BISENTIENT, page 8
“What about the other boy, er, Michael?”
“We couldn’t check with him, his family had him cremated.”
“What was your man injected with?” asked Gatts.
“There were traces of some muscle relaxant, like vets use for horses and such. Seems folks like to use them during sex too. So, they said that this didn’t prove anything and that it was just an accident, like the judge had said before.”
Gatts sat in silence. The more he discovered about the Church of the Reclamation, the more he thought he could be getting too old for this.
“Oh yeah.” said Nordstrom. “That guy.”
“Who?”
“The one in your pictures, the one with those little round glasses, he was at the hearing when the judge ruled it an accident.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PLATER SPENT THE first two hours after Molly rushed to catch a train for work busying himself around the house. He was like a domestic whirlwind, cleaning, tidying and loading the washing machine. By around 10:30, he stopped and his thoughts turned to his boys. He determined to call them that evening; it must have been about three weeks since he’d last spoken to them. He’d had an occasional email, but he needed to see them.
He poured a cup of aging coffee and flopped on the giant sofa, pushing off his shoes. As he sat, looking up at the ceiling, he thought he could hear voices, only they weren't from the street outside. Murmurings as if those speaking were just too far away to be understood. He began to think of his boys and remembered teaching Ricky to drop-kick a rugby ball. Ricky was seven and the rugby ball had seemed huge in his tiny hands.
"It keeps moving dad!" said Ricky in frustration. "Watch."
The boy dropped the ball and it fell at an angle and as the point touched the ground it veered off to the left, just as Ricky's right leg swung and caught only air. He scowled at his father as the ball wobbled to a stop by his feet.
"Do you remember how we decided to do this, Ricky?" said Plater. "Hold the ball like this, in front of you, then drop it straight and as soon as you let go try to kick it, okay?"
The boy retrieved the ball almost reluctantly and prepared another attempt. He held the ball out in front, his tongue creeping out one side of his mouth in concentration. As he dropped it his foot came through and caught the ball cleanly. It went almost straight up into the air about twelve feet while Ricky had lost his balance and fell flat on his back. Plater lunged forwards to catch the ball to stop it dropping on Ricky. As he took the catch, he shuddered. Instead of the international rugby ball he was holding a human head which by its discoloured appearance was from a body that had been dead for some time.
He had fallen asleep. Somehow, he knew this. He turned around and he could see nothing but grass, extending off in all directions as far as he could see. His son, Ricky, was no longer there nor the human head. Plater stood gazing round at vast open fields beneath a wide blue sky. He caught some movement in the distance, but the movement seemed all around, at the very limit of his vision. Then gradually he could see. It was trees. Coming closer to him, from all directions, there were hundreds, no thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of trees. All shapes and sizes and they were closing in around him. There was no noise. It was an almost audible silence, where the mind substitutes sounds to fill the absence, like a faint whine or whistle as if an amplifier is on with no music. It seemed as if the trees were closing in faster and faster the nearer they were. Plater found himself covering his head, closing his eyes and bracing for an impact as the huge trees rushed at him from every angle.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in a forest. The trees had settled into a dense wood. He could barely see ten yards in any direction as the foliage closed between the trunks.
“You do not belong here.” said a male voice.
Plater jumped. He couldn’t see anyone in the dark undergrowth nor tell from which direction the voice had come.
“You do not belong here.” the voice repeated, slightly louder this time.
“Who are you?” called Plater looking around him for any sign of movement.
Suddenly, Plater could make out movement, but it seemed as if the very forest floor was alive. The carpet of fallen leaves rustled and shook. The climbing vines that encircled most of the trees seemed to shift and uncoil, their leafy tendrils snaking from the trunks of the trees towards Plater. He recoiled but the tentacles were coming from all sides. He felt the first one brush his arm and flailed madly to escape, but others covered his feet and began to wrap themselves round his legs and work higher to his chest and wrapping around each wrist, they held his arms out from his body allowing other strands to complete the cocoon of his torso. As the coils tightened, he was finding it hard to breathe. They began to wind around his face and he heard the voice again.
“You do not belong here.”
This time, the voice seemed to be inside his head and it was the last thing he heard as the creepers closed over his eyes and the tightening grip around his chest forced the breath from him.
The rhythm was unmistakable…tap tap tap, sets of three beats separated by a pause. Plater felt as if he was floating but all around him was darkness. He had no sensations of touch or heat. He couldn’t even feel his limbs. Tap tap tap the rhythm began again. All at once sparkling lights began exploding across his vision. In the same instant he could feel his arms and legs, his head, his pulse and heard the familiar tap tap tap. The sparkling lights coalesced to an image of his sitting room and his brain slotted into consciousness like an open drawer being closed.
Tap tap tap.
Plater pulled himself wearily from the sofa and answered the door. It was Molly.
“You took your time.” she began cheerily, until she saw his tired appearance. “Are you okay? Has something happened?”
Plater just turned and retreated to the sofa, sighing heavily as he sat back down.
“Mason, are you OK? You look shattered.”
Molly cast aside her coat and bag to join Plater on the sofa.
