Delirium (London Psychic) (17 page)

"Have you heard of MK Ultra?"

Blake shook his head.
 

"It was the code name for a secret US government research project through the CIA's scientific intelligence division. The aim was ambitious – to learn about the extent of human behavior through the investigation of mind control, behavior modification …" Crowther looked at Blake, his eyes narrowing. "Psychic ability. But alas, their methodologies meant the project was doomed once it became widely known what they were doing. They used drugs, isolation, torture and abuse on American citizens in the pursuit of knowledge. The aim was to give the USA an intelligence advantage, to create weapons that would target people's minds."

"Did they succeed?" Blake asked, tugging at his wrist restraint again, testing its strength.

"Officially, it was shut down, but of course, aspects continue under other names, other departments – using subjects that won't be missed, much as we do. But when our research found the correlation between mental health status and at least perceived psychic ability, we decided to continue investigation from another angle. What if the voices of schizophrenia are a form of extrasensory perception? What if the sensations of religious ecstasy are a form of mania? What if visions from God – or from the Devil – are just a higher function of the brain that we can all access?" Crowther's eyes were unblinking. A shiver ran down Blake's spine at the depth of his gaze, as if the man stripped away the flesh and bone on his face to see the mind within. He was no longer a person, just a vessel for a brain this man desired.

"Genealogy research is the next step, for if we can interbreed those of you with these genetic gifts, we can create the mind-soldiers of the future, those who can work in the shadows of intelligence and return our country to the glory of Empire." Crowther placed the vials of blood into a plastic box and slipped it into his pocket. "Some of my colleagues see the mentally ill as dross to be bred out, but I want to sift through you all and find the hereditary gold." His eyes narrowed as he stepped towards the bed. Blake leaned back as Crowther loomed above him. "Your family is particularly special, Blake, and many of my colleagues are interested in trying their experiments out while you have your visions." He bent to the cabinet next to the bed, pulling out an electric razor. "But I get first crack, and we'll start as soon as the tequila poison is flushed from your system." Crowther switched on the razor, and pressed the button on the drip a few times, increasing the flow. "We'll need your head smooth for the equipment. Stay still now and this won't take long."
 

The buzzing filled Blake's mind and a cold sensation crept slowly up his arm from the drip. He tried to twist his head away but it was too heavy and his neck wasn't strong enough to move. As the drug-induced darkness descended, Blake heard Crowther begin to whistle softly as he worked.

Marie Stevens placed her leather-covered Bible on the narrow shelf in front of her, its beloved pages well-thumbed and marked with notes. She knelt on the embroidered cushion as the Reverend began to speak, his deep voice echoing through the nave of St Paul's Cathedral.
 

"Let us confess our sins in penitence and faith, firmly resolved to keep God's commandments and to live in love and peace with all."

Marie felt the impression of her knees snug on the cushion where so many of the faithful had knelt before, and it gave her comfort. She began the response, words she knew so well that she barely even registered them anymore at a conscious level. This was her ritual, the foundation of her week, and had been for the last forty-two years. She had sat in this cathedral with her parents, now beside God in Heaven, and she had met her husband here at one of the prayer groups. A fleeting uncharitable thought crossed Marie's mind, and she pushed it aside, offering her pain to Jesus.
 

"We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen."
 

Her weak ex-husband would get his just rewards in the hereafter. That was what Marie held onto during the lonely nights. That, and the touch of the Reverend's hand after the service, when briefly she felt his special blessing upon her.
 

Marie looked up towards the quire as the sun streamed in, a momentary glimpse of the holy here on Earth, a shimmering haze of gold dust illuminating divine miracle. In one alcove, Jesus was portrayed as crucified on the tree of life, the cross transformed by branches, leaves and a golden sun, with water running from the base in folds of blue and indigo, crested with gold. The sunlight picked out rich color on the wings of angels, the feathers of peacocks. Then, a cloud passed over and the moment slipped away.
 

