The Unhappy Medium, page 44
‘She can’t move!’ said Viv, cautiously, picking up the ruse. ‘You’ll have to come and help us. ’
‘Oh for fugs sake,’ said the first gunman. ‘Here, take my gun,’ he said to his colleague. He looped the assault weapon off over his thick neck, and handed it to his pal. He began to walk down to the girls.
With the extra weight, the fire escape started to creak horribly. Instantly, the gunman changed his walk from a practised swagger to something more vertigo-induced, but keen not to display anxiety, he continued edging forward until he was halfway down the first set of steps. He reached down to grab Gabby by the scruff of the neck.
Viv and Gabby exchanged glances, and Gabby, whose teeth were increasingly her weapon of choice, plunged her gnashers deep into the goon’s rubbery fist. The stabbing pain shot through the man’s hand with all the intensity of an impacting bullet, and he recoiled backwards, screaming. With nothing to stop him, he fell away through the broken railings and down into the mess of cadavers and detritus below, landing with a cacophony of breaking glass and snapping bones, not all of them his own.
‘You leettle fucking betch!’ yelled his pal. Furious, he threw off his colleague’s gun; cradling his own, he sent a entire magazine of bullets streaming out at the girls. Sensibly, they ducked back down behind the metal steps as a cloud of sparks erupted amongst the rust and paint flakes. But the gunfire also drew the attention of one of Bennet’s snipers. A round came righteously out of the night, hammering hard into the man’s gun, sending it clattering away useless into the darkness below. Even then, the gunman didn’t hesitate. As the sniper rounds hissed around him, he leant down, unsheathed a commando knife from his boot and leapt forward to attack the girls, crouching powerless beneath him.
The rust and ice were his undoing. His meaty bulk and his angry momentum made him slip in a ghastly, uncoordinated loop, and yelping like a scolded dog, he slipped arse over Kevlar. Clanging hard against the metal work, he sailed shrieking past them.
Desperately, he shot out his arm, and just in time his sausage-like fingers clamped onto the perforated metal. The fire escape groaned in protest. Clouds of rust flew out into the darkness. Frantic, he tried to pull himself up, but his combat couture was working against him. His body armour had ridden up badly and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring his dangling left arm up towards the staircase and he was left hanging like a one-armed monkey. Knowing he couldn’t climb up alone, he began to panic. The staircase lurched again.
‘You ... woman,’ he said to Viv. ‘Help me.’
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ said Viv, standing. ‘Come on Gabbs, let’s go.’
‘Please ... help me!’ he persisted, pathetically. Viv and Gabby clambered furiously up the steps. They looked back as the goon dangled and swung beneath the creaking fire escape. Summoning a last burst of energy, he abruptly freed his arm and it shot out to grab the metal; he looked up at the girls and laughed. Then he noticed what was hanging from his index finger. In the darkness, he couldn’t be sure which of the grenades the pin had come from, so he was then obliged to flail away at his chest until the last of them fell away and landed in the body pit below. Again, he looked back to the girls and grinned malevolently. He was still grinning as the grenade burst in the gloom below him. It was at this moment that the fragile fire escape finally lost its argument with gravity. Squealing and groaning, it plunged towards the ground with the hapless gunman still attached. The crunching metal and screaming merged into one long cacophony before finally falling silent. Gabby and Viv backed away from the precipice and into the dubious safety of the building behind them.
Back inside the building, the two women lay breathless and crumpled on the filthy floor trying to gather their wits. They didn’t have time.
Sister Wendy was upon them.
******
The Purgatorians were advancing steadily across the grounds towards the asylum. Although they’d lost five or so of their number to Gunter’s marksmen, they were forcing La Senza’s private army to fall back under their assault.
‘Onwards, onwards!’ yelled Bennet. Rushing from cover, he and Finnigan led their men in a frantic charge at Gunter’s uncomprehending militia as they recoiled in disorder.
The old tank was now right on top of the gunmen, crushing decorative fawns, nymphs and goddesses beneath its massive steel tracks as it drove the thugs back towards the asylum. But Gunter’s men were not spent. Out of nowhere, a round hammered into Father Finnigan and he was slapped like a crash-test dummy onto the frozen ground.
‘Father Finnigan!’ yelled Bennet.
