Hunters: A Trilogy (83 page)

‘Mum, you’re just crazy,’ he would say. ‘I love you to bits, you crazy lady!’

Mary arranged to have all of her affairs checked and rechecked so that they were absolutely in order. Michael would be seventeen on his next birthday, five months away, and would be able to take care of himself in the eyes of the law. Until then he would be deemed as a ward of the state and would have social support right up to, and until, his birthday. It wouldn’t be that big a change, the social workers who had been visiting quite clearly saw the maturity in the young man. They had reached an agreement whereby Michael would receive a weekly visit and as long as all was well, he would be left alone. His mother’s estate would provide a healthy income for him and he would receive a monthly allowance until he reached seventeen, whereupon the control of funds would be transferred to him.

Mary was extremely astute in all of her planning, refusing to rest until she was happy in her heart that everything had been taken care of. The least of her worries was actually Michael himself, she knew how mature and capable he was, it was more a case of making sure that her affairs were in an untouchable position, should there have been anyone who tried to interfere with her son after she had gone. She had good reason to be wary, Mary had seen the dark side, seen it up close and personal, and she remembered what Jack had said about them being scared of her son. ‘They’ll come for him!’

She made sure that all earthly things were bullet-proof – the rest would be up to Mikey, and fate. If the truth be known, those last months were some of the finest she had ever spent in her life, the irony of it made her smile and she thanked her lucky stars. Well, she thanked Jack, actually.

She saw him often these days, standing there looking all tall and handsome with that wicked grin upon his face, blue eyes shining. She knew it was more than a dream as the reoccurrence of the scene was far too regular, anytime she felt herself dozing off she would see Jack. Mary knew it wasn’t time yet – he still had his hands in his pockets and didn’t seem to be in any hurry for her to come and join him.

The funny thing was, lately, he had been joined by another man, someone older and much smaller than her husband, he looked frail but there was a feeling of strength and warmth about him. He, too, had blue eyes, somewhat faded perhaps, but still piercing all the same. They looked into her soul and Mary knew that he was a good man. He must have been if Jack was standing next to him.

Her silent meetings with them gradually became longer, sometimes it felt as though they would never end, the silence was deeply peaceful to her and whilst she was within its soft caress, the pain in her stomach ceased to exist, it just faded away and Mary stood in the pale yellow glow of her dream and smiled at the two men. They would smile back, the pleasure and kindness upon their faces was more than she needed. It rested her in such a way that the Demon in her guts remained locked out, banished to some other world.

Eventually, Jack would raise his hand and, much like Mikey always did, lift his fingers to those smiling lips to blow her a kiss. When he did that, Mary always reached up and caught the imaginary kiss and carried it to her parched lips. Then, with a final wave, the two men would walk into the glow; Mary catching a glimpse of shiny buckles on the side of the old man’s sandals. They winked at her and Mary would have sworn that she heard them say something, something like:

‘Don’t worry, it’s not too long now, we will see you soon, Mary, my dear!’ She reached out for the men, but they were gone, now was not the time, not just yet. Mary knew and she felt rested, the time would be soon, no need to rush, the pain would have to wait and she would wait with it.

Sooner or later it would be time, time for the fire.

She dreamed of Jack and of Michael.

Two weeks later Mary finally succumbed to the poison festering within her stomach. With a gentle sigh, she looked up at Michael and smiled. Her grip on his hand tightened momentarily and then she died. He saw the light go out in her eyes, almost felt the energy leave her frail body as her grip loosened upon his hand. ‘Mum…oh Mum!’ he whispered, sorrowfully. Michael leaned forward and rested his forehead against his mother’s. She looked so peaceful, as though she was asleep, but the boy knew she had gone. They had said everything they needed to, covered all their bases, and now the final truth lay before him.

The dreadful deed was done, Mary’s life was over, and with her passing the gates to Michael’s future had been flung wide open. There were several people who were currently rushing to reach those gates, several people and at least one Demon. The race was on, what for no-one was really sure, not even those who knew a whole lot more than the young man himself, but all of them knew one thing with absolute clarity – Michael was the prize. He would make the difference.

