you?
The Boss
– Bruce Springsteen. Dear me, what do they teach kids at school nowadays?
Seriously though, date or not, I’m happy for you. It’s about time you enjoyed
the company of someone your own age.’

‘I suppose so,’ she replied. ‘Hopefully
it will give my mind a chance to think about something other than inverted
crosses, scary old Halls and dead…’ She stopped mid-speech, tears welling up in
her eyes; the thought of Jed and Lee lying in the basement downstairs too much
for her to take in.

Jennings stood up and went to her side,
allowing her to bury her head into his chest as he put his arms around her. ‘I
know,’ he said. ‘I know. I can’t believe it either. In all my years…why in the
hell couldn’t I see it coming? All those times I went downstairs to tell them
to stop making such a racket – why didn’t I pick up on the fact that the shit
was about to hit the fan?’

Cara composed herself and went to his
defence. ‘Dr Barrett said this morning that he believed drugs may have been
partly responsible for causing Lee to suddenly flip out,’ she said. ‘If that
proves to be the case, it’s hardly surprising that you missed it, Sarge.
Whatever happened last night was not your fault; there was nothing you could
have done to either foresee it or prevent it. You do understand that, don’t
you?’

Jennings sighed. ‘I don’t know,’ he
replied, his head now in his hands. ‘I guess so. But maybe I
could
have
done something differently…handled it better. Although you should have seen the
way they laid into the Woodsman boy; they half-killed the poor kid. I
had
to lock them up, it was the only thing to do.’

‘And there was a pub full of people who
can back you up on that, wasn’t there?’

‘Yes, there was. Not that…’

‘And you told me that you checked on
them several times in the night, didn’t you? And that when everything had
finally gone quiet, you assumed that they’d simply fallen asleep?

‘What’s your point, Cara?’

‘My point is that whoever HQ decides to
send here on Monday morning, and however they go about investigating it, there
is no way on earth they can pin any of this on you, do you hear me? As far as I
can see, you did everything by the book, as you always do. You’re a good man,
Brian Jennings, and an even better Policeman.’

‘Thanks, Cara. I appreciate it; I really
do. And for what it’s worth, I know you’re right. I know I wasn’t responsible.
It just might take me a little while to come to terms with it, that’s all.’

‘Of course it will.’ She shifted her
gaze to the window and sighed. ‘I don’t know – this weather – it feels like
it’s closing in on us. I hate feeling hemmed in like this; everything’s so dark
and depressing. I feel trapped.’

‘Which is exactly why you need to go on
that date tonight,’ said Jennings, trying to lighten the mood.

‘Okay, okay, I will. I promise.’

‘Mind you, I want to hear all the gory
details, do you hear?’

Cara smiled. ‘You know, Sarge – for an
old man, you can be such a woman sometimes!’

‘Being nosy…I mean curious…comes with
the territory. Now, why don’t you stick the kettle on and make this old man a
nice cup of tea, eh? Make it quick though; if Carter doesn’t get here in the
next ten minutes, we’re shutting up shop.’

‘Good thinking,’ she replied, taking
their cups from the desk and heading off to the kitchen.

Jennings watched her as she walked away,
before going to the window to take another look outside. Still no sign of the
man he was waiting for. He walked back to his desk and slumped into his chair,
feeling like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He leant back in his chair and stared up
at the ceiling. How was he to know that he would never be seeing Mick Carter alive
again?

5.00pm:
‘I’ve never known your powers to be so strong, Benedict,’ said King, decanting
red wine into a tall glass and offering it to Blackmoor. ‘The momentum appears
to be firmly with us.’

‘Thank you, Reuben,’ replied Blackmoor,
taking the glass from his assistant and lifting it to his lips. He closed his
eyes, savouring the dark, warm liquid; swirling it around his tongue in
appreciation of its ripe, mature flavours. The witnesses were seated around the
mahogany table in the dining room of Fellside Hall, the flickering light from
an ornate candelabrum in the centre of the table illuminating their faces and
projecting shadows onto the walls behind them. In spite of there being five
people present, only three of them – Blackmoor, King and Ted Wilson – were of a
composure that enabled any kind of meaningful discourse. Bronwyn Hess and Frank
Gowland remained under the deep, controlling influence of Blackmoor’s recent
hypnosis; their presence in the room being purely physical for the time being.
Outside, the world had already submerged into darkness: an inhospitable wind
was howling around the Hall like a restless, tormented spirit; feverously
searching for a means of entering inside the building and possessing whatever
or whomever it found taking shelter within its walls. Blackmoor stared at his
latest recruits, studying their faces one by one, sensing their feelings and
emotions, assessing their individual motivations through the spiritual energy
and life-force they exuded. He was under no illusion that it was the strength
of his power and his ability to control their thoughts that bound them to him;
a power he needed to maintain over them, at least until He was brought forth
and they had served their purpose. Once He was here, they would no longer
require Blackmoor’s guiding hand to hold them to the cause. Witnessing His
supreme omnipotence would be enough.

