Infixion (Mesmeris Book 2) Read online

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ Jim drained his glass, and stood. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘No,’ Marcus said. Time to think meant more time to say no. ‘You tell me now.’

  Jim stared for a moment, then sat back down. ‘It’s not that simple, going undercover. You’ll need a false identity for a start.’

  You’ll – you will. He was going to go for it.

  ‘They’re not stupid,’ Jim went on. ‘You’ll need to know your story back to front and inside out.’

  Marcus hid his smile. ‘Okay.’

  ‘And we’ll have to sort accommodation. All that takes time.’

  ‘How much time?’

  ‘Two weeks?’

  ‘Great.’ Marcus stood. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Nothing, no one, was going to stop him now. He was focussed on one prize, and one only – destroying Mesmeris.

  CHAPTER TWELVE PEARL

  Keeping my mind occupied wasn’t easy when life was so dull and boring. I applied for jobs, but they were scarce, and my lack of experience meant I rarely received a reply, let alone an interview. How was I meant to start a new life, when everyone knew me, knew what had happened? Every time I saw that look – the pitying, fascinated one – it set me back.

  It was Uncle Jim who came to the rescue – an unlikely, middle-aged, overweight superhero. He arrived at the vicarage one Saturday afternoon. There was nothing unusual in that, but his voice didn’t boom around the house, as it usually did. Instead, he leaned close to Dad and muttered something in his ear.

  They shut themselves in the kitchen, so chances were it was something to do with me. I sat at my place at the top of the stairs. I’d have heard nothing, except Mum kept raising her voice.

  ‘She is going nowhere.’

  Jim’s low mumble.

  ‘Over my dead body.’

  More mumbling from Jim, then a murmur or two from Dad.

  ‘Safer? Away from us?’ Mum laughed, one of her harsh, scathing laughs, the kind that frightened everyone, even Dad.

  More murmurs from Jim.

  Mum’s voice, quieter now, tinged with fear. ‘What kind of danger?’

  The next thing I heard was Dad calling my name. I waited a bit before coming down, so it looked as if I’d been in my room.

  Dad and Jim sat at the table. Mum had her back to us, putting dishes away in the cupboard.

  Dad smiled. ‘Sit down, Pearl.’

  I did.

  ‘Jim here thinks it may be good for you to get away from here for a while,’ Dad said, in a false, jovial voice, the kind you’d use to a child. ‘How do you feel about that?’

  I glanced at Jim, but he was staring at Mum’s rigid back.

  ‘Away where?’

  ‘London,’ Jim said, eyes still on Mum.

  London – a city of strangers, somewhere I could be free, anonymous.

  Mum didn’t move. Her hands rested on the work surface, unnaturally still.

  ‘There’s some work experience going at the Probation Service.’ Dad shot anxious glances in Mum’s direction. ‘It’ll be good for your career prospects.’

  Mum made a noise, like a snort or cough.

  ‘My brother works there,’ Jim added. ‘He can keep an eye on you.’

  Not freedom exactly, then. ‘Where will I live?’

  ‘Jim says you can stay at the section house,’ Dad said, a little too loudly, ‘so you’d be perfectly safe.’ He emphasised the safe.

  Mum slammed a cupboard door shut, and left the room.

  Jim lowered his voice. ‘It’s not actually a section house as such.’

  ‘Oh,’ Dad said.

  ‘It is secure,’ Jim said. ‘Guaranteed. That’s why the Met use it.’

  ‘Right,’ Dad said.

  Jim finally made eye contact with me. ‘It’s a great opportunity.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said.

  No one told me what the danger was, and I didn’t ask. Didn’t need to. I’d be getting away from the past, the memories. Finally, I’d be getting a life.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN MARCUS

  The car smelled of air freshener – a chemical, poisonous stink. Marcus lowered the window as they drove. He supposed he should ask where they were going, but it wouldn’t change anything. This was his chance. Whatever it took, he was going for it.

  Jim glanced at him. ‘You know much about Mesmeris - how dangerous they are?’

  ‘I should do.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jim said. ‘Of course.’

  Marcus let the awkward silence grow.

  Jim scratched his ear. ‘I hear you can handle yourself.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Marcus said.

