Shepherd's Cross (30 page)

5.15pm:
‘Where am I?’

‘Ben! Thank God. Can you hear me? It’s
Cara.’

‘Cara? What’s going on?’

‘We’re in Fellside Hall, remember? You
were attacked by King; he punched you in the face and you fell over. Your head
caught one of the steps and you started bleeding…you went out like a light.
Then they brought us here and locked us in.’

‘I can’t see anything – it’s so dark. My
eyes…I can’t see.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Cara said, carefully
putting her arm around his neck and helping him up into a sitting position. ‘There’s
nothing wrong with your eyes. It’s
dark in here. Just sit still for a
while until you come to your senses. There’s nobody in here but us. We’re
safe…for now.’

Ben rubbed his eyes, his nose still
throbbing from the impact of King’s fist. He felt sick and disorientated. His
fingers gingerly explored the back of his head: his hair was matted with blood
and clung to his scalp; the cut now sealed but only just. He removed his hand,
not wanting to break the delicate skin that had begun to form over the wound.
He remembered now: the open trapdoor, the steps leading down into the cellar.
Chloe…

‘Chloe!’ he screamed, the urgency of his
voice causing him to hold his head as a sharp pain sliced through it. ‘Chloe’ -
this time softer – ‘we’ve got to rescue Chloe. We need to get her out of here
before those bastards do anything to her.’ He cried out involuntarily as he tried
to stand, falling forward in agony onto one knee before trying again and
succeeding this time; his paternal role as protector stronger than his concern
for his own wellbeing. He moved to the door, his eyes growing accustomed to the
darkness, and tried the handle. It didn’t budge. He tried again, more
forcefully this time, pressing his shoulder up against the door, but again it
held firm. ‘Open up, you bastard,’ he hissed, taking a step backwards before
kicking it as hard as he could. ‘Please, God,’ he whispered, his eyes beginning
to well up with a combination of frustration and desperation. ‘Please open this
door. Please…’ He was crying now, kicking and lashing out at the door again and
again until finally he fell against it and slumped to the floor.

‘I’m sorry, Ben,’ said Cara, coming over
and sitting down beside him. He didn’t resist as she put her arm around his
shoulder, pulling him against her to comfort him as best she could. ‘When you
were unconscious, I tried everything I could to find us a way out of here. The
door’s locked and there’s no window for us to jump out of. I’m afraid there’s
no way out. We’re trapped.’

For a while, Ben didn’t say anything. He
continued to cry, furious at himself for having allowed them to take Chloe from
him. He couldn’t bear to imagine his daughter – his little angel – all by
herself in that dark cellar, alone and terrified; crying out for her daddy to
come to her. Eventually, he raised his head and looked at Cara, his eyes hollow
with resignation. ‘Then it’s over,’ he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.
‘It’s all over. We’ve lost.’

‘Hey…hey…come on now,’ replied Cara,
moving around to face him and gripping his shoulders with her hands. ‘Don’t say
that – do you hear me? There’s always hope…there’s still time to save her. For
a start, we don’t know what they’re up to. As far as we know, they might be
planning on holding us for days yet. And by then, the Police will have arrived.
Besides, it won’t be long before Emily and the others have noticed that we’re
missing, and believe me; you wouldn’t want to mess with the folk down at
Shepherd’s Cross. They’re a force to be reckoned with, I can tell you.’ Ben
looked up at her. ‘We need to keep trying,’ she continued, her voice becoming
softer and more reassuring now that she had his attention. ‘We mustn’t give in
to these people. You know that, don’t you?’

Ben closed his eyes and nodded slowly. ‘You’re
right,’ he said, wiping his sleeve across his eyes and taking a deep breath. ‘I’m
sorry…I don’t know what came over me.’

Cara smiled, leaning forward and kissing
him gently on the cheek. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m as frightened as you are. But as
far as I see it we’ve got two options: sit here on our behinds like turkeys
waiting for Christmas, or do something to at least try and change our
situation.’