‘Don’t stop Reverend! Keep going. Give ‘em hell!’ yelled the mortally wounded priest. Heroically, with the strength ebbing away from his torn body, Finnigan urged the Purgatorians on. With a heavy but proud heart, Bennet turned, wiped a tear from his eyes and then raged forwards, firing from the hip. Buckling under the vicar’s fury, two of Gunter’s men were scythed down as all around Bennet the return fire chewed up the hydrangeas.
The tank pitilessly flayed Gunter’s men as they retreated, leaving many of their number wounded and broken amongst the shrubberies. The survivors, with bullets dancing at their feet, regrouped at the asylum’s big entrance door. They rolled combat-style into the hallway and threw themselves into cover, firing back at the priests and vicars as they inexorably closed in on La Senza and his machine.
******
Newton and Ascot wriggled like fishing bait on the conveyor belt, their clothes hooked irretrievably. La Senza, clearly enjoying himself, moved the shuddering belt slowly forward towards the guts of the monster, switching it on and off, giggling like a cruel child.
‘Ascot! We’re coming!’ yelled Epsom and Plumpton, finally bolting down from their safe zone on the staircase. Newton, not expecting help, was faster on his wits. He frantically slipped off his leather jacket and undid his belt as fast as his numb fingers would go. The two men were getting uncomfortably close to the jaws of hell. Ascot was watching Newton with some incredulity as he got down to his underwear. Now only in his pants and socks, Newton was able to jump up from the belt towards the huge fat top lip of the devil itself where he swung like a surprised lover outside a bedroom window. Epsom and Plumpton dashed towards their brother.
‘Get me off ... pull me off this bloody thing!’ Ascot howled. With panicked clumsiness, they tried to pull their ensnared brother off the conveyor as he lay there, barking instructions. It was a fatal mistake. Epsom looked on in horror as his own clothing hooked, snagged and then dragged. He leant towards Plumpton, who, seeing where things were going, tried hard to back away from both of them. It wasn’t going to work that way. Epsom and Ascot grabbed at the third brother in a frenetic last-ditch attempt to get off the conveyor.
Plumpton joined them on the belt.
‘Cardinal! Shut the bloody thing off!’ shouted Ascot.
‘Hahahahaha NO!’ laughed La Senza. With vile exuberance, he turned up the speed, and the triplets, howling, lurched forward.
‘Don’t! You can’t! Stop!’ yelled Ascot. ‘You simply can’t!’
‘No such word as can’t ,’ shrieked La Senza.
‘But ... but La Senza, you bastard, we’ve got a contract!’
La Senza’s laugh was childish, pathetic and juvenile, but it did a fine job of making it blatantly clear to all three McCauleys that life was about to change, and not for the better. Like wasps on flypaper, they thrashed pathetically as they inexorably approached the jaws. Plumpton, always the most emotional of the three, whimpered like a toddler at a bad circus. In desperation, a frantic hand, probably Epsom’s, reached towards Newton’s dangling foot. As it got near, Newton quickly pulled the leg out of range and clambered up and over the machine’s vile head until, finally safe at last, he stood upon the monster’s roof. The hand below, its fingers grasped pointlessly around Newton’s sock, was then whisked away into the machine, and with it, the rest of the McCauley brothers.
Gunter crashed back into the entrance hall.
‘Gunter ... get the Purgatorial bastard!’ screamed La Senza pointing. Gunter looked up, and without hesitation, fired. Amongst the splinters and sparks, Newton dodged and weaved through the Gothic embellishments looking for cover. All around him, gargoyles were losing their ears and noses as Gunter’s bullets flayed the woodwork.
For the McCauleys, there were to be no such second chances. Deep inside the throat of the devil, the first fires were reaching out as they were simultaneously racked and sliced by the first wave of blades, spikes and wires. The doomed McCauleys were toasted, cut, sliced, grilled, burnt and then ground like peppercorns, while above them, dancing like a nudist on hot tarmac, Newton dodged the gunfire.
‘Close the damn doors!’ yelled Gunter, ramming in another clip. ‘You lot, guard all the exits and entrances, we can hold them off for a while. We need to buy time!’ As the bullets perforated the heavy oak, the big doors were slammed shut. They piled obstructions against the door and with their guns levelled at the barricade, they backed away .
Outside, the gunfire abruptly ceased.
