The Unhappy Medium, page 45
‘Mother ... no, let me be ... I’m grown up now.’
‘Grown up? How dare you! You’ll always be my little baby,’ continued the spirit. ‘My naughty little girl!’
‘No mother, no! I’m a grown woman. Leave me be!’
‘You’re what you always were Wendy Dryer – a dirty little tart. Thinking your dirty, smutty little thoughts. A bad and a naughty little girl.’
‘I’m not naughty, I’m a normal girl. A woman ! ’
‘You ran from me, when those sick naughty people killed me, you ... you stayed away. I haven’t forgotten,’ continued the ghost. ‘You never came to see me. Well, I’ll never let you go now – not this time!’
‘Mother please no!’ Viv, hypnotised as she was by the ghostly confrontation, pulled her wits together.
‘Gabby, come on, we’ve got to go!’ They stood up and dashed past the dumbstruck figure of the nun. As they raced past her, Sister Wendy did nothing to stop them.
‘Look at you,’ said the spirit of Matron Dryer. ‘Look at you, you filthy little slut. What do you look like? You and your dirty friend. I’ve watched you – I’ve seen what you do. You dirty little harlot!’
‘No Mother no! Don’t say that!’
‘I’ll never let you out of my sight now, you cheap little slag. No more naughty girl.’
‘But I’m not naughty,’ said Sister Wendy. She slapped her hands over her ears and turned, staggering away a few tottering steps.
‘Oh yes you are. Like all the young women nowadays. That’s what you are! A naughty girl.’
‘I’m not naughty, I’m not naughty!’ screamed Wendy. ‘I’m not naughty.’
Viv and Gabby ran on and away from the macabre family reunion, but soon, in the total darkness, they were utterly lost. Horribly lost. Staggering and stumbling along they could not work out where they were or where they were going. Gabby, tired and stressed, began to lose her teen coolness, and as she held on to Viv’s hand, her bottom lip began to tremble. But as they panted and hugged in the darkness, they began to sense a change in the light, a faint blue glow appearing behind them. Viv turned and saw a vague shape grow closer and more defined, condensing into the figure of a young girl, no more that fourteen or fifteen years old.
‘Follow me,’ said the spirit.
******
Newton bounded back over the top of the machine and was in mid-air when the grenade burst. The resulting cloud of medieval shrapnel showered down around him, but mercifully, it left him unscathed. He landed heavily and rolled to a halt in his pants and sole remaining sock, wondering what on earth was coming next .
It was the tank. It came through the big oak doors like a punch, splitting and tearing the thick wood into matchsticks. Once in the hallway, it shuddered to a halt, its machine guns swivelling back and forth looking for targets. Satisfied that Newton was alone, the tank clattered to a standstill.
The Reverend Bennet, grinning through his goggles, emerged from the hatch and looked down.
‘Newton, my dear boy. Where are your trousers?’
‘They’re in that bloody thing!’ said Newton. ‘It was either me or the Levi’s I’m afraid.’
‘Oh dear, you must be freezing.’
‘I’m getting there.’
‘So that’s the machine is it?’ said Bennet, climbing down as the assault teams joined them in the atrium.
‘Yup. Nice eh?’ said Newton. It was still running and Bennet was strolling a little close to the barbed conveyor belt for Newton’s liking. ‘Hold on Vicar, I’d stay back if I was you – it bites. We’d better try and switch the bloody thing off.’ Newton opened the control panel and pulled at the various levers until thankfully, after a few roars, groans and slashings, the beast ground to a halt.
‘Well at least La Senza had to abandon it. I’m guessing he’s done a runner?’ said Bennet, cautiously looking into the jaws of hell.
‘Yep, we’ll have to get after him pronto, there’s a tunnel apparently, out from the kitchens. And don’t think it’s over – they’ve got blueprints of this monster, they intend to build more.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Bennet. ‘That’s not good. What about the McCauleys?’
‘Smell that sort of smoky bacon thing?’
‘Yes,’ said Bennet.
‘Well that’s the McCauleys.’
‘Oh dear. How very unfortunate.’ He turned back to his team. ‘OK lads, time to get after the blighters. Pair up and start a search of the upper floors. Father Finnigan’s team, you come with me, let’s find this damn tunnel.’