‘But you told me there’s no way out.’

‘I know. But we can shout, can’t we? We
can let whoever’s out there know that we’re here. I know it’s a long shot, but
you never know until you try. What do you reckon – shall we give it a go?’

‘Why not?’ he said, getting to his feet
and brushing himself down.

Cara stood up and joined him. As they
began to shout and holler for help, she didn’t dare tell him about Sergeant
Jennings. Her mind drifted to the ruthless manner in which he’d been murdered
and the sadistic grin she’d seen spread across King’s face. She then thought of
Chloe, and of herself and Ben, and wondered how long it would be before they
met with the same fate.

5.30pm:

‘Lord
Lucifer, Angel of Darkness,

Knowledge
incarnate, Keeper of truth,

I
beg that you cast your favour upon the five who kneel in your presence;

And
lead us, so that we may follow your every command.

Bestow
on us your covenant as we trust in you alone,

And
let us hear your counsel, in order that we may act as your will commands.

May
our lives be at your mercy, and may we serve you until the end of days.’

Although Benedict Blackmoor had already
read aloud several passages from the book he was holding, it had taken until
this particular verse for anyone to notice any discernible changes in the
ambience within the Round Room. The five witnesses, who up until that moment
had knelt with bowed heads on their respective points of the pentagram,
simultaneously looked up to see the burning fire set into the wall suddenly
begin to spark and hiss, as if some invisible lighter fluid had been poured
over it. They watched as the flames turned from orange to green to white,
releasing a pale blue smoke that drifted into the room and hovered menacingly
above Blackmoor and the others like a murky fog. The temperature in the room
fell dramatically, as if the fire was no longer a fire but the mouth of a demon
that had been freed from its icy prison; its chilled breath seeping into the
room and suffocating everyone and everything within it.

‘Don’t look up,’ Blackmoor said,
returning his eyes to the next passage in his book. ‘You mustn’t look up until
He commands it. And under no circumstances should you leave your position. Not
until I have finished reading.’ With that, he continued:

‘Lord
Lucifer, we are yours to mould as your heart desires.

We
stand alongside you to crucify the remnants of Christianity as it lies dying

in
the gutter, cast aside by its followers as they yearn the arrival of a new

leader,
a leader who will bring power and wealth in this life to those who follow

Him
and His way.

Black
candles burn in your honour, Lord Lucifer.

The
Sigil of Baphomet is drawn to invoke your presence to this earthly world.’

A low, steady rumbling appeared to come
from the direction of the fire, spreading across the floor and vibrating
against the feet and ankles of the witnesses. It was only Bronwyn who shivered
with fear as she felt the demon’s presence forming. She was now completely
awake and aware of the reality of her situation, the panic growing steadily
inside as she considered the magnitude and severity of the madness she was
caught up in. She shuddered as she thought to herself what the others, what He,
would do to her when they realised she was no longer under Blackmoor’s hypnotic
influence. They would show her no mercy, she was certain of that. After all,
she had witnessed and participated in enough unspeakable atrocities to
understand only too well their disdain for showing leniency towards those who
got in their way. Life and death meant nothing to these people.

Blackmoor, sensing His presence among
them, reached for the horn that hung from the spike in the centre of the pentagram.
His eyes were now blood-red with the excitement and power of the words he
spoke:

‘My
Master, I spill this blood in your honour,

The
suffering of men is offered to you as a sign of our devotion.

I
beg you, accept our offer and come forth into the world.

Consume
our souls with your essence.’

When he had finished his verse, Blackmoor
tipped the mouth of the horn in the middle of the pentagram. The combined blood
of the men and boys they had killed poured out of it and splattered against the
polished cobbles of the floor, running along the cracks and spreading outwards
towards the others. Smoke sizzled up from the blood as it met the earth, a
smell of burning hair and flesh wafting up into the air and joining the cloud
of blue smoke that lingered above them. The low, rumbling noise grew louder:
morphing into a growl and then laughter; deep, throaty laughter that echoed
around the room and up towards the glass roof. After a while, the laughter
subdued and all became calm once more, but He was with them – they all knew it.
They could feel Him.

