Mesmeris Page 9

  His scorched eyes stared up at me. ‘Listen - while I remember. The day they took me.’

  ‘It’s a nightmare, Jack, that’s all.’

  He spoke quickly, his voice urgent but low so that I had to lean close to hear him. ‘There was blood everywhere. Blood – everywhere.’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s a nightmare.

  He growled, crushed my wrists in his hands. ‘For fuck’s sake, will you listen to me? Just listen.’

  ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He let my hands go. ‘Sorry – but please.’ His voice cracked as if he was going to cry. ‘Please listen.’

  I nodded, rubbed the blood back into my hands.

  He looked completely insane, staring up at me from the pillow. ‘My father, they . . .’ He covered his face with his hands, made a weird choking sound.

  I remembered Lydia having night terrors when she was small, Mum saying it was best to play along, not to distress her even more. I stroked Jack’s head. ‘It’s okay, Jack. It’s all over now.’

  He sobbed, then moved his hands and looked up at me, suddenly sane and lucid. ‘If you don’t go, they’ll take you too.’

  An icy draught blew over my skin. I felt it move over my head, travel down my body to my fingers and toes. I climbed into bed and lay down next to him, grateful for the warmth of his overheated body. ‘It’s all right, Jack,’ I said. ‘They’re not real.’

  He stared at me, huge eyes, massive pupils. I pulled his head onto my chest, smoothed his hair back and gradually, his breathing quietened.

  ‘They are real,’ he said, softly. ‘They are. They’re coming for you - and I can’t stop them.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was daylight when I woke and his head still lay on my chest. My jumper felt damp, from tears or sweat.

  His eyes opened. The feverish shine had gone.

  I smiled. ‘Are you okay now?’ His forehead felt cool, normal. ‘You were delirious,’ I said, ‘talking all kinds of rubbish.’

  ‘Didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘No. I nearly called my mum, though. Then I thought me - bedroom - naked man – maybe not.’

  ‘Things I’ll do to impress a girl,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t need to impress me,’ I said. ‘I love you.’ I felt the blood rush to my face.

  He stared. ‘Really?’

  I stared back. Did I? Did I love him? I nodded.

  ‘No one’s ever loved me before.’

  ‘Well, your parents must have, and what about your brothers?’

  A hollow laugh. ‘My brothers? You’re joking. Anyway, they’re not really my brothers.’

  ‘Well, your parents then.’

  ‘No,’ he said, flatly.

  ‘What about when you were young?’

  ‘I don’t remember. They said I blocked it out – the cruelty.’

  ‘But you don’t remember that, do you?’

  ‘No. Told you – blocked it out.’

  I sat up. ‘But you do remember them taking you?’

  He stared at me for a moment. ‘No.’ His tone told me to leave it.

  I jumped out of bed and pulled the curtains open. A few more plastic hooks fell to the floor. ‘Let’s go for coffee. Then we’ll find a hospital.’ Sunshine streamed in. ‘It’s a lovely day – look.’

  He didn’t move.

  ‘I’ll have a shower and then we’ll go out, okay?’

  He didn’t reply and when I came back from the bathroom, he was still in exactly the same position. I sat on the edge of the bed, looked at his pale, tired face. ‘Those scars on your back . . .’

  Guarded eyes watched me. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Tipper didn’t do that, did he?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘They’re my mark,’ he said. ‘My rank.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘In Mesmeris. I’m an Elite.’

  ‘And is that good?’

  He nodded. ‘We’re the best.’

  ‘And your brothers, are they Elites too?’

  ‘Art is – Leo’s a foot soldier.’

  ‘Foot soldier?’

  ‘Not bright enough to be inducted – like the guys that came to your church.’

  ‘The ones that spat at my dad?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  I stared at him. ‘Was Leo with them?’

  ‘No – different crew.’

  I didn’t want to hear any more. ‘Can we go for coffee now?’

  He didn’t seem to hear me. ‘It’s weird,’ he said, ‘but it’s only with you that any of it seems wrong. The rest of the time,’ he shook his head as if to clear it, ‘I don’t even think about it.’