‘Where is Father Finnigan?’ asked Newton. Bennet looked down.
‘Father Finnigan ... he ... he didn’t make it.’
‘Oh I’m so sorry,’ said Newton sadly.
‘He died doing what he loved,’ said Bennet. ‘So let’s remember him by carrying on his work. Let’s get after the bastards!’ There was a defiant roar from the warrior priests, which tailed away awkwardly.
The priests began to split up. They melted away into the side rooms and up the stairs as Newton, Bennet and Finnigan’s bereaved team dashed along corridors looking for the kitchen. Bennet finally found it and opened the trap door to the exit tunnel.
‘It’s in here,’ he shouted, peering down the stairs into a dark cellar.
‘Oh great, another dark enclosed space,’ said Newton wearily. Cautiously, they descended the steps and hurried off along the tunnel.
******
The spirit girl led Gabby and Viv down the stairs and back into the atrium. The old tank sat there, clinking and popping as its engine cooled, the mechanics by its side. Oiling and fixing, they stopped to look up as the two girls descended the staircase, the blue-white ghost of the girl in front.
‘Bloody hell!’ said one of them, his jaw dropping open to release his rolled cigarette.
‘You are safe now,’ said the spirit. ‘The bad people, they’ve gone. You can trust these men.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gabby. The spirit turned to leave. ‘Hey, wait!’ Gabby shouted as the spirit drifted back up the staircase. ‘Where are you going? Why don’t you come with us – can’t we help you?’ The girl looked back.
‘I’m sorry, no. I can’t leave as long as this building stands. I’m trapped here. I died here and that means I’m part of the fabric of the place. I will be ... forever.’
‘What? Really? But that’s terrible,’ said Gabby. ‘Surely we can help you, there must be something we can do.’
‘Thank you, but no, it can’t be. I’ve been here too long. I cannot leave. I am its memory, and my memory is embedded within it . We are trapped, the building and I. As long as it remains I cannot be at peace.’ With that she drifted away, and with a heavy heart, Viv held Gabby back. ‘Sweetie please. We’ve got to leave.’ Gabby had huge tears running down her cheeks.
The mechanics rushed towards them.
‘You alright ladies?’ one asked warmly. ‘Quite an evening! Come on, let’s get you out. Safest place is in here I reckon.’ Carefully they all clambered into the tank. Inside the curator sat small and nervous, warming his hands against the pistons. Shivering from cold and stress, they bustled up against each other like baby blue tits. With a spectacular growl, the mechanic opened up the engine and backed the old tank out of the hall, down the ornate steps and into the grounds.
******
Bennet’s torch caught the movement just before the gun fired. One of Gunter’s rearguards had been waiting for them.
‘Look out,’ said Bennet, and he pushed Newton hard back against the dirty old wall and out of the line of fire. The bullet flashed past them. Crouching, Bennet fired back. There was a horrified scream followed by a dull thump. Rushing forward they found the gunman sprawled; he wasn’t dead, Bennet had made sure of that. A neat wound had opened up in his exposed shoulder and he was lying stunned by the shot.
‘Thou shall not kill,’ said Bennet.
‘Amen,’ said the holy men behind him.
‘Newton – grab his trousers and his jacket while he’s too limp to fight back.’
‘I’m not sure he’s my size,’ said Newton, pulling at the man’s belt.
‘He’ll do,’ said Bennet. ‘And you may want to check for a weapon.’
‘I hope you mean what I think you mean,’ said Newton dryly as he slipped off the man’s trousers.
‘This is no time for innuendo, Dr Barlow,’ said Bennet disapprovingly. ‘Get those clothes on fast, they can’t be that far ahead, judging by this joker.’ Newton threw on the trousers, boots and jacket. The wounded gunman was lying shivering on the floor. ‘Don’t worry about him, we’ll pick him up later. Come on, let’s go.’
Soon they were nearing the end of the tunnel. It abruptly emerged into a boiler room, part of the greenhouse heating system. Guns at the ready, they cautiously climbed up into the glasshouses. Instantly, there was a ripple of gunfire and a shattering of glass. Bennet’s men fanned out and returned fire.