The screams and the pleading inside the machine were all anyone could hear. The triplets were writhing in a torment of flame, slashing blades and crushing grinding wheels. Newton had the worst seat in the house. Beneath him, separated by only four inches of medieval woodwork, the agonies and soul-destroying torments were that extra bit vivid. Lying flat to avoid the attentions of Gunter’s laser-sighted assault weapon, Newton could hardly ignore their death throes. Even in their last moments, the triplets bickered and squabbled amongst themselves until finally, in a grim choral crescendo, the family argument swelled into one appalling scream. Mercifully, it then ceased.
At the rear of the infernal machine there were three puffs of inert empty powder. They rose in three distinct clouds of sickly beige dust. As they drifted away into the gloom, the sterilised, soul-free signet rings of Ascot, Epsom and Plumpton McCauley plinked and sizzled as they fell one by one onto the cold stone floor.
CHAPTER 36 – The end of the affai r
Newton could still smell whatever had happened to Ascot, Epsom and Plumpton McCauley. It drifted up from the machine in wisps of purple and sickly yellow and floated away in the still cold air.
‘You can’t stay up there forever Dr Barlow,’ giggled La Senza. ‘Why don’t you come down and have a little chat. You must be freezing.’
‘Nah, you’re OK,’ said Newton.
Outside the shooting had stopped and the tank’s engine was clucking away as it sat idling, awaiting orders.
‘Cardinal,’ said Gunter, ‘I’m afraid we are going to have to attempt a break out.’
‘What!’ shrieked La Senza. ‘You mean we are going to abandon my machine?’
‘It’s not as bad as it sounds great Inquisitor,’ continued Gunter. ‘We’ve got all the drawings and plans. We can create new ones whenever we want. But if we stay here then we’re in big trouble.’
‘Certainly looks like it,’ said Newton from the top of the machine.
‘Shut up Purgatorian scum!’ snapped La Senza. ‘Break out you say? But how? We are surrounded are we not?’
‘I’ve been working on that,’ said Gunter. ‘The McCauleys gave me a guided tour of the place before you “processed” them. Seems we can get out through a service tunnel from a kitchen on the south side. Cardinal, can you be ready to roll in five minutes?’
‘But Sister Wendy! My love, my plaything, my little angel! She’s off hunting those ghastly women! I can’t go without her!’
‘Oh how touching!’ said Newton. ‘You do have a soft side after all.’
‘Silence dog! No I don’t.’
‘Yeah ya do lover boy. You’re a big woos.’
‘Ignore him Cardinal,’ said Gunter. ‘We are running out of time. They won’t sit out there forever, we have to get going. We need to get to the plane and get you out of here!’
‘Oh it’s a toughy!’ laughed Newton, ducking as Gunter sprayed the woodwork .
‘You have the book?’ asked La Senza.
‘Yes Inquisitor,’ said Gunter. ‘I have the book, the money and the plans. The relics also.’
‘Yes,’ said La Senza, ‘we have to plan for every eventuality. Just like before. If they should get me, you know what you must do!’
‘Yes great Inquisitor. We will bring you back, just like before. I swear to you.’
‘Yes ... this is most important,’ said La Senza. ‘Mind you, I am dreadfully worried about Sister Wendy.’
‘That’s not very evil,’ said Newton. ‘You’re starting to sound empathic. You’ll be sending greetings cards next. Then it’s a slippery slope towards charity work.’
‘Nooo ...’ hissed La Senza. ‘It’s an evil kind of love.’
‘How can you have an evil kind of love, you moron!’ said Newton.
‘It’s a love born of evil!’
‘Yeah right ... if you say so.’
‘Ignore him Cardinal, we are running out of time,’ said Gunter anxiously.
‘Oh it’s such a dilemma isn’t it?’ mocked Newton. ‘Save yourself or rescue the missus!’
‘He’s right Gunter. I can’t leave her!’ wailed La Senza.
‘Cardinal – snap out of it! He’s playing with your mind. You’re evil, you have to forget her and save yourself.’
‘I can’t,’ said La Senza. ‘She’s so lovely!’
‘A girl like that only comes along once in a lifetime,’ said Newton sagely. Gunter’s frustration was reaching fever pitch. A stream of bullets chopped their way up and down the woodwork.
‘Look at me Cardinal, look into my eyes. You’re evil, remember ... evil !’