  I tugged on his arm. ‘Get out of bed. We’ll go for coffee. Everything will seem better then.’ Part of me, the logical, sensible part, told me he was still deluded, still raving. My instinct knew better.

  ‘The rest of the time I like it,’ he said, ‘revel in it - the cruelty, the lust, the hatred.’

  ‘Jack . . .’

  ‘I kill people,’ he looked me straight in the eye, ‘torture them – for a laugh.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I shouted in his face. ‘SHUT UP! I don’t believe you. You’re ill, that’s all. Someone – some evil person, they’ve hurt you. It’s making you ill.’

  He stared at me but I didn’t want to see what his eyes were telling me.

  ‘I’m going out,’ I said. ‘I’ll find a doctor or a chemist and get you something – painkillers or something. Once the fever’s gone you’ll be fine.’ I didn’t believe it, but said it anyway.

  Outside, the fresh air and sunshine put everything in perspective. Life was normal. People were shopping, going to work, gossiping, laughing. The world hadn’t changed. Jack had a nightmare – and nightmares weren’t real. I passed a church on my way and felt tempted to go inside but decided against it. It took me a while to find a pharmacist and longer to queue at the till. As I waited, going over everything in my mind, the need to talk to someone became irresistible.

  St Stephen’s looked about as welcoming as a prison with its closed door and mesh covered windows. Still, I gave the door a try. Locked. Only then did I notice the rusted keyhole, the discarded take-away wrappers and cans that littered the grounds. I felt ridiculously upset. All of a sudden it seemed crucial that I talk to a priest.

  An elderly man crossed the road towards me. ‘Excuse me,’ I shouted. He didn’t look up, didn’t break his stride. ‘Excuse me.’ I stood right in front of him. He looked taken aback to see me there. ‘Do you know if there’s a church near here?’

  ‘A what?’ He inclined his ear towards me, his face screwed up in concentration.

  ‘A church.’

  He shook his head.

  I put my hands together as if praying, then crossed myself.

  ‘Ah!’ His creasy old face broke into a smile. ‘Down there. Down there.’ He pointed to a side road lined with brand new, modern terraced houses. It didn’t look the kind of area where there’d be a church. I mouthed ‘thank you’ even so and, since he was watching me, had to follow his directions, convinced he’d got it wrong. The road went on and on but eventually, there was a church, just not the kind I was looking for. It was a modern one-story building with its own car park and looked more like a school, except for the modern, arched windows, and plain wooden cross hanging above the door. A man and a woman were sweeping the forecourt. As I drew closer, I saw the remnants of a smashed stained-glass window, its shards of coloured glass in a neat pile by the open door. The woman looked up and smiled a welcome. She looked in her twenties or early thirties, as did the man with her, much younger than the churchgoers at home. An even younger man came out with two steaming mugs.

  ‘Tea for the workers,’ he said. He brushed his floppy brown hair out of his eyes and smiled at me. ‘Do go in. We are open for business, despite appearances to the contrary.’

  Inside was sparsely furnished, cool and airy. It didn’t smell much like a church, no musty books, no damp, cold, ancient s
tones. Chairs instead of pews, light wood with royal blue cushions. Bright laminate flooring and light – too much light – streaming in through the abstract stained-glass windows. There were candles, yes, and polish, those smells had been there all my life, but this didn’t feel like home.

  I sat, and looked at the bare altar, then knelt on the wooden floor. I felt nothing. I couldn’t pray, didn’t even know what to pray for.

  ‘Can I help?’ The man who’d brought the tea stood in the aisle. He smiled.

  I looked at his jeans, his pale blue shirt, navy jumper. No sign of a dog collar.

  ‘I am a priest,’ he said, ‘honestly. Ordained priest last year. Andrew Barrett.’ He held out his hand, so I shook it.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m used to cassocks and collars.’

  ‘Was meant to be my day off,’ He nodded towards the door, ‘until that happened.’ He sat down across the aisle. ‘How can I help?’

  I hesitated, unsure I really wanted to know. ‘Have you heard of something called Mesmeris?’