The Reverend finished the prayers and took the Eucharist himself as the organ quietly played, encouraging a penitent calm. A line quietly formed, each waiting their turn for the Host as the faithful knelt at the altar. Marie walked slowly to the front, calming her heartbeat as she knelt again, hands cupped before her.
 

"The body of Christ," the Reverend intoned, placing the wafer in her hands.
 

"Amen," Marie whispered, meeting his eyes and then placing the wafer in her mouth.
 

"The blood of Christ," he said, and tipped a little wine between her lips. The chalice was cool on her mouth, and for a moment, Marie thought she felt the Reverend's fingers brush her neck.

The wine tasted unusual today, a little stronger than last week. It felt like fire down her throat, with a warming aftertaste, like a good whiskey. Marie said her silent prayer, thanking Jesus for his sacrifice. She stood and walked, head down, back to her pew where she knelt in contemplation for a moment. As she moved to sit up again, Marie's head began to spin. She reached out a hand to steady herself. She looked towards the altar and it seemed as if the gold from the mosaics had lifted off the walls and now rained down on the congregation. The painted Eden on the ceiling of the quire pulsated with energy, as if the garden would erupt with fecundity and spill down the walls, so they could dwell again with God in that holy place. It was beautiful, surely some kind of holy vision.

A single voice rang out in the quire, one of the choristers intoning a holy prayer. Unusual, but beautiful, Marie thought. She lifted her arms towards Heaven, prayers so fervent in her chest, she thought she would burst with joy. She noticed other people around her beginning to weep. Something was happening. Was this the outpouring of the spirit promised in the book of Acts?

Even as holy exultation welled up inside, Marie became aware of a malevolence behind her, a cold shadow that threatened to sweep over the congregation. She looked towards the back door of the cathedral and saw a darkness in the shadows where the sun could no longer reach. The people who sat there looked misshapen, deformed, and they were swaying and moaning. Marie sent up a prayer to Jesus, knowing in her heart that this was Satan attempting to stop the holy visions, trying to prevent the purposes of the Most High. But the Evil One must not prevail, could not prevail in this holy place.

As she looked to either side, Marie saw there were people nearer to her twisting into grotesque shapes, some bent double and vomiting as they morphed into their true demonic forms. Her eyes fell on an angel, standing with a scythe in the portico of a doorway. As she watched, it stepped down and began to swing the weapon, its face turning from heavenly contemplation into the visage of corruption, the promise of torture in its eyes. Marie knew it was a fallen one that wanted to take its victims to the depths of Hell, as company in the darkness and the agony of separation from God.
 

Marie watched in horror as undulations of other forms erupted from the stone around her. The monuments to the war heroes rippled with energy and figures with swords and knives awakened to seek victims around them. With muscled torsos and strong arms, they raised their weapons to bring long-dead vengeance to this place. Held captive for so long in stone tombs, they now rose again to smite those the Lord had decided to punish. The whispered prayers of the desperate caught in the ornate decorations, decaying as they rose, stuck on their journey to an uncaring God. The cross as the route to salvation became the instrument of torture once more and Marie watched as Jesus writhed in his death agonies.
 

Angels launched themselves from the dome, voices like a chorus of waterfalls, crashing into explosive sound. Birds of paradise flew out from the Eden above, their wings an iridescent blue, their song turned into a souring roar by the rasp of teeth in their beaks. Their blue feathers split open to reveal rotten black, their taloned feet poised ready to rip the flesh from the faithful. The sun that had been shining down in rays of gold now turned into streams of piss, stinking and dirty, the stench soaking the parishioners who twisted under its impurity. Marie clutched her hands together in prayer, whispering to herself. "'Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.'"