  ‘Good.’ Jim tapped the steering wheel. ‘That’s good.’

  A bird of prey soared above them – forked tail, pointed wings, A red kite. An omen, perhaps.

  ‘I’m putting my career on the line here,’ Jim said. ‘You get caught, I don’t know you, okay? You’re on your own.’

  ‘Sure.’ Marcus turned away, smiled.

  ‘Don’t trust anyone,’ Jim said. ‘They have people everywhere. In the labs, my nick, my team, everywhere.’

  ‘Your team?’ Marcus whistled.

  ‘Only three of us know about you,’ Jim said. ‘For your own safety, make sure it stays that way.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘We have a couple of priests on the team.’

  ‘Priests?’ Marcus snorted. ‘Are you kidding?’ What the hell good would a priest be against a gang of murdering perverts?

  ‘They know more about these guys than anyone. Without them, you have no chance.’

  ‘Okay.’ Marcus tried to hide his scepticism.

  Jim shot him a look. ‘You’ll need them, trust me. We need them.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Jim nodded towards the glove compartment. ‘Open it.’

  Inside was a phone, small enough to fit in the palm of Marcus’s hand.

  ‘It’s said to be untraceable,’ Jim said, ‘but the way things develop, that could change, so only use it when you have to.’

  Marcus examined the tiny phone, turned it over in his hand.

  ‘There are two numbers in there,’ Jim said, ‘mine and an emergency one. Only use the second one if you can’t reach me. It’s a safe house, and it’s one use only, so has to be life or death. Not just any life, either - your own or an innocent’s. Mesmeris members don’t count.’

  Cult members were worthless, expendable. Marcus shifted in his seat.

  Jim’s sharp eyes caught him. ‘That make you uncomfortable?’

  ‘Kind of, yeah. Don’t know why.’

  ‘Because you’re a decent kid,’ Jim said. ‘Just keep in mind what they did, what they do, and you’ll be fine.’

  Marcus nodded.

  ‘They signed up for this, remember,’ Jim said. ‘That includes being ritually slaughtered, if their esteemed leader should so wish.’

  Who would do that? Who, in their right mind?

  ‘Don’t put yourself in danger,’ Jim went on, ‘or blow your cover for any of them. Believe me, they’re not worth it.’

  ‘Understood.’ They were monsters, Marcus knew that.

  ‘Hang around town,’ Jim said. ‘Look miserable. We’ll stage a fight. You’ll win. They’ll find you.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You’ll be in a safe house in Gloucester.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Got a girlfriend?’

  ‘No. We broke up.’

  ‘Good.’ Jim smiled. His teeth were disgusting, green and mouldy-looking where they met the gums.

  Marcus guessed he didn’t have a girlfriend either.

  Jim glanced over at him, and away. ‘How’s your mother coming along?’

  ‘She’s . . .’ Marcus shrugged, ‘you know.’

  Jim’s face reddened. ‘It’s tough that, lad.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Marcus didn’t want to talk about it. He stared out of the window, didn’t see the trees and hedges whizzing past. Instead, he saw hi
s beloved mum, and that damned trickle of saliva dribbling down her chin.

  He squeezed the top of his nose so tightly it hurt, waited for the lump in the back of his throat to go back where it came from.

  ‘You’re risking your life here, lad,’ Jim said. ‘You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?’

  Marcus cleared his throat. ‘I’d do anything, anything to bring those bastards down.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN MARCUS

  The ‘safe house’ turned out to be a bed-sit above a hardware shop in the wrong part of town.

  ‘It’s the area they frequent,’ Jim said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ Marcus said, although he wasn’t sure he had. He turned on the kettle, and the lights flickered. ‘Wiring’s a bit dodgy,’ he said.

  Jim nodded. ‘Best I could get at short notice.’ He handed Marcus a pack of rubber gloves. ‘Best use them when switching anything on – or off.’

  Salmon pink Marigolds. ‘Nice.’