Of that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind.

Black, evil-filled minds or otherwise, they all knew.

The funeral was a simple affair, all of the details had been organised long before Mary passed on. Michael knew her wishes inside out. What flowers she wanted, the tunes she wished to be played, and the prayer, the only one which was to be read at the mid-morning funeral service.

‘Our Father who art in Heaven…’

As the Vicar’s voice recited the words, Michael began to get the squirmiest of feelings within his head. The picture of the man-dog oozed into his mind, he saw it and tried to focus back onto what the priest was saying.

‘Give us this day our daily bread…’

Man-dog didn’t appear to be overly happy with the proceedings, the black shape blurred and then rippled, like a picture on water would shatter when some fool threw a stone into the pond, just as you were about to make sense of the reflection from those clouds floating above, and when the lilting Irish voice reached the ‘But deliver us from evil…’ man-dog positively writhed in anger.

Not anger – agony!

Michael saw the image in his mind flash with orange and black, it made him think of a fireball caught within a jar full of coal-dust, or maybe the other way around. It seemed to be trapped within itself, trapped within his mother!

‘For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever-and-ever…Amen.’

Michael repeated the ‘Amen’ and then nearly staggered as he realised the truth, his mother had captured the beast, or at least part of it, and the thing knew that now was the time for redemption. Now it was time for the fire! He saw it try to break free; Michael felt it pull him toward the simple, wooden coffin. He felt the black flower within his mother’s guts open like some sick, pus-filled boil.

He looked away from his mind’s eye and repeated the word…‘Amen’.

His mind cleared immediately, the dark thing switched off, died perhaps, he rather hoped it had died, but he doubted it. Mary had told him of her dream, spoke of his father’s final words. They had sat together and discussed the strange things in an almost casual way, and he knew what she had meant, his own encounter with the Dark One had been almost too real, certainly real enough not to be dismissed, or forgotten.

Michael had a pretty fair idea of what was going on, certainly as far as old lizard-features was concerned he did. He tried to concentrate as he listened to the final words of the holy man.

‘Ashes-to-ashes, dust-to-dust – we commit the body of Mary…’

Then it was over, no more words to be spoken.

Only the voice of Johnny Nash cajoled them with a tale about how the rain had gone and of how clearly he was able to see now.

Mary’s coffin rolled silently through the curtains toward the furnace.

She had made them put it in writing and her wishes were to be followed to the letter: ‘I must be cremated on the day, there and then! No waiting around in a queue, straight away, if you please!’ She had been absolutely adamant. And so it was done. With a slight rumble, Mary’s body, a corpse that had also become the Demon’s tomb, passed from this world into the next.

If one had been outside, a slight thickening of the smoke, which puffed from the stainless-steel chimney high above, would have possibly caught the eye, if one had been looking that is. Fortunately, there was no-one looking and it was probably a good job, too.

The thickened smoke writhed in a sinuous, oily fashion, almost as though it were trying to gather itself, trying to flee. But the heat from below was too great, Mary burned too brightly. With a belch of hot air and a blast of almost pure-white smoke, her final pyre dispersed the blackness, brushed it away with the ease of a child blowing the seeds from a dandelion stalk. Together, the white and the black, good and evil, floated into the cold wind that flushed over the crematorium.

If you were someone who was able to hear such things, then the sound of a Demon screaming in rage and agony would most likely have turned you to stone. Perhaps, if you were made of sterner stuff, you would have been laughing out loud at the displeasure that Mary’s carefully controlled act of revenge was currently having upon the said Demon.

Michael was laughing, in his head he applauded his mother, and his laughter filled the sorrow-drenched corridor of his mourning soul. Laughter rolled around the darkness and fetched a much-needed light to the awful proceedings. He laughed and laughed – after all, it takes a very good sense of humour to be a Demon Hunter.

***

The wake was a simple affair – no more than a dozen people attended the small gathering held at Michael’s cottage. The conversation was stunted, most of those attending were merely showing their faces out of courtesy and Michael only knew a handful of them. The rest were complete strangers.