  ‘I have.’ His smile wavered, just a little. ‘May I ask why you want to know?’

  ‘My boyfriend mentioned them.’

  ‘I see.’ He sat back. ‘And what did he tell you?’

  ‘Well,’ I laughed at the ridiculousness of what I was about to say, ‘he was delirious but . . .’

  ‘But?’ He sat forwards, his gaze intense, probing.

  I instinctively moved back. ‘Um – well, he has these scars . . .’

  ‘Down his spine? Across here?’ He leaned forwards, traced an imaginary horizontal line across his back, just above his hips.

  I nodded.

  ‘That means he’s an Elite.’

  ‘Yes. He said that.’

  ‘And did he tell you he’s a killer?’

  I stared at him. The words came into my head. I kill people - torture them – for a laugh. ‘He was raving,’ I said. ‘Talking rubbish.’

  ‘What kind of rubbish?’ The gentleness of his voice, the pity in his eyes, told me he already knew.

  I shook my head, couldn’t repeat the words.

  He leaned towards me, rested his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together. ‘I’m afraid it wasn’t rubbish.’

  ‘He’s not a killer,’ I said. ‘He’s gentle and sweet and he saved me yesterday. I’d probably be dead without him.’

  ‘Then that will cost him dear – because he’s trained to recruit or kill. Even telling you about Mesmeris . . . They’re like the Mafia with their vow of silence. Break it at your peril.’

  ‘Well, then why don’t the police do something – stop them?’

  He opened his hands, palms up. ‘We’ve reported them many times. No evidence – apparently.’

  ‘There has to be evidence,’ I said. ‘If they were really murdering people, there’ll be DNA, blood – all kinds of stuff.’ Maybe he wasn’t a priest, after all. Maybe he was as crazy as Jack.

  ‘I’m sure there is,’ he said, ‘but somehow it always seems to get lost or contaminated. Funny, that, don’t you think?’

  ‘Are you saying the police are involved?’

  He shrugged. ‘Mesmeris have a lot of influence – at least around here.’

  I wanted to believe he was lying and yet, in my mind, I saw again Jack’s expression as he slammed his fist into Jenkins’s face. I pushed the image away, replaced it with Jack holding me in his arms, kissing away my tears.

  The door opened behind us and sunlight blazed as the two people from outside came in. They chatted and laughed as they put the cleaning equipment away, hushing their voices as they noticed us sitting in silence. They shouted goodbye, left the church and shut the door behind them.

  ‘I’d better get back.’ I stood.

  ‘No!’ Andrew jumped to his feet, blocked my way. ‘It’s not safe.’

  ‘He won’t hurt me.’ I tried to sidestep him.

  He blocked me again. ‘Maybe not but the others will. You don’t understand. These people don’t just kill. They torture, perform human sacrifice.’

  I didn’t want to hear it. Being trapped in the aisle made me claustrophobic.

  ‘Get out of my way - please.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He moved to one side. ‘Sorry, but, look, the chances are, you’re his target. If he fails to deliver, the others will take over and then he’s in big trouble - and so are you.’

  ‘We’ll run away then,’ I said, realising, too late, how childish it sounded.

  ‘There is no running away from this. He believes they’re inside his head.’

  ‘Inside his head?’

  ‘Mind control. They have it down to a fine art.’

  ‘Well, then we’ll have to un-brainwash him or something.’

  ‘Not easy. He’d have to want to do it, and his loyalty to the man they – laughably – call Papa will be virtually unbreakable.’

  ‘Virtually – but not completely?’

  ‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘not completely.’

  ‘Then, we can break it.’ I sat down. ‘If you help me. If he wants to leave.’

  He rubbed his eyes. ‘We could try - but it would mean an exorcism.’

  ‘Fine.’ I stood up again. A few prayers and a sprinkling of holy water – easy. No more violence, no more nightmares. ‘I’ll go and ask him.’

  ‘Look.’ He followed me towards the door, his tone suddenly relaxed and casual. ‘Why don’t you call him – ask him to meet you here instead? We can talk it over.’ His forced joviality somehow only made his desperation more obvious.

