Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1) (18 page)

She nodded at the book. The Harbinger had forgotten he was holding it but instinctively brought it from under his arm to show her.

“It’s a book,” he said. “Not a key.”

“No. It’s a key. A very special key.
The
Key. Your teacher has no use for it now, having relieved himself of its burden, I see, by passing it on to you. His little protégé. How privileged you are and you don’t even know it. How pivotal you are to the future of this world. And yet you are so young, so weak, so...” she screwed up her face and for a moment her beauty gave way just a little and he caught a glimpse of something much more frightening in her, “...so
innocent
.”

“The book you carry,” she said, the radiance returning, “contains the entire history of matters past and future. It is the answer to everything and the question of nothing. It contains the judgment of all things. Its pages are fate, time, death
, war, suffering, hope and love – all conjoined horribly and wondrously.”

She smiled at him, she was so captivating that he believed –
wanted
to believe – that she might not harm him. But the sick feeling in his gut told him otherwise.

“What have you done to him?” he asked, motioning to Father Ireland.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Can you not see? Poor child. He has betrayed you.”

“No!” shouted the Harbinger, the surge of anger overcoming his fear. He rushed over to his teacher,
pawed at his coat, tried to turn his face but the old man resisted, moaning as if in pain, fighting to keep his eyes level with the wall and nothing else.

“Father! Father!” the boy shouted. “Wake up, father! What have they done with you?”

Tears welled up. His cheeks burned, hands sweated, but the priest was immovable. In the end the Harbinger collapsed at his feet, sobbing gently, his arm across his face, his head spinning with anger and confusion.

“There, there,” she said, her voice soothing and calm. She must feel his pain, he thought. She must understand. But she did not touch him. She didn’t move from the chair and, after a short while, his tears dried up and he was able to turn to her again and look upon her beauty.

“He betrayed you,” she repeated softly. “From the moment he picked you out of the prison cell you were his to groom, ready for this moment. Did you really think it was benevolence that drew him to you? Poor child. How deceived you have been. But no matter, your betrayal is our gain. You are here now, here to fulfil your destiny.”

From seemingly nowhere, Eliziah produced a small wooden box, which she placed on her knee. It was the size of a music box but when the Harbinger examined it a little closer he re
cognised the symbol on the top: the sun with the nine beams of light, the same as in the book.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A spirit box,” she replied. “In here is Belial. King Belial, Destroyer of Worlds.”

“I thought the demon was in you.”

“No,” she laughed, genuinely laughed. “No, the demon – as you call him – is in
here
and has been incarcerated in here for ten thousand years. Ten thousand years waiting for you.”

“Why me?”

“Because you are the Harbinger.”

The boy thought about what the priest had told him. About his encounter with the Russian boy who had told him about the end of the world. The Harbinger was a man, the priest had said. A man with an incurable lust for power who would bring about the coming of Sin.

“I’m not him.”

“No,” she said. “Not yet.” She smiled dreamily at him. “You are so young but in time you will realise the importance of your role in the fate of the world. You are a very important person.” She ran her hand along the edges of the box, intimately, lovingly, teasing the lock with the end of her finger. She looked the personification of everything the Harbinger had dreamt a woman should look like. He felt her penetrating stare fill him with energy, with lust. He moved towards her slowly, transfixed, like a moth drawn to the burning flame, reached out t
o touch her perfect, white skin. He moved so closely to her he could feel her breath on his face, felt her take his hand in hers, only vaguely aware of her fingers wrapping themselves round him, gently sliding his own hand along the curves of the box and under a small hinge.

Click
.

And the world turned pure white.

V

“If ya’ don’t want money then what
do
ya’ want?”

The sound of George’s voice brought the Harbinger back from his daydream.
He turned round, allowing George to see his full face for the first time and he took pleasure in the change that crossed the old man’s face as the realisation washed over him.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” he croaked.

Chapter 37

Ash sat at his desk thoughtfully. His office was not much bigger than a broom cupboard carved into the side of a much larger bull-pit where everyone else muscled in together. The Major Crime Unit had expanded quickly – eight officers in all now, including himself and Baron. There was hardly room to fit them in this end of the building. Funding cuts in other departments had created space elsewher
e and there was talk of them swapping with the paedo hunters down the corridor. That was fine with him. Their DI had a decent size office with enough room for a two-seater sofa and at least three filling cabinets. It would be a good trade for Ash.

The window
overlooked a back street: plastic bins, stairs lined with broken glass leading to terrace houses, an old Citroen parked on the curb. The houses were a mixture of student digs, local families and the occasional dealer. The first floor was below street level. If you walked along it and looked down through the peeling iron gates to the windows sunk into the building below you’d see a kaleidoscope of life. Men in string vests drinking beer, women with two or three young children strapped to their legs cooking, kids smoking joints while reading papers or weighing out hash on kitchen scales.

Maybe he wouldn’t like the move across the corridor. He’d miss the view.