Ted Wilson accepted a glass of wine from
King and raised it to Blackmoor in acknowledgement of the man’s authority. ‘Are
we ready to summon Him? After all, there are now five of us.’

Blackmoor smiled at him. He was
impressed by Wilson’s eagerness: the man had been so easy to entrance; there
had been almost no resistance to his advances. Even now, a full day after Blackmoor
had convinced Wilson to join him, there was no requirement for any further
‘persuasive intervention’ – the man was like a soft-bellied lapdog; desperate
to please at every opportunity. As with any dog, he had to be praised when he
did well and beaten when he strained too hard against his master’s leash.
Fortunately for Wilson, his compliant behaviour had so far allowed Blackmoor to
spare him the whip. Blackmoor regarded the other two recruits; when they
eventually came round, they would be wise to follow Wilson’s example.
Especially
the girl
, he thought, his eyes settling onto the sumptuous curves of
Bronwyn’s breasts, filling him with lust, arousing his desire for her.

‘Professor Blackmoor?’ said Wilson,
interrupting Blackmoor from his thoughts. ‘I was just asking you whether…’

‘Patience, Mr Wilson. Do not preoccupy
yourself with matters that needn’t concern you. Yes, we are now five, and yes,
we are close to calling Him. However, our preparations are still on-going. We
need more blood to be spilled in His name, further sacrifice to convince Him
that we are worthy of His presence. There remains a great deal of work for us
to do.’

‘But we are on course?’ King asked. ‘If
I may say so; it appears that our progress is advancing at a faster pace and
with far less hindrance than even I anticipated.’

‘Oh yes, there’s no doubt about that, my
learned friend,’ replied Blackmoor. ‘But you must understand, Reuben, that we
are pushing against an open door. More than ever, people are turning their
backs on their faith. God is being squeezed from their lives by their
insatiable, selfish greed and unquenchable thirst for the material world; a
world that has no place for the type of compassion and community that their God
advocates. Moreover, the decline of religion is no longer confined to the
filthy streets of towns and cities; far from it. You don’t have to look any
further than our cosy little village here: is it not the case that the tide of
consumerism swept through Shepherd’s Cross years ago? You can feel it in the
air – inequity, jealousy, hatred – the place is drowning in it. You only need
to look at that drunken, faithless priest; God’s so-called representative on
earth, worn out by years of fighting a battle he can never win. How can he
convince his flock if he can’t even convince himself? A pathetic, pitiful sight
if ever I saw one!’

King and Wilson laughed in agreement,
absorbed by Blackmoor’s rhetoric.

‘Now is the perfect time for the His
return,’ Blackmoor continued. ‘The people are ready for a change of leadership:
they are crying out for a new God; someone who can sympathise with the demands
of the modern world. Someone who can guide them on their journey towards
self-destruction; who can encourage them to scramble over the backs of their
fellow men, like starving rats trying to flee a maze with no exit. Never before
has there been a more appropriate moment for Him to appear before His people.
And when at last He comes, oh, how they will flock to Him! And how He will delight
in hearing the final nail being hammered irreversibly into the coffin of Christianity,
sealing God’s miserable fate once and for all.’

‘He’s so near!’ cried King. ‘His hour
approaches.’

‘Indeed,’ said Blackmoor. ‘If we
continue to progress at this rate, I believe we shall be ready to summon Him as
soon as tomorrow evening.’

King gasped. ‘Tomorrow evening? So soon,
Benedict?’

‘Why not? There are four dead already;
we only need the blood of one more, and I know the perfect candidate. Then
there is the girl, of course. We will need to pry her away from her doting
father.’

‘Will it be necessary for you to visit her
again before we take her?’ asked King.

‘Perhaps, perhaps not’ Blackmoor said. ‘Unfortunately
that father of hers doesn’t seem to share in his daughter’s fondness for our
feline friends.’

‘Would you like me to deal with him?’