‘He’s here,’ King whispered, his voice
uncharacteristically uneven and weak. ‘He’s here.’

‘No,’ replied Blackmoor, spilling the
last drop of blood from the horn before returning it to its hook on the pole. ‘His
spirit is here, but His body remains below. We must proceed to the final act.
The virgin sacrifice that will bring Him forth. We must not delay…His patience
will run dry if we do not act quickly. We must get the girl.’

King nodded and began walking to the
door. ‘Wait!’ shouted Bronwyn. ‘Let me. Please?’

Blackmoor looked at her with suspicion
and surprise. As terrified as she was, Bronwyn managed to maintain her
composure as she continued: ‘Professor Blackmore, I know Chloe…I mean the girl.
She will trust me if I go to her. If he goes,’ she said, pointing to King, ‘the
girl will only struggle and scream and delay our objective. If I go, however, I
am sure she will come with me freely and without any resistance. It will make
it easier for all of us. Please; will you let me do this for Him?’

Blackmoor rubbed his chin and considered
her request. ‘Very well,’ he said, ignoring the disapproving look on King’s
face. ‘You can get her. But hurry; we don’t want to try His patience.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ She hurried to the
door and turned the key in the lock. Opening the door, she crouched down and
shuffled through into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

‘Benedict,’ said King, when she was
gone. ‘Far be it from me to question your wisdom, but do you think it is wise
to allocate such an important task to her? Should I not have been the one to
bring the girl here?’

‘Patience, Reuben. Is there not good
reason behind everything I do? I thought I would set a test for our young
nymphet. A test of her loyalty…a loyalty that I believe is beginning to falter
somewhat.’ He closed his eyes and smiled, revelling in the room’s electrified
atmosphere.
He’s here
, he thought, almost floating now with the dark
energy around him.
Just one more sacrifice.
But King’s right…she
can’t be trusted with the girl.
‘My friend,’ he said, opening his eyes and
glancing across the room to King. ‘You’re right. I would like you to follow her
and make sure she behaves herself. We can’t afford any last minute mishaps. Off
you go.’

Pulling down the hood of his robe to
reveal his wide, bald head, Reuben King wasted no time in getting to the door,
snatching it open and disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.
If that
cheating whore is up to something
, he thought,
I will take great
pleasure in punishing her…great pleasure indeed.

5.45pm:
‘It’s no use,’ said Ben, turning away from the door. ‘We can shout all we want,
but nobody’s going to come. There’s nobody out there to hear us.’

Cara didn’t reply. She still had some
fight left in her, although she couldn’t deny feeling increasingly frustrated.
Her mind flashed to Jennings, bound and helpless in his final moments.
At
least he never gave them the satisfaction of seeing him afraid; I could see the
resolve in his eyes. If only I’d been stronger…maybe I could have done
something. Maybe I could have –
’

The sound of footsteps approaching them
broke her chain of thought. ‘Listen! There’s someone coming,’ she whispered. ‘Hold
your nerve, Ben. This may be our one and only chance to get out of here.’ Her
hand automatically dropped to the empty space on her belt that would normally
have held her truncheon. ‘We better be careful,’ she said, taking a couple of
precautionary steps away from the door. ‘Get ready.’

Ben wasn’t listening to her. ‘Hello…hello…is
there anybody there? We’re in here,’ he shouted, banging his fist against the
door. ‘Can you let us out? Please!’

The footsteps grew closer until
eventually they stopped outside their door. A voice came from the other side, a
woman’s voice, instructing them to be quiet. Cara knew immediately who it
belonged to; the slightly nasal, Antipodean twang unmistakeable. ‘Bronwyn!’ she
shouted, unable to conceal her excitement. ‘Bronwyn, we’re in here!’