“I’ve just been sleeping.” said Plater through pinched eyelids. “It was a bit weird this time.”
“Well, I’m listening.” said Molly. “Do you want anything? Something to drink?”
“Water…please.”
“Was the woman in your dream this time?” said Molly fetching some water.
“No, I was…”
“What?”
“I was going to say I was alone but I don’t think I was.”
“What do you mean?” asked Molly.
“There was some sort of presence. I was in this forest and then the trees…well the trees attacked me.”
“You’re kidding” said Molly.
“Creepers wrapped around me from all over and just crushed me.”
“That’s scary, what did you do?”
“There was nothing I could do, I just remember the breath being crushed out of me, I thought I was going to die.”
“This is getting too weird.” said Molly, touching Plater’s arm as it lay between them on the sofa. “I think you should see someone.”
“What do you mean?” said Plater. “Like a shrink?”
“Well, you look terrible and if that was just from your dream that means this isn’t harmless anymore.”
“I have to meet up with Bartholomew tonight.”
“You’re going through with this?” asked Molly.
“It’s the best chance to get a handle on it. When I was in the forest there was a voice.”
“A voice? What did it say?”
“It told me I wasn’t meant to be there. I didn’t belong there, something like that.”
“And then the trees tried to kill you…”
Plater looked at Molly.
“I have to meet Bartholomew.” he said.
Molly looked unconvinced and just squeezed his arm gently.
“Look, as it stands, I’m afraid to sleep now.” said Plater. “If I can follow through with Bartholomew maybe that’ll help. It’s all I can think of to do right now.”
“Okay.” said Molly. “But in the meantime, why don’t you take a shower and change, we need to get out of here for a few hours, there’s a decent Indian not far from here, an ex-boyfriend took me there ages ago. My treat…”
There was no talk of dreams and other worlds at the Light of India. Just a preponderance of red on the walls, some Indian lager and surprisingly good food. Molly took the lead and told Plater about her childhood in Devon, her secondary school days, her failed sporting efforts, bar a medal for swimming at fifteen and her comical first steps at dating. They were both laughing when the waiter asked if they needed the bill. It was 11:30 p.m.
With the thought of what might be ahead they walked back to Plater’s in virtual silence. Molly pushed her arm through Plater’s and walked closely by his side.
“There’s no choice is there?” she asked, her head leaning against his shoulder.
“No.” he said.
“I want to stay with you.”
“There’s no need..” began Plater.
“I want to.” said Molly.
They finished the walk in silence. Plater made a herbal tea from supplies Molly had brought and they drank it quietly. Sitting like patients in a dentist’s waiting room, the clock edged towards 12:30.
“Okay.” said Plater. “Let’s do it.”
He disappeared into the bathroom.
Molly stood up and stretched.
“I’m done.” said Plater heading for his bedroom.
“I want to be with you.” said Molly, “I’ll just watch you to make sure you’re okay. If you’re in distress, I can wake you up.”
Plater wasn’t sure if that would be a good thing or not, but he was very grateful to not be facing this alone. His attraction to Molly only served to confuse his feelings.
“Well, there’s a chair in my room but it won’t be very comfortable.”
“You’ve got a double bed, haven’t you?” asked Molly.
“Yes, but…”
“Fine, you sleep one side and I’ll just lie on the other side.”
Plater could feel colour heading to his face.
“Are you sure…?” began Plater.
“You are a perfect gentleman Mason, now hush and get into bed.”
How Plater wished for other circumstances when he might hear Molly say those words. But he was being stupid. He lay down and pulled the cover over himself. Molly lay on top of the cover, next to him, fully clothed.
“Goodnight.” she said.
Plater said nothing.
After about twenty minutes Molly thought Plater’s breathing was slower and shallower. She couldn’t see but was pretty sure Plater was asleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE AIR CONDITIONING wasn’t coping well. Warren Gatts’ office was in an old building in Downtown Fort Worth. He took the second to last bottle of Coke from the small fridge in the corner and popped the top off with a practiced swipe against the corner of his desk. The bottle top bounced along the floor joining several more between two piles of paper. He kept replaying the phone call over in his mind. “I have evidence against the Rev. Ethan Daniels and I want you to tell the world the truth.” the caller had said. The voice had been male and had sounded very calm. He’d gone on to say that the subject was too dangerous to discuss over the phone and that they had to meet. The caller had said he was afraid of what the Church might do if they found out.
There was something he didn’t like about the call though. He’d not heard from Rudi in Miami since speaking to Rev. Daniels; his sister had said he’d gone on vacation. That didn’t chime as Rudi, apart from being devoted to his sister, who had a muscle-wasting condition that kept her housebound, just didn’t do vacations. He used to say he lived in the best place he could imagine, so why would he want to go someplace else?
As he drained the last drops from the Coke bottle, he made up his mind. He had to go. He had to take the chance that this man, whoever he was, had something that could be used to stop Rev. Daniels. Even with the evidence from Miami, it was all circumstantial and couldn’t conclusively implicate Daniels. It would hardly take a slick New York attorney more than a morning to utterly dismantle any case and introduce so many elements of doubt that no jury would convict.