A crash came from the altar as great candles were pushed to the floor by a choir that rampaged in righteous anger, beating the young boys who had turned into demonic hosts. As flames caught, smoke filled the air, shrouding the cathedral with a thick grey mist. Warped figures thrust out of the fog, talons clawing for more flesh to rip apart. Then Marie saw the Reverend, arms outstretched to his flock, his body transfigured as he bellowed words from the book of Daniel.

"'There before me was a fourth beast – terrifying and frightening and very powerful. It had large iron teeth; it crushed and devoured its victims and trampled underfoot whatever was left.'"

The Reverend's eyes were red and his skin crawled with maggots that burrowed into his flesh, making him an undead freak. The smell of rotting flesh filled the air, overlaid with the scent of incense as from a tomb. Marie heard a scream and realized it came from her own throat as she looked on his sickening visage, but hers was no longer a lone voice. Her shouts were part of a chorus of screams and moans that came from the thickening horde around her, as demons slithered from the cracks in the floor to torment the souls around her.
 

She watched two men pull a woman to the floor, one holding her down as the other pulled up her skirt. Marie could see demons cleaved to the backs of the men, their vicious mouths urging violence, long tongues licking at exposed flesh. The woman screamed, even as her mouth was smothered by a fearful creature with lizard frills about its neck and smoke rising from its back.
 

The organ sounded as a cacophony, polyphonic doom rippling through her skull, but it couldn't drown out the coughs of the evil ones, their throaty roars and hacking hate. Had God abandoned them to this evil? Or was this a test that Marie must overcome for Him to pour out His blessings again?
 

People around her had faces of demons now, their hands misshapen claws, stalking towards her to rip off her skin and eat her flesh. Marie had to stop them reaching her. She stood up on the pew, grabbing her Bible. She swung it down onto the head of what had once been a woman next to her. The thing fell to the floor, and as she opened her mouth, Marie saw a smaller demon inside, the jaw expanding to allow the fetid parasite to escape. Marie felt the wrath of God rise up inside her as she beheld the abomination of God's corrupted child. This would be her victory, this would be her offering to the Almighty. By vanquishing Satan, she would be able to sit at the right hand of God with Jesus and all the angels.
 

As the demon began to emerge, its body hairy and misshapen, Marie used the heavy Bible to beat at it with both hands. The wet thwack resonated through her, the weight of it sounding as a drum pulsing with the power of God. She felt the muscles in her arms tense, flooded with the strength of His army to vanquish the wicked and she heaved it against the woman's head again and again until blood and bone stained the leather Bible, a perfect sacrifice in this now-corrupted place.

The Christian community are holding prayer vigils throughout London tonight as nearly two hundred people were taken to hospital following an incident at St Paul's Cathedral during the afternoon service. Three fatalities have been reported, one from heart failure and two others from the brutal violence that broke out within the cathedral. Other injuries include trampling, shock, various degrees of physical trauma as well as poisoning. Five victims of rape have also been reported.
 

"The victims from St Paul's have tested positive for a strong psychoactive drug," Police Commissioner Malcolm Jordan said in a statement to the press. "It's thought to have been administered through the Communion wine and quickly brought on hallucinations that caused the outbreak of violence within the church."

Survivors who had not taken Communion say the cathedral had descended quickly into madness after the Eucharist was taken.
 

"It seemed as if some kind of collective madness took hold of most of the congregation," parishioner Eric Smythe explained. "I couldn't believe it at first, as some couples began to behave sexually and others with violence, in the middle of a sacred church service. Within a few minutes, it seemed certain that something was very wrong. That's when I called the police … The whole thing only lasted about fifteen minutes, but I will never forget what I saw in this church today."

The clatter of metal instruments woke Blake and for a moment he didn't recognize where he was. His body was heavy, his mind a blur. As he remembered, he raised his arm, the restraints still locked on his wrists. Looking towards the end of the bed, he saw the chair with the head brace. That hadn't been his imagination. Crowther was setting up equipment and he glanced over as he heard Blake's movements.

"Good morning." The doctor was cheery, enthusiasm oozing from him.