‘Ssshhh,’ came the reply from the other
side. ‘Be quiet, will you? I’ve come to get you out of here.’ The sound of a
key turning in a lock was followed by the door being pushed open, the faint
light of the hallway serving as a much needed antidote to the near pitch-black
darkness inside the room. Cara could tell immediately by looking at her that
the old Bronwyn was back: the vacant expression and glazed eyes had been
replaced by signs of life…and fear.

‘What are you doing here?’ Cara asked,
glancing down the corridor behind her friend to check that this wasn’t all a
big joke and that Blackmoor and his gang weren’t skulking in the shadows behind
her. ‘How did you get away? Where are the others?’

‘We haven’t got time for all that now.
They’re waiting for me in the Round Room; they’re expecting me to return with
Chloe.’ She noticed the pupils of Ben’s eyes dilate at the mention of his
daughter’s name. ‘Look…we haven’t got long. They’ll be coming for me any minute
now.’ She suddenly thought of the presence in the Round Room; the laughter, the
coldness…the evil. Then another thought hit her, prompting her heart to pound
even harder against her chest. She looked at Ben. ‘If those murdering bastards
get their hands on Chloe before we do, we’ll all be done for. They need your
daughter to complete the ceremony.’

‘What ceremony?’ asked Cara.

‘They’re trying to summon some kind of
demon or evil spirit…maybe even the Devil himself. And if we don’t get Chloe out
of here right now, I’m pretty sure they’re going to do just that.’

Cara shook her head disbelievingly. ‘I
don’t know what in God’s name you’re banging on about, Bronwyn, but I’m not
about to waste time arguing with you. Come on, let’s go.’

The three of them set off down the
corridor in the direction of the kitchen, Bronwyn leading the way - left, right
and then left again - until a short while later they arrived at the opening.
The trapdoor was closed, and even though she told herself not to, Cara turned
to see Jennings still hanging there; his head drooping down against his chest. A
wave of sadness flowed over her and caused her eyes to well up with tears.

Fortunately for Ben, he didn’t notice
Jennings; he was far too focused on saving his daughter. Instead, he made
directly for the trapdoor, flinging it open and heading downstairs, hardly
sparing a second thought for the dried pool of his own blood on the top step.
He disappeared from view. Bronwyn started after him, but was pulled back by
Cara. ‘Let him go,’ she said. ‘He’ll get her. We’ll be better off standing
guard up here.’

‘How very wise of you, although I think
it’s a little late for that, don’t you?’ Bronwyn and Cara spun around to see
the stout figure of King standing in the open doorway, his broad features dark
and menacing against the weak candlelight. He looked at Bronwyn, who cowered
away in fear. ‘I knew all along you would turn out to be a traitor,’ King said.
‘I knew you couldn’t be trusted, you lying, cheating…cunt of a witness. Your
role here is no longer necessary – He is with us now. How unfortunate for you
that you have become…surplus to requirements.’ He moved slowly towards her, his
face now clearly visible, his eyes wild and potent. Without warning, her legs
gave way under her and she dropped to the floor, quivering with fear as he drew
nearer to her.

‘Hey, limp-dick…get away from her.’ Cara
didn’t know where this sudden surge in bravado came from, and for an instant
she regretted her outburst, but the fire was now in her belly; she was no
longer afraid of the man who had killed her partner in cold blood, and she sure
as hell wasn’t going to let him do the same to her friend. ‘You know,’ she
continued, ‘you’re nothing more than a coward, wagging your tail like a stupid
puppy whenever your master calls you. You lot won’t last two minutes in a place
like Shepherd’s Cross: out here they breed real men; not feeble bullies like
you and your halfwit boss. You’re pathetic, do you know that?’