‘OK chaps, come on now. Get them suppressed.’ The fire fight flared and Newton crouched down in alarm as broken glass cascaded down.
‘Bloody hell!’ he screamed above the cacophony of gunfire.
‘Quite,’ said the Reverend, who popped up over a potting table and sent out three well-aimed shots, each rewarded with a yelp, a scream and a profanity.
‘Jesusssss!’
‘Really,’ said Bennet. ‘Why do they have to blaspheme every time I shoot them?’
‘Maybe you just converted him!’ suggested Newton helpfully.
‘I strongly doubt that,’ said Bennet reloading. He shouted to his team: ‘I make that three down. Any others?’
‘I don’t think so Rev.’
‘OK then. Brethren – up and at ‘em!’ Dodging from cover to cover, they moved through the old kitchen garden until they came to the open gates. Beyond them the heath lay open. La Senza, Gunter and his men were clearly visible in the distance running frantically towards the distant Antonov, its engine idling in the straggling mist.
‘There they are!’ screamed Newton.
La Senza was having enormous trouble running in his cheap fancy dress robes and he was forced to hitch them up high to free his legs. The bag containing the relics beneath his arm only made matters worse, and as he staggered along, he struggled to lift the clothes up from his shoes.
‘Gunter, help me!’ he shrieked.
‘Come on Cardinal!’ yelled Gunter looking back. ‘We are nearly there!’
The pilot, who had been smoking nervously as he waited for the party, dropped his cigarette as they approached, stubbing out the butt upon the frosting grass.
‘Gunter I’m ready ... where are we going?’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ said Gunter, knocking him down with his rifle butt. ‘C’mon Cardinal, I’ll fly this bird. Get in!’
‘Oh Wendy, my sweet dear Wendy,’ whimpered La Senza as they clambered aboard. ‘I’m sorry my dark love. Forgive me!’ He looked back forlornly towards the Grange.
‘No time for that,’ said Gunter, and as soon as they were all safely aboard, he slammed the hatch and dashed for the cockpit. ‘Buckle up. They’re coming after us, it’s going to be a hot take-off.’ Dropping into the pilot’s seat, he threw the switches and the anachronistic Russian biplane wheezed as it came to life. Wasting no time, he slammed open the throttle and the old Antonov began rolling away across the rough grass.
‘Dammit, fire at the buggers,’ yelled the Reverend Bennet. The vicar dropped to his knees and began firing short controlled bursts at the approaching aeroplane. Gunter could see the rounds cracking off the cowling in front of him. Racing, the biplane scattered Bennet and his men as it charged between them. Frustrated, the Purgatorians fired at the departing bulk of the plane as it spliced the gathering mist, their bullets punching holes in the fuselage as it climbed away.
But the Antonov had more trouble in store. As the murk parted, there, suddenly, was the green-grey mass of the World War One tank, crawling at its pitifully low top speed into the path of the roaring biplane. Gunter desperately pulled back hard on the stick. The Antonov, screaming on the edge of a stall, reared up, clawing for height.
Lurching like a closing-time drunk, the plane howled, its throttles to the wall as it jumped over the tank. Gradually it was fighting its way into level flight, but by the time Gunter regained control, another obstacle was looming out of the mist – this time a line of straggling pines just seconds from impact. He threw the Antonov over to the right, jinking through a gap in the trees and then pulling up once again, whooping ecstatically like an Apache with the exhilaration of a close escape.
Not this time.
Jittery from the firing and alarmed by the approaching mass of the Antonov, Hadlow Grange’s resident rooks exploded babbling and cackling out of the pines. There was nothing Gunter could do to avoid them. He threw his arm across his face as the first of the oily black shapes smashed through the windscreen, filling the cockpit with a wet mess of blood and feathers.
Blinded, he lost control.
The Antonov was as good as pilotless. It plummeted to the ground, smashing through the perimeter wall of the Grange and careering in a mass of metal, canvas and wire across the overgrown lawns. It barrelled on through the shrubs and statues, emitting a sickening squeal as the fuselage was torn to pieces. Finally, it hammered into the asylum. Hissing and steaming it lay there inert.