  ‘Doubt you’ll be here long.’ Jim handed him a sheaf of twenties. ‘You’re just what they’re looking for.’ He brought out a carrier bag, and began filling the cupboard. ‘Tea, coffee, sugar, milk, beer, bread, butter and cheese. Toilet rolls in the bathroom.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Get groceries delivered. Minimise the risks, every time.’ He pulled a handful of take-away flyers out of his pocket. ‘Take your pick.’ He dumped a dossier of papers on the breakfast bar. ‘Your new identity, new life history. Study it – learn it backwards. Do not set foot outside this place until you’ve become Mark Spicer, body and soul. If you meet them too soon, you’ll cock it up.’

  Cocking it up was not an option. Marcus nodded.

  ‘You need to know everything we have on these guys if you’re going to survive.’

  Marcus flicked through the printed sheets and photographs. Other than Pitt’s familiar image, the faces were new to him.

  ‘Get those ugly mugs imprinted on your brain,’ Jim said. ‘You’ll want to recognise them when you see them.’

  Marcus laid out the photos. Ugly, they weren’t.

  ‘That’s Art, the main man,’ Jim said, pointing at the first, ‘Pitt’s son and heir, in all but blood.’

  ‘Really?’

  The guy was all pale skin, and dark, brooding eyes. Looked more like a poser than a thug. Wouldn’t last five minutes on a rugby pitch.

  ‘Don’t underestimate him.’ Jim must have read his mind. ‘He’s the brains in the outfit.’

  ‘Right. And the muscle?’

  Jim laid out two more pictures. ‘Leo.’ He pointed at a sandy-haired, cherubic, big-eyed kid. ‘Loose cannon – vicious, and stupid – which makes him more dangerous.’ The third picture was a big guy, dark skin, hair in dreads. ‘Nico. An Elite, like Art. They’re in competition for the number one spot. You could use that to your advantage, maybe.’

  This guy too, had the sharp cheekbones, the sensuous mouth. Easy to see how they lured kids to their so-called ‘religion’.

  ‘Are these guys picked for their looks?’ Marcus said.

  Jim shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’ He patted Marcus on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll do.’

  Marcus doubted it. He was a rugby player, for God’s sake, albeit a fly half – a runner and kicker - rather than a massive great forward. Still, he was no male model.

  ‘Were any of them there?’ he said. ‘You know, that night?’

  ‘We don’t know. Maybe.’

  Marcus stared again at the photos, searching for some sign in their eyes. Surely something like that would leave a visible mark, something to warn the unwary, a stigma, a stain. There was nothing.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN MARCUS

  Jim arranged to pick Marcus up early the next day.

  ‘Before you’re unleashed onto the world,’ he said, ‘you’d better meet the experts in mumbo jumbo.’

  Early turned out to be four in the morning. Marcus must have slept through two alarms. Drumbeats permeated his dreams, grew louder, until he finally came to. He stumbled in the dark, staggered to the door.

  ‘I did say four.’ Jim turned on the light. ‘Been knocking for ten minutes.’

  Marcus’s eyes watered in the glare. ‘Sorry.’ He pulled on his jeans and the jumper from the day before, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair.

  The whole time, Jim paced up and down.

  Marcus picked the sleep from the corners of his eyes and yawned. ‘Why so early?’

  ‘Less chance of you being seen. They keep an eye on the vicarage – not all the time, but not worth taking a chance.’

  ‘Right.’ Marcus straightened his shoulders. ‘Ready.’

  The vicarage was set back from the road. An old, Victorian place, shabby but beautiful. The garden looked overgrown and unloved. Piles of dead leaves lined the path, gathered in the drains. Trees put the house in shadow. Jim tapped on the window to the left of the front door. A few seconds later, the door inched open. The priest looked in his forties, greying hair and tired eyes. He shook Jim’s hand, and waved them into a small study. The door squeaked as it shut.

  Bookcases lined every wall. One, small table lamp gave the room a warm glow, even though the house was chilly, barely warmer than outside, if at all. Marcus shivered, tucked his hands into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Sorry to be so cloak and dagger, Luke,’ Jim said. ‘This,’ He slapped Marcus on the back, ‘is our secret weapon.’

  ‘Aha!’ Luke held out a hand. ‘Nice to meet you, er . . . ’

  ‘Marcus,’ Marcus said.

  ‘Spicer,’ Jim corrected, ‘to be.’