Gatts planted the Coke bottle firmly on a spare patch of desk and picked up his recorder. He attached the small extension microphone and slipped the recorder and wire beneath his shirt. With practiced ease, he attached it so that the folds of the loose-fitting shirt hid the device from all but a pat-down. He took his old aviator shades from the shelf and made for the door.
The location the caller had picked for their meeting was only three streets away but the change in atmosphere was noticeable. As with many mid-Western cities across America, the Downtown area lived cheek by jowl with low rent housing and light industrial areas. East Madison Street was just such a street. Narrow by comparison to the four-lane main road Gatts’ office stood on, East Madison was home to a personal storage warehouse, two auto workshops, a small, dusty pawn shop and an empty lot that was surrounded on all sides by wooden panels. It was by this empty lot that Gatts was to meet the caller. He had no idea what the man looked like. The caller had said he would recognize Gatts and just to be there on time.
Gatts checked his watch, 11:26. There was no foot traffic at all on the sidewalks. A few cars and pickups moved sedately past. As Gatts approached the empty lot, he noticed a makeshift door in the wooden screens. The door was slightly open. He looked up and down the street again but saw nobody on foot. He gently pushed the door and it swung unevenly open on its makeshift hinges. Stepping through he found himself in a large open area strewn with the last remains of whatever building had stood there before. There was a temporary prefabricated cabin on concrete posts in one corner. By what looked like large double doors, beside the cabin stood a dusty green van bearing the construction company’s logo. He was sure this was where the caller had said to be and he was right on time.
The door of the cabin opened and a man wearing a bright yellow hard hat emerged. He began to walk towards Gatts. As he got within a few yards he said:
“Mr Gatts, thanks for comin’.” and held out his hand.
They shook hands and Gatts noticed a rather cool feel to the man’s skin which was surprising in the heat. He thought he recognized something about him too, but the hard hat cast a deep shadow over the man’s face. The man seemed very relaxed. Gatts was more accustomed to meeting contacts that were skittish and uncertain if they should go through with it.
“We can talk inside.” said the man. “Out of the sun.”
Gatts followed the man across the lot. As the approached the hut the man stood aside.
“Please.” he indicated for Gatts to go first. There was an instant of hesitation as Gatts wondered why this man seemed so calm but he had to follow-up and see what this man had on the Church.
As Gatts put his foot on the bottom of the three steps up to the doorway he felt a sharp pain in his neck, like an insect’s sting. His hand brushed something metal as it retreated. Looking to his right he saw the man holding something shiny. By this time the edges of his vision were blurring and even before he crumpled to the hard baked dirt, he was unconscious.
As Gatts opened his eyes his first sensation was nausea. He went to cover his mouth but his hands were bound to the wooden arm rests of the chair he sat in. The initial wave of sickness passed and Gatts took a couple of deep, slow breaths, raising his head from his chest as his vision cleared. His head lolled to one side as he tried to hold it steady, the shapes in the room settling as his muscles woke up.
“Mr. Gatts, welcome back.” said the man, who was seated a few feet away in a chair just like the one that held Gatts.
“What do you want?” asked Gatts. “Why are you doing this? Are you with them?”
The man smiled and sipped from a glass of water before replacing it on a small table beside him.
“Now let’s not get off on the wrong foot here Mr. Gatts.” he said. “I just need to ask you a few questions and this will all be over.”
Gatts’ head tipped backwards but he caught it and faced the man again.
“Why did you have to drug me, kidnap me? Why not just ask your damn questions?”
“Well you see, it’s human nature.” said the man, taking off his round spectacles for a moment and squeezing the bridge of his nose. “If I would’ve asked you these questions back there when we met, there’s a dollar would get ya ten that you wouldn’t have answered me. Oh, maybe you’d’ve told me somethin’ but it would probably have been a lie and I think we need to build our relationship on trust, Mr. Gatts. I think that’s so important don’t you?”
“What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“My name is Clayton, Mr. Gatts, Wallace Clayton, and we have a problem, you and I.”
“What problem?”
“Well, it’s like this, you went to see a friend of mine just recently and made all sorts of threats and I’m a God-fearin’ man, Mr. Gatts, and I just don’t like that sort of behaviour.”
“You mean Daniels? You work for Ethan Daniels?”
“Well in a manner of speaking yes, but the Reverend is a friend of mine. He found me when I was in need of guidance and he saved me, Mr. Gatts. I don’t have much in the way of worldly possessions as you might say, so I repay Rev. Daniels with my service.”
“That man is evil.” said Gatts, fixing Clayton with his unsteady gaze.
“Now you have no right to be saying such things!” yelled Clayton, getting to his feet and leaning his hands on Gatts’ arms and bringing his face close. “It is you that are doing the Devil’s work Mr. Gatts!”
As he spoke Gatts could feel the fine spray of spittle on his face and smell Clayton’s odour of sweat and coffee. Clayton pushed himself upright and paced the room.
“You made threats and accusations against the Reverend and I need you to tell me who spouted these blasphemous untruths to you.”