  ‘I have to talk to him first.’

  ‘Okay – right, yes – okay - but how about having communion before you go?’ He smiled, eyes pleading. ‘Yes?’

  The more he tried to keep me there, the more I wanted to leave. ‘I’ve left him too long already.’

  He nodded, his expression defeated. ‘Okay. Goodbye then. May God protect you.’

  At the door, I hesitated. ‘What will they do to him - if he fails?’

  He didn’t answer at first but I already knew what he was going to say.

  ‘Mesmeris don’t tolerate failure. He’ll be ritually sacrificed.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As I walked out into the bright sunshine, part of me thought I should be laughing at the ridiculous melodrama of it all. The other part saw Spook, hanging upside down from the walkway, that gaping hole across his neck. An inverted crucifixion.

  Jack was pacing up and down on the pavement opposite the church. His stubble seemed to have grown overnight. It shadowed his jaw, matching the darkness around his eyes. His smile when he saw me made my throat close up. He put his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. Then his gaze went past me and his expression hardened. Andrew stood at the door of the church. They held each other’s gaze until Andrew turned away and shut the door.

  ‘You were a long time,’ Jack said.

  ‘I was talking to the priest.’

  A shudder of disgust crossed his face and was gone. ‘Thirty seven minutes,’ he said, his eyes averted. Then he looked up and smiled. ‘But you’re back now.’

  I nodded. ‘How did you know I was in there? Did you follow me?’

  He shrugged. ‘Didn’t want you to get lost.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Are you leaving?’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  He put his hands in his pockets and tilted his elbow. I slipped my arm through, put my hand into his pocket and knitted my fingers with his. I looked at his pale face, his tired, clouded eyes, his mouth. He smiled, and everything I’d heard in that church suddenly seemed impossible.

  I reached up on tiptoes and kissed him.

  ‘Coffee?’ he said.

  ‘Coffee.’ The sweet, fresh smell of spring in the air was full of life, hope, regeneration. Jack was ill. Andrew was a nutter but everything else was fine.

  We went to the same café on the beach and sat next to each other, our thighs touching, our shoulders touching.

  ‘I can’t believe what
you said this morning,’ he said.

  ‘Nor me.’ I felt my face flush.

  ‘It’s the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.’

  I kissed his stubbly cheek. ‘We need to find a doctor.’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘You are now. Last night you were in agony. It could come back.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘I messed up, that’s all.’

  A chill ran over my skin, raised the hairs.

  Jack drank some coffee. ‘What did the priest say?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Something heavy seemed to be sitting on my chest. ‘How old are you, Jack?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘Well, when were you born?’

  ‘If I knew that, I’d know how old I was, wouldn’t I?’ He looked away, at two children as they tried to fly a kite. The kite crashed again and again onto the pebbles and each time the children doubled up, shrieking with laughter. ‘They’re running the wrong way,’ he said. ‘They should run into the wind.’

  I nodded, waited.

  ‘We lived here for a while,’ he said, ‘me and my brothers, until we fell out with the others – had to leave.’

  ‘So, how old do you reckon you are now?’

  He shrugged. ‘They said I was eleven when I went in, so I must be nineteen – twenty, maybe.’

  Eleven – a child.

  ‘When’s your birthday?’

  I saw a muscle tighten in his jaw. ‘I don’t know. We didn’t do birthdays.’

  ‘But you must have, before – before you went in.’

  His jaw clenched, his whole face tensed. He breathed in deeply, spoke slowly, through his teeth. ‘I don’t remember – okay? So, leave it.’

  His eyes frightened me. I looked away, out of the window. The children at last worked out why the kite wouldn’t fly. It soared into the sky. They ran along the beach, shrieking with delight.

  ‘Maybe you should come and talk to this priest,’ I said.

  He flung his head back and laughed. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘He knows about this stuff. He could help you remember.’

  He pushed his face up too close. ‘Who says I want to remember?’ He sat back in his seat and stared out of the window, jaw tight, arms folded across his chest.