  Luke turned the ceiling light on, bathing everything in a harsh, white light. Cobwebs hung from the fringed lampshade, their long threads looped like a poor man’s Christmas decorations across the ceiling.

  A young, lean priest with cropped, black hair came through the door behind them. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ She peered through her glasses at Marcus, and held out a hand. ‘Dawn,’ she said.

  ‘M . . . I mean, Spicer.’ Marcus shook her hand.

  Her handshake was firm, strong.

  Luke sat behind a cluttered desk, littered with books, files, and scraps of paper. ‘Please.’ He motioned at three mismatched, wooden chairs.

  Marcus’s chair wobbled ominously as he sat. He braced his legs, so he could save himself, should it fold under him. He glanced up and caught Dawn’s amused smile.

  ‘So,’ Luke said. ‘I presume this is about your cunning plan?’

  Jim nodded. ‘He needs to know everything you have.’

  ‘You look young, Marcus,’ Luke said. ‘D’you mind me asking. . . ?’

  ‘Twenty.’

  ‘Twenty,’ Luke said. ‘Not much older than Pearl, Jim.’ He shook his head. ‘Too young. The risks . . .’

  ‘They don’t take them older,’ Jim said. ‘You know that.’

  ‘True,’ Dawn said.

  ‘It was my idea,’ Marcus said. ‘I need to do it. I’m going to bring them down if it kills me.’

  Luke scratched his cheek. ‘It may well do just that.’

  ‘I’ll do it on my own if I have to,’ Marcus said, ‘but I’ll be safer if you help me.’ He still couldn’t see what use these two priests would be, but he trusted Jim’s judgement.

  ‘Tell him what you know, Luke,’ Jim said. ‘The lad’s going to do it anyway. At least this way he has a chance.’

  Luke passed Marcus a plastic folder, full of printed sheets.

  ‘I understand you know a fair bit already,’ Luke said, ‘but take this with you. Everything we’ve learned about the cult is in there. Their beliefs, for what they’re worth – the methods they use – mind control, coercion, intimidation, torture and murder.’

  ‘Nice,’ Marcus said.

  ‘You’ll need to recognise the signs, so you’re aware of them working on your mind. Believe me, they’re clever. Even the best can be taken in.’ Luke stared into space.

  The look in his eyes made Marcus uncomfortable. He fel
t like a voyeur watching a car crash. He flicked through the dossier to cover the silence.

  ‘Give us a minute, would you?’ Jim said.

  ‘Sure.’ Marcus went out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

  The place gave him the creeps, all dark corners and weird, scratching sounds. Shadows waved back and forth across the tiled floor, like grasping hands. He knew it was the trees, swaying in the breeze, scraping against the windows, but it gave him the willies all the same. A movement at the top of the stairs attracted his attention.

  A girl, or a spectre, stood silhouetted in the moonlight. Dark hair, messy, sticking out all around her head. She wore some kind of floaty nightdress. The light from behind showed her slender figure, small waist, nicely rounded hips.

  Shit, he thought. It really had been far too long since he’d had a shag.

  She, it, floated down the stairs towards him. Her dark eyes stared intently into his. She didn’t blink. Why didn’t she blink?

  Despite himself, a shiver ran over his skin.

  She walked right up to him, into his personal space, so he felt her warmth. Not a ghost then. The top of her head came to his shoulder.

  She peered into his face. ‘What are you doing?’ she said.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m waiting.’

  Wild hair, a frizz round her pale face. Her features were strong – big eyes, shadowed and sad. Wide mouth, full lips, but sulky. Too used to having her own way, Marcus thought. A spoiled brat.

  She peered up at him. ‘Are you one of them?’

  Marcus frowned. ‘One of what?’

  She wasn’t pretty, not at all, but there was something quite beautiful about her in the moonlight, an animal grace, a spark.

  ‘You touch my dad and I’ll kill you,’ she said.

  Marcus laughed, and yet he believed her. ‘Um . . .’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Go – away.’

  ‘I have to wait for Jim.’ He pointed at the study door. ‘He told me to . . .’

  ‘Then wait - out - side,’ she said, the words clipped, and growing louder.

  The study door opened. ‘Pearl.’ Jim smiled. ‘Sorry. Did we wake you?’

  ‘No,’ she said.