Bennet, Newton and the warrior priests ran forwards towards the crash site. But before they could close with the wreck, there was a ghastly flash of yellow and red. The plane erupted into a fireball as the full tanks ignited. With an intense boiling roar, the clouds of burning petrol engulfed one whole wing of the asylum in an incandescent mushroom. In no time, the entire building was ablaze.
With the mist mingling with a toxic cloud of smoke, visibility at the crash site was reduced to mere feet. Fighting his way through, Bennet reached the wreckage. There was not much to see.
‘Dead, they’re all dead,’ Bennet announced, holding the Purgatorians back with his arm. ‘No, don’t. It’s not pretty.’
Behind them the tank drew up to the hole in the perimeter wall. Excited, Gabby and Viv were instantly out of the tank and running up to Newton.
‘Dad!’
‘Gabby, my love ... thank God! You’re OK! And Viv ... I was so worried!’ They hugged ecstatically, but the relieved reunion was cut short. Roasting in the fire, Gunter’s private arsenal began cooking off.
‘Better move back chaps,’ said Bennet.
The asylum was a sea of fire. Hypnotised by the inferno, they were transfixed as the blaze leapt from window to window at breakneck speed. Thus preoccupied, they understandably failed to see the flash of red behind them.
The bloodied figure of La Senza was staggering, singed, through the shrubberies. He limped desperately towards the hole in the wall, clutching the book and his bag of relics. And he was oh so near to escape when he heard her. The voice sailed out from the flames and he stopped. Wendy was calling to him.
‘Balthazar!’
La Senza looked back, torn pathetically between selfishness and need.
‘Balthazar!’ came the longing, desperate voice.
He could not ignore her. The nun could be clearly seen on one of the building’s high verandas, her habit silhouetted in the light of the rapidly approaching flames. But Sister Wendy was not alone; behind her lurked the spirit of the nurse, the hideous spectre of her controlling, maniacal mother.
‘Balthazar ... my love, my only love,’ called Wendy, her voice floating in and out of the flames. ‘Don’t leave me here with her . Please, Balthazar, take me with you! ’
But Matron Dryer wasn’t going to let her daughter go anywhere ever again. Bound by a weld of guilt, duty and subservience, Wendy stood stock still in front of her as the flames closed inexorably in on them. In life, in death, there never would be another separation.
Gabby was the first to spot them; they all looked up at the two figures as all-consuming flames framed them upon the balcony.
‘Oh my dear sweet Wendy!’ sobbed La Senza loudly, his black heart breaking.
Everyone turned.
La Senza, tears streaming down his face, realised his mistake immediately. There was but a second’s grace as they all exchanged bewildered glances. Then, as Wendy finally sagged and dropped amid the flames, La Senza bolted.
‘After him!’ yelled Newton.
The fog and the smoke pouring from the Grange had mingled into an evil soup, suddenly full of fleeting shadows and dashing figures as Bennet’s men ran helter skelter across the heath in pursuit. Further and further Newton and the Purgatorians radiated until eventually, as they distanced themselves from the crashing timbers and roaring flames, the air carried nothing but their urgent voices and rustling vegetation. In the echoing mist, it was soon hard to tell where the panting and shouting was coming from. Confused, both the hunters and the hunted passed mere feet from each other without making contact.
Suddenly, Newton found himself separated and alone in the fog. Bennet, likewise, was also out on his own and he advanced warily through the gorse bushes, his arms outstretched with the Beretta before him. To make matters worse there were sheep snuffling and running chaotically through the heather. As they edged dangerously close to the cliff tops of the south coast, the crash of waves added their roar to the concerto.
Just then, a cold gust of wind blew in from the sea. It was enough to roll back the mist as Newton, edging cautiously forward into the clearer air at the cliff edge, finally found his quarry. Facing him, with his back to the sheer drop, was Cardinal Balthazar De La Senza in all his self-appointed glory, cradling the necromancer’s book and his sad little relics in his bloodied arms. Defiant, he hissed at Newton like a Komodo dragon.
Keeping his eyes on the Cardinal, Newton called out to his colleagues .
‘Over here, he’s over here!’
Bennet, Viv and Gabby caught up.
‘Don’t come any closer!’ hissed the Inquisitor defiantly. ‘I’m warning you!’
‘Oh come on La Senza mate, for pete’s sake, give it up,’ said Newton. ‘It’s over.’