‘Evil, yes ...’ said La Senza. ‘Yes that’s right.’
‘And heartless, unthinking, cruel, mean. That’s what’s so good about you!’
‘It is?’
‘Yes great Inquisitor! It is, that’s why we all follow you. Don’t throw it all away ... for ... LOVE!’
‘Evil ... yes I am,’ said La Senza, wavering. ‘I am, aren’t I?’
‘Nah, you’re a love-sick puppy!’ said Newton, who was rewarded with an instant bullet that sung off a nearby chimney .
‘Yes you are evil,’ insisted Gunter. ‘And that means you have to ignore any feelings you might have for the nun, no matter how lovely she is, and come with me. We have to get you out of here. If you stay, well ... then you’ll end up back in Purgatory.’
La Senza shrieked. ‘Not that again, it was so terribly boring up there!’
‘Exactly,’ said Gunter earnestly, ‘and that’s why we have to leave and get you to the plane.’
‘Yes, yes you are right,’ said La Senza reluctantly. ‘I must go.’
Outside, there was a roar and a squeal of tracks.
‘The tank Cardinal, they are about to use it on the doors! We have to go now.’ He turned back to his militia. ‘OK men,’ shouted Gunter. ‘There is only room on the plane for the Cardinal, myself and three bodyguards. The rest of you will have to fight your way out. Once we get to safety we can regroup.’
‘How will we find you again?’ said Olaf.
‘I’ll let you know on Facebook,’ said Gunter.
‘But I’m not registered on Facebook, sir,’ said Olaf. ‘I find it a bit ... creepy . Can you text me?’
‘Surely you’re on Twitter?’ called Newton. ‘Or Linkedin?’
‘Text, tweet, whatever the fuck, look we’ll work it out later,’ said Gunter, exasperated. ‘Jeez.’
‘Yes sir! Good luck!’ Olaf saluted.
‘Thank you Olaf.’ Gunter gestured to two men nearby. ‘You two, Kurt, Norman – come with me. Grab the money and the plans. I’ll guard the Cardinal. As they began to file quickly away towards the service tunnel, Gunter turned, and in one swift movement, lobbed a grenade. Up it went, spinning through the air until it clattered onto Newton’s hiding place. As the bad guys melted away into the corridors, the grenade rolled, gently fizzing, up to Newton’s face.
******
Sister Wendy approached Gabby and Viv like an aging runway model. Tottering on her hooker’s heels, she clicked forward across the lino like a praying mantis until she stood a mere whip’s length from the girls in the blue-grey light, and halted.
‘Well hello ladies,’ she hissed.
‘Whatever,’ said Gabby .
‘Time to go girls,’ said Wendy. She cracked her whip and it landed on Viv’s thigh with an agonising slash.
‘You bitch!’ she yelled angrily.
‘Leave her alone you ugly tart!’ yelled Gabby, who grabbed a chunk of wood and heaved it at La Senza’s girlfriend. But the nun deftly dodged the missile before sending out a second whip crack that coiled tightly around Gabby’s arm. Wendy pulled hard and Gabby began to slide forward. ‘Viv! Help me!’
Viv grabbed Gabby’s legs and pulled. The nun’s strength was phenomenal. Viv had to wedge her foot against a door stop, but even then she was fighting a losing battle.
Thankfully they were not alone.
Viv was the first to notice. She saw Sister Wendy’s face change from dominatrix to mortified child in a heartbeat. She dropped the whip and staggered in dread, falling against the wall for support. Her gaze was fixed above and behind them in abject horror. Viv, her hair prickling and her skin creeping, gradually turned to look back at what really ought to have been an empty space. Instead there was a pair of semi-transparent sensible shoes and two veined stockinged legs. Shuddering involuntarily, she followed them upwards.
‘No, no, please ...’ whimpered Wendy, her fist rising up to her horrified mouth.
There was no doubt what it was – it was one hundred and fifty per cent ghost. From the see-through body to the locally plummeting temperature, what else could it have been? All it really needed was staring eyes, a malevolent expression and a radiating sense of mortal dread. Viv checked; it had all of these.
‘Mother ... no, please!’ said Wendy.
‘Oh you’ve been a naughty girl Wendy Dryer, a very naughty girl,’ said the spirit, completely ignoring the women at her transparent feet.