‘No,’ Blackmoor replied. ‘Not unless we
have to…not unless he gets in the way of our business. We don’t want to start
killing people for the sake of it, no matter how pleasurable it feels. We must
remain focused, Reuben.’

‘Fair enough,’ King said, topping up the
wine glasses. ‘In the meantime, Benedict, what would you like me to do?’

‘I plan on travelling down to the
village alone tonight,’ Blackmoor said. ‘I do not wish to increase our chances
of being spotted by prying eyes. Up until now, we have avoided attracting any
unwanted attention towards ourselves. We need to keep it that way, for one more
day at least.’ He looked at the semiconscious figures of Bronwyn and Gowland,
their eyes suggesting they were starting to become aware of the world around
them. ‘These two are close to waking,’ he said, nodding in their direction. ‘I
will wait for them to do so, just in case they fail to behave as expected.
Afterwards, I will leave for Shepherd’s Cross. I could be gone for most of the
evening. You’re in charge, Reuben. I suggest that you use the time to prepare
the Hall. You have all the necessary items?’

‘Yes. They are in the chest.’

‘Good. In that case, I would like you to
take the others and focus on getting this house in order for His arrival. You
must start with the Round Room...it is the one room that must be absolutely
perfect.’ Blackmoor shifted his gaze to an attentive Ted Wilson. ‘Mr Wilson,
you will need to help Reuben with whatever he asks of you. Is that understood?’

Wilson nodded his head in obedience. ‘As
you wish.’

‘Excellent,’ said Blackmoor. ‘Everything
seems to be in order. In which case, might I suggest we enjoy an early dinner?
We have a long night ahead of us, and the nature of our work demands a full
stomach.’

‘Good idea,’ said King. He stood up and
walked over to a large, cast-iron pot that hung from a skewer above the dining
room fire. ‘Mr Wilson,’ he said. ‘Would you be kind enough to lay the table
while I serve?’

As Wilson proceeded to distribute place
mats, napkins and cutlery for the five people in the room, Blackmoor couldn’t
help smirking at the feeling of confidence that was growing inside him. He
observed the other four, who, under his leadership, constituted the coven that
would welcome Him into the world once more.
Familia quinque
, he said to
himself. The family of five.

As he took a sip of his wine,
contemplating the evening that lay ahead of him, from the corner of his eye he
noticed Bronwyn Hess smiling at him. She had awoken from the initial force of
the hypnosis, and judging by the provocative expression on her face, the
desired effect of the particular strain of spell he’d cast on her appeared to
be working.

‘On second thoughts, Reuben,’ said Blackmoor,
without taking his eyes away from Bronwyn. ‘I would like to delay my dinner
by…shall we say…thirty minutes?’

King sighed and replaced the ladle onto
its hook by the fire. ‘But Benedict,’ he said. ‘I thought you…’

‘First things first,’ Blackmoor said. ‘I
suddenly have an itch that needs scratching. Bronwyn, my dear. Would you care
for me to show you to your room before we have dinner?’

Bronwyn’s lips reddened and her pupils
dilated at Blackmoor’s invitation. She stood up, her slender yet full figure
stiffening every man in the room as they stared her up and down. Blackmoor
walked around the table and took the hand that she offered him. In plain view
of the others, he proceeded to slide his other hand under her shirt and over
her right breast, gently stroking her erect nipple between his thumb and
forefinger, causing her to moan with pleasure. ‘Come, my darling’ he whispered,
leading her to the door of the dining room, the other men’s eyes burning holes
in their backs as they walked away. As he was about to leave the room, he
turned to face them once more, Bronwyn’s hand slowly rubbing back and forth
over his crotch, his manhood visibly hard and erect underneath his trousers. ‘Don’t
worry,’ he said to them, lust coursing through his body as he struggled to
compose himself. ‘I am not the possessive type. Stick to the plan and you shall
have your turn; I guarantee it. He will reward those who swear allegiance to
Him with pleasures beyond their wildest dreams.’

And with that tantalising promise left
hanging in the air, they walked away, the sound of Bronwyn’s laughter drifting
back to the others as she made her way down the hallway. King looked at Wilson
and smiled. ‘If the offer of sharing a bed with the likes of her doesn’t excite
you, Mr Wilson, I am not sure what will. Come on, let’s get to work – there is
much to do!’

Ted Wilson was barely able to hold himself
together at the promise of what lay ahead, his mind possessed by sexual desire
as he laid the final placemat on the table in front of the awakening, grinning
figure of Frank Gowland.