He noticed a couple in the corner, man and wife by the looks of things, they were both tall and seemed very close, occasionally Michael would catch them staring at him, the woman smiling whenever her brown eyes met his own. Her partner, husband perhaps, grinned faintly, but seemed altogether more serious. Michael guessed that the man was probably one of his late father’s work colleagues.

Within two hours it was done, one-by-one the mourners had drifted away, stopping to murmur some words of comfort to him on the way out. ‘Don’t forget, if ever you need us then just ring,’ or similar, they would say. ‘Is there anything we can do, anything you need, Michael?’ It was kind of them, he knew, but he didn’t need anything, nothing except for none of this to have happened in the first place.

He was tired, and in all honesty, Michael couldn’t wait for them to be gone. He wanted to get out of this stupid suit, put his trainers on and then go up to the lake to sit for a while. Throw some pebbles in the water, anything – just get out of here and do some thinking. The realities of his loneliness were beginning to arrive, and they scared him.

As he was closing the door behind what he thought were the final guests, Michael heard the clink of a glass behind him. Turning in surprise, he caught sight of a shadow; the table lamp in the sitting room giving away the presence of someone who was still in the house, the unknown person’s shadow spilled across the floor of the room. It was a big shadow.

Fear came upon him. Trying to disguise the slight tremor in his voice, he said, ‘Hello, who’s there?’

He was sure they had all gone. A horrible premonition filled him. Man-dog! He looked for something, anything heavy or sharp, his eyes flashing around the hallway, but he didn’t see anything that would come in handy as a weapon. Yes, there were plenty of knives in the kitchen, but the kitchen was only to be reached by travelling through the sitting room, travelling past the Demon.

He shook his head and breathed deeply. ‘Mike, wake up, there is no Demon, this is all bullshit! It’s just the curtain, come on, get a grip!’ His own brave thoughts did nothing to help his confidence – man-dog lay in his mind, right at the front with a VIP ticket clutched in those wicked claws.

‘Lemme in, I gotta go see the Mikey Show – I gotta see it, maannn!’ Michael heard the thing, he heard it. Anger filled him; taking another breath, he turned towards the door and took a purposeful step in the direction of the unknown.

‘Michael, sorry, we were just finishing our drinks…’

The voice stopped him in his tracks, it was a woman’s voice and it sounded like chocolate: soothing, gentle, caring. He felt the fear fall away and let the breath empty from his lungs, his heart was beating furiously and he realised that he had been scrunching his hands into fists. Michael looked down at his hands in surprise, un-balled his fists, then stood in the hallway for a moment and spent a few seconds trying to gather his thoughts.

He took another breath, more calmly this time, and then strode into the sitting room, blinking when he saw the dark-haired woman and her husband sitting on the couch underneath the garden window. ‘How did I miss them? I’m sure they went hours ago…’ He remembered thinking about how strange it was that they’d just disappeared without saying goodbye.

Masking his thoughts, Michael said, ‘Oh, hi!’ I’m sorry, I thought you had gone, I thought everyone had gone, it’s just that, well, with all this stuff, Mum, you know? My mind isn’t…’

He stopped talking as the woman rose to her feet and approached him.

Her husband also rose and waited behind her, standing and watching Michael, smile playing across his lips. The woman was tall and her brown eyes shone with passion. As she reached him, Michael felt himself unconsciously extending his hand in greeting. The woman took the hand and then pulled him gently into a warm embrace. He felt his whole being wobbling, it really did wobble. She gave off a feeling or warmth and kindness. He felt giddy, the need to be seated overcame him and he lurched toward the spare seat, collapsing into the chair and sitting with his head resting against the soft headrest.

He breathed out, saying: ‘Whew! I think this is all catching up with me, I’m sorry but I just felt a bit weird then, it’s like…I felt like I was going to faint, sorry!’

The woman and her husband…‘He might not be her husband, why do I think that?’ As Michael’s thoughts ganged up on him, his guests – married or not – came over to where he sat.