King turned away from Bronwyn and faced
Cara, doing all he could to keep his temper under control. He tried to smile,
but Cara could tell she’d rattled him. A vein near his right temple pulsed
angrily, and his short, stubby fingers curled up into fists. He began walking
towards her, forcing her to step backwards in the direction of Sergeant
Jennings’s lifeless corpse. She was unarmed, but her face showed no fear. She
knew in all likelihood that he would get the better of her, but she refused to
give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for mercy. She smiled at him. ‘You
know what they say about bullies, don’t you? That they never pick on anyone
bigger than them; that they only prey on the little guy. That’s what you are,
Mr King; an ugly, fat, impotent bully.’ She shuddered as she backed into
Jennings, feeling his dangling legs against her back. She could go no further.
Without taking her eyes away from the approaching King, she lifted her hand up
and felt blindly for Jennings’s hand, wanting his reassurance for the last
time. As her hand moved up, it caught against his belt, and then brushed past
the hard, black truncheon that was still attached to it. Her mind-set immediately
switched from stoic resignation to hope; the firm feel of the weapon against
her fingers sparking her survival instinct and igniting her desire to fight
back.

King reached her and held out his arms,
taking her throat into his hands. She put up no resistance, wanting instead to
draw him as near to her as possible. Her hand slipped further around the
truncheon, until she was sure that she had a firm grip. ‘They say that
strangulation is one of the most painful ways to die,’ he said to her, his foul
breath almost making her retch all over him. ‘Of course, I don’t know if that
is true. Perhaps you can tell me if we meet again in the next life.’ He began
to squeeze, slowly increasing the pressure until it became unbearable.

Cara knew that it was now or never.
Straining every muscle in her neck, she hissed: ‘Go to hell…you murdering
bastard.’ She saw the confusion in his eyes, and without waiting any longer,
she yanked the truncheon from its clasp and swung her arm down towards him.
Fate or good luck, it didn’t matter; the end result was the same. The truncheon
caught King on the side of his head, the hard rubber striking against his skull
with a resounding thud. He collapsed like a punctured lung, clutching the side
of his head as he fell to the floor. Cara wasted no time in lashing out a
second time, bearing down on him with a wild scream, an image of Sergeant
Jennings flashing behind her eyes, only to be consumed by the red mist that
surrounded her. Again and again she laid into him, pounding his body like a
boxer pounds a punch-bag, until eventually the last of the strength in her
right arm left her. Panting heavily, she straightened up and backed away from
him, dropping the truncheon onto the cold, concrete floor. King lay motionless,
bleeding heavily from one of his ears; his face smashed to a pulp. Cara looked
at him, feeling nothing but hate and anger.

Ben emerged from the cellar carrying his
daughter. Suspecting the worst, Cara’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she
looked across at Chloe, her body lying limply in her father’s arms. Bronwyn
climbed to her feet and ran over to them. ‘Oh Ben, what’s wrong with her?’ she
asked. ‘Is she alright?’

‘I think so,’ he replied, setting her
down on one of the work surfaces attached to the wall. ‘She’s breathing fine,
but she won’t wake up. She seems exhausted, and she’s hot. I think she’s running
a fever. But she’s alive.’ As he looked across at Cara, his eyes fell to the
crumpled body of King and Sergeant Jennings hanging on the wall behind him. ‘Jesus
Christ – what happened to them? Did you –’

Cara stopped him. ‘There’s no time for
that now. We need to get out of here. What’s the best way, Bronwyn?’

‘We need to stay well clear of the Round
Room. That’s off to the right, so I reckon we’re best heading left to the
dining room – if we pass through that it takes us straight to the main
entrance. They’ll come for us though, you do know that? They can’t summon
that…that creature without Chloe.’

‘Okay,’ Cara said. ‘But we only have to
make it as far as the Land Rover – it’s not parked far from here. If we can get
back to The Cross we should be safe.’ She remembered the keys that Jennings had
slipped under the sun visor; it was as if he had known there would be a chance
that they’d need to make a run for it without him.