Keera Julian stood at his doorway. She had a habit of hovering around his office when she wanted to speak to him rather than just coming in. He wasn’t sure why. He looked up at her and she smiled, or at least the corners of her mouth moved to form the image of a smile. He never saw her laugh, other than at other’s misfortune. It occurred to him how little he actually knew about her. She’d been promoted to DS a few years back, before Ash. She’d watched him rise from her subordinate to her superior in five years. He wondered if that was ever a problem. She was married but estranged. He knew that much. Her husband had run off with a younger model – one with a sense of humour perhaps – a few years ago but they’d never bothered to get a divorce. They simply forgot about their marriage, he thought. She wasn’t unattractive but not his type. All boobs and bum. The sort of thing Eran Green would like to get his chubby hands on. Still, now and again, he couldn’t help stealing a glance at the way her voluptuous curves undulated as she leant across the desk to hand him a file.

“Techies gave me this, boss. You better see it.”

“Okay,” he said, taking the file and opening it.

“They’ve started doing backgrounds on the massacre at White Helmsley. The whole village was piled up in that church from the youngest child to the oldest granny. It’ll take a few weeks to compile reports on each victim but this is of special interest.”

“South Glos have the White Helmsley job. We have to find Megan Laicey.”

“Fine,” she said, taking the file back off him. “Their DI thought you ought to read it anyway but I can send it back.”

“Okay I’ll read it.” She put the file back down. He knew she was annoyed he’d given the White Helmsley job away but it was technically outside of their patch and he’d have a job keeping it anyway. And Keera Julian was usually annoyed at something anyway so it might as well be this. “What is it?”

“One of the victims was a fourteen year old male named Jacob Lightfoot. This is a hardcopy of Jacob’s blog. He was posting it on Facebook although it doesn’t appear anybody actually read it.”

“Why not?”

“Because kids are boring. Would you want to read the juvenile ramblings of a child who hated his parents and believe
no one understood him?”

“Okay. Give me the ten second summary.”

“It’s creepy as Hell.”

“You still have eight seconds left.”

“I’ll leave it with you.”

She got up and walked out. He watched her arse wiggle out of the door. Too big, he thought. Not his type.

He turned to the file. About an inch of papers. A printout in a strange font he didn’t recognise. Presumably the techies had just produced the wording in their own format. It didn’t look a very intriguing blog. A lot of words in long paragraphs. No wonder no one bothered to read it.

He considered the papers before reading them. A dead boy’s diary. In a mystery like the White Helmsley
incident, this was a valuable piece of evidence. He wondered why the DI at South Glos had sent it to him.

The start was typical of a kid writing without knowing why he was writing.

So this is my blog. My thoughts laid out bare for everyone to see. Please don’t judge me by them. I don’t like being judged. My name is Jacob and I’m 14. I’m clever but some kids say I’m stupid. I’m good with numbers but I need Word to do the spelling and grammar for me. I live in White Helmsley, which is a shithole. The pub closed last week because the landlord was having an affair with my neighbour Mrs Lodger and Mr Lodger found out. I hear them sometimes when I’m in the garden. They go into a shed at the bottom of the garden and shag. He’s quick. Quicker than me. Less than a minute sometimes but they stay in there for longer. It’s my fault that they got caught because one day when they were in there Mr Lodger came back from work earlier and I went round to ask if my dad could borrow a saw to build a bird table. He keeps the saw in the shed. I went down to the bottom of the garden and listened when he opened the door. It was awesome! Proper swearing and everything. I think Mr Lodger tried to punch the landlord (I don’t know his name, sorry) but I reckon that the landlord is harder than Mr Lodger. He’s an accountant or something. Anyway, now the pub’s closed so I guess that’s my fault.

Ash sighed. He wondered just how much evidential value was in this kid’s mind. He guessed that depended on whether this was a massacre – a random act of violence – or, like Alix mentioned, a mini-Jonestown.

He read on with a little less enthusiasm, skipping large sections that looked uninteresting, trusting his judgement on what was useful and what wasn’t. He stopped and read when he saw reference to a church.

The church at White Helmsley is haunted. Not many people know that. Never go to the church alone because the Devil lives there. That’s why people don’t go.

              ...

This one time Craig and
I had a dare that we could go and spend the night in the church so I told dad I’m going to sleep at Craig’ house and obviously he tells his mum and dad (yeah, he’s got both – lucky bastard) that he’s sleeping at mine and we take sleeping bags and meet at dusk by the church. It was really weird. We go in and there’s this light shining at the end of the church but there’s no electricity or nothing like that so we can’t work out where its coming from. I say it’s an angel. Craig said it was the Devil but we shit ourselves and leg it back to the bus shelter. We spent the night at Craig’ house and his mum makes us pancakes for breakfast.

A few pages in and Ash ran his hand through his hair. Someone – presumably one of the techies or the DI at South
Glos – had highlighted large sections of text. He read on, a little more alert.