Ben clasped his fingers together and
flexed his arms, before lifting his daughter off the worktop and holding her
closely against him. ‘Ready?’ he asked, looking at Cara and then Bronwyn.

‘Ready.’

‘Ready.’

They headed out of the kitchen, Cara
pausing to retrieve Jennings’s bloodied truncheon that she’d left lying on the
floor beside King. She took one last look at her superior, before looking at
down at King. She was glad she’d killed him.

It didn’t take long before they reached
the dining room’s double doors that Cara and Ben – and Jennings before them –
had so carefully tiptoed past only a short while earlier. Ben stood outside
them, unwilling to push them open; his mind imagining Blackmoor, Gowland and
Wilson to be waiting behind them. Bronwyn didn’t share Ben’s trepidation,
almost knocking him over to get past; desperate now to escape the nightmare
she’d been made to endure. She flung the doors open, revealing an empty room,
the only sign of life being the abandoned fire that by now had burnt down to
glowing embers. ‘Over there,’ she said, pointing across the room to another
door. ‘The entrance hall’s behind that. Come on, we’re almost there.’

Cara and Ben struggled to keep up with
Bronwyn as she sprinted across the dining room to the other door. Luckily for
them, they hadn’t seen or felt what she had back in the Round Room. She knew
that Blackmoor wouldn’t let them escape that easily; his whole world was
devoted to raising that evil beast from hell. She was certain it was only a
matter of time before he came for them.

Bronwyn almost yanked the door from its
hinges, Cara nervously looking over her shoulder as it slammed against the
wall, making a loud cracking noise that echoed around the room and into the
hallway behind them. ‘Sshhh! Stop making such a racket, will you? They’ll hear
us.’

Bronwyn wasn’t in the mood for
apologising. Ignoring Cara, she peered into the near darkness of the entrance
hall and towards the front door. ‘Over there,’ she said. ‘That’s our way out.’
They walked across the hall, more carefully this time given the lack of light. Reaching
the door, Bronwyn grasped the handle and tried to turn it, only to find it
didn’t want to move. It was locked. ‘Shit!’ she hissed, gripping the handle tighter
and increasing her effort.

‘Let me try,’ Ben said, handing Chloe to
Cara. He turned the handle as hard as he could, but it was no use; there was no
way it would open without the key, and the fact that it opened inwards meant
there was no possibility of kicking it down from inside.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Bronwyn looked up
towards the heavens for inspiration. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘We’ll have to go back,’ said Cara. ‘We’ll
have to find another way out. A window, maybe.’

‘Okay,’ said Bronwyn, turning around to
head back to the dining room. ‘I reckon we should take the -’

As she turned around, Blackmoor’s hand
lashed out and wrapped itself around her throat; his long, sharp nails digging
into her skin. She tried to scream, but he flung her across the room before she
was even able to open her mouth, throwing her with such incredible force that
she slammed into the wall and collapsed unconscious in a heap on the floor. Blackmoor
didn’t even look at her; his stare was exclusively reserved for the little girl
in Cara’s arms. All of his customary charm had vanished, his unnerving smile
replaced by a gruesome, twisted expression that chilled Cara’s blood as she
backed away from him. His hair, usually so well groomed, was scattered in all
directions like a wind-blown bird’s nest, giving him the appearance of a
lunatic murderer who had escaped from a psychiatric ward of a high-security
mental institution. This wasn’t the same Benedict Blackmoor who had previously fooled
them all into believing he was some kind of wealthy visiting academic, nor was
it the Benedict Blackmoor whose eyes had borne into Cara’s during her first
visit to Fellside Hall, making her desire and lust after his touch. This was
the real Blackmoor, the fanatical serial killer who longed for the power and
control that his black God promised him. The pure embodiment of an evil
fundamentalism that gave no quarter to humanity or compassion.