A man came to visit today. Never seen him before. I opened the door and spoke to him. He was odd. Not odd-funny like Craig but odd-weird like someone from Warcraft or something. Said could he speak to dad but he’s asleep on the sofa. Too much beer. I had a few too when he fell asleep which is probably why I didn’t close the door in the guy’s face. He said he was going to start the church again and I said good luck with that because the Devil lives there and he laughed. Said he’d been and didn’t find the Devil but did I believe in God? I said I dunno, never thought about it and he said good or something. He gave me a leaflet which I put in my bookshelf. Didn’t read it because I hate reading. Takes all my energy to do this blog let alone read some shit this guy left.

              ...

That guy came back. Shit he’s scary. This time dad wasn’t dead and we spoke to him together. He said that he’s from a new religion. One that’s really big in America but not big over here. Sounds crap but whatever. Can’t remember what the name was. Something weird. Church of Whatever. So what about it? Would we be interested in going to church? Dad says would he be interested in opening up the pub again and he said no. Think he left then.

              ...

So Craig says to me one day have you spoken to the Harbinger? And I’m like what the hell are you talking about? And then we talk for ages and I think he’s losing it but then I get it he’s talking about the guy who wants to start the church again. The weird guy that came the other night. Come to think of it I don’t know
his name but Craig calls him the Harbinger for some reason. He asks me whether I believe in God and I say I don’t really know, never thought about it but probably I guess. Dad doesn’t so I guess that means I do. He says that this guy wants to start the church again (I say I know that already) but he’s really into it. I’m not convinced but I say to Craig that if he wants me to go with him then I probably would. I have headaches all day.

...

I’ve spoken to the Harbinger today. He doesn’t say that’s his name, doesn’t tell me what his real name is but Craig still calls him the Harbinger. Must be like Prince of something. We talk for ages. Says he’s spoken to everyone in the village and they agree the church should re-open. Do I believe in God? Have I thought about the afterlife? What happens when I die? Loads of dumb questions over and over again most of which I answer with “don’t know” or “don’t care” but give the guy credit he keeps on talking. Then he says something that freaks me out. He says he knows how I feel about Craig. Now that’s really weird because I’ve never said anything about how I feel about Craig. Maybe because I’m not sure. He says he can help me understand me and I feel a little better about things.

...

Dad was pissed all day but went out in the evening. I think he went to see the Harbinger. He came back sober somehow and went to bed early. Told me I need to loosen up for some reason. I felt sick for most of the day. More headaches too. I keep looking at the church. You can just see it from my house. I keep feeling I ought to go there with Craig again – take another look around.

...

Didn’t go to school. Bus didn’t stop long outside to wait for me this time. They rang dad I think but he didn’t answer. Long conversation with the Harbinger again. He says he understands me and asks about God again. This time I tell him I believe in something but not sure what. He says that’s good. He says there’s a meeting at the church tomorrow night and I ought to go and say something. He says I’m important to him which is weird because I don’t even know the guy. He’s probably a kiddy fiddler or something. Is that too much to ask? Headache no better.

...

Stay in all day painting a picture of the church from memory. Then up all evening until the meeting. When I get there it’s only him (the Harbinger). We talk more and drink water from the font (which apparently you’re not normally allowed to do). Can’t stop thinking about the church and God and I tell him this. He says that’s good and what would I say to God if I met him. I say I don’t know, perhaps why he took mum away from me. He asks me about Craig and I can’t remember for a moment who he means so he then says something I also can’t quite recall. Something about time being up or whatever. Damn the flesh that- can’t recall it. Then we talk about sin. He asks me what I understand and I say it’s about murder and rape and stuff. He agrees but says it’s more than that. It’s about a way of life and then says some stuff about rape which doesn’t make sense but when I think about it later it does. I can’t explain it any better than that.

...

Something keeps ringing like the phone but no one answers. I’m not sure about myself anymore but I don’t feel ill, except in my head. People in the village don’t wave anymore. They just stare at the church. I see them looking through their windows and patios. Some stand at the foot of the hill and look up. Others are filming it. They’re all waiting for something but I don’t know what. I don’t know a lot of their names but they’re familiar to me. Like ghosts.

...

Ghosts can kill you if you wish hard enough for something that doesn’t belong to you. I don’t know why I’m writing this.

...

I can’t get the church out of my mind. I want to go there. We all do. But I know that it’s not right yet, not the right moment. But soon. Phone keeps ringing. I’m permanently hungry. I saw Craig the other day. Back of him anyway. He was sat on the wall looking at the church. I shouted his name I think but he didn’t turn around. I don’t really mind what he thinks about me anymore.

...

God lives in the church. I think I understand. God needs to save us all from ourselves. We are all evil. We are all capable of evil. I think about a boy near me often enough to know about evil. I think about going into his house and raping him. So God needs to purge us. He will take away the evil thoughts and we will all be saved. I have been told this and I know it to be true. But God needs to be with us here on earth. He can’t purge us from heaven, we are too far gone. It will be like the coming of the water to destroy mankind and there will be Noah and the animals on the ark. So God came to earth and he’s in the church. I’ll go there with the others when the time is right and we will save mankind together.

...

It is tomorrow. Our Lord has shown us the time when I will walk through the valley of the shadow of death and sacrifice myself for mankind. I am the Saviour. The Light. The One True Way. From my blood will rise the Church of Sin and end the age of mankind.