Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (3 page)

“We
mean you no harm, Reverend,” said the man in the front passenger seat.

“Let’s
just stick to
Angela
, shall we?  I’m not a vicar anymore.”

“My
apologies.  To answer your question: I don’t have any information to offer you,
other than that my employer would like to speak with you.”

“Enough
of the James Bond bullshit,” Angela spat, and enjoyed the mild shock that wrote
itself across the two men’s faces.  People were always surprised to hear a
priest – excommunicated or otherwise – use coarse language.

The
man in the passenger seat twisted around to face her and nodded as if agreeing
with an opinion she’d given.  He said, “Look, Angela.  We honestly don’t know
why our boss wants to see you, but I believe it has something to do with
certain…
skills
…that you have.”

Angela
frowned.  “What do you mean?  What
skills
?”

The
man’s eyes narrowed as he spoke the answer: “Exorcism.”

“Okay,
let me the fuck out of here.”  Angela grabbed at the door handle but found that
it was locked.  “Let me out of here NOW!”

“Jut
calm down, Angela.  My employer only wants to speak with you.  If you’re not
interested in helping her after that, you will be free to go.”

“
Her
? 
Your boss is a woman?  Who?”

The
driver was the one who spoke this time.  His answer was snippy.  “We can’t tell
you because of the nature of her business.  She is a public figure and can’t
afford to have news of her personal affairs getting out.  All we know is that
she needs an exorcist and that you were the one she wanted.  She is willing to
pay you for your time, whether you accept her plea or not.”

Angela
closed her eyes and sighed.
  What am I getting myself into?  I’m not a
priest anymore, but if somebody really does need my help, can I actually say no? 
I do still believe in some things.  Plus, I could really really do with the
money.

“Start
the engine,” she said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The
man in the passenger’s seat nodded.  “Sure thing, Reverend.”

“I
already told you not to call me that.  I am not a representative of the church. 
How long is this journey going to take anyway?”

“Not
too long,” said the driver.  “Our employer is in Warwickshire.  I’d say perhaps
just over an hour.”

“Okay,
then I hope you don’t mind if I get a little shut eye and sober up.”

“Be
my guest.”

Angela
closed her eyes.

***

She
awoke in what seemed like only a few minutes later, but the driver snidely
informed her that that she had slept almost the entirety of the journey, snoring
loudly all the way.  The saloon was currently speeding its way along a narrow
country road typical of Warwickshire’s rural landscape.  It was probably the
unevenness of the back road that had stirred her from sleep.

She’d
spent time in the county before when she’d covered a parish in a semi-rural
village called Studley.  It had been a quaint little place with lots of pubs
and places to eat, and she’d enjoyed her time there.  Warwickshire was a nice
place to live.
If you had the money.

“We’re
almost there, Angela,” said the man in the passenger seat.

Angela
checked her watch.  It was past ten.  “What am I going to do afterwards?  It’s
late.”

“Depending
on what transpires, you can either stay at the house, or we will put you up in
a nearby hotel and take you home in the morning.”

A
night in a hotel.  Things are getting better.  Wonder if I can get them to pay
my tab as well.

“Do
either of you have any water up front?” she asked.  “My mouth is as dry as a
camel’s arsehole.”

The
man in the passenger seat laughed while the driver cringed.  He opened up the
glove compartment and retrieved a half-finished bottle of spring water.  Angela
took it from him and finished it in one eager gulp, releasing a satisfied belch
afterwards.

“Some
fine manners you’ve got there,” the driver commented.

“Bite
me.”

There
was silence in the car for another ten minutes or so, until the driver pulled
onto a gravel driveway cut in half by an immense wrought iron fence.  The
saloon stopped in front of the gates and the driver pressed a button on a key
fob hanging from the ignition.  Slowly, the heavy gates parted in the middle
and allowed access.  The car continued up the drive, tyres crunching in the
gravel.

About
a hundred metres up, the driver parked up beside a vast Georgian-style
mansion.  The building was a gargantuan square, with four floors of six windows
across (twenty-four all together).  The building wasn’t far off being a palace.

“I’ve
stayed in worse, I suppose,” said Angela.

The
man in the passenger seat chuckled.  “It’s quite a place, isn’t it?”

“If
you mean a shrine to affluence and greed, then yes, it certainly is.  How many
people live here?”

“Just
my employer and her son.  There were various staff that boarded here also, but
at the moment the place is pretty empty until some rehiring is done.”

“How
the other half live, eh?”

“Indeed. 
Shall we?”

Angela
rubbed at her face to wake up more and then nodded.  “Ready when you are.” 

The
car door was opened for her and Angela stepped out.  It was still chilly but
the air was now fresh and crisp, cleaner than the air she was used to breathing
in the industry-filled surroundings of Staffordshire.  Angela found it interesting
that the super-rich even got to enjoy a cleaner atmosphere than everyone else
did.

“We
can go in through the main entrance,” said the man chaperoning her.

“How
about you tell me your name,” said Angela.  “I’ve just driven fifty miles with
you, after all.”

The
man smiled and offered his hand.  “My name is Mike, but to be honest you
probably won’t have much to do with me if you choose to stay here.  Graham and
I – Graham’s the guy who drove us here – are just glorified dogsbodies.”

“Well,
I’m pleased to meet you, Mike.  Can’t say the same about Graham; guy seems like
a bit of an arsehole.”

“Yeah,
he is,” Mike replied with a smile. “But he’s not that bad once you get to know
him.  I don’t think he likes priests to be honest, but that’s no reason for him
to be so short with you.”

“Well
I don’t like priests either.  Maybe somebody ought to tell him that I’m not one
of them.”

Mike
nodded and then swept an arm towards the house.  “Shall we?”

They
walked across the driveway and up a small set of stone steps.  They led to the
large set of thick wooden doors marking the house’s entrance.  Angela didn’t
know what type of wood they were made from, but they were dark and intricately
carved.  The two doors probably weighed a tonne each.

Mike
pressed a button on an intercom beside the door. There was a brief burst of
static and then a voice floated out of the speaker.

“
Who
is it?
”

“Frank,
it’s Mike.  I have Rev…Miss Murs with me.”

There
was no reply, but a positive-sounding buzz came from the speaker.  Mike turned
the handle on one of the gigantic doors and pushed it open with ease.  Angela
followed him through and found herself inside a cavernous, marble-floored foyer
that looked more like a five-star hotel then a person’s home.

A
large and wiry, silver-haired man appeared at the top of a wide staircase in
the centre of the room.  He descended down the steps slowly as if he had all
the time in the world.  The man seemed a humourless, no-nonsense type of
character and Angela took an instant dislike to him on principle.

“Thank
you, Mike,” the man said.  “That will be all.”

Mike
nodded and departed back outside.  The other man – whom Angela assumed was
Frank – took the final few steps and approached her.  He offered out a
thick-knuckled hand covered by scars.  It was a fighter’s hand.

“Pleased
to meet you, Miss Murs,” he commented.

Well,
at least he didn’t call me
Reverend
.

“
Frank
,
I assume?  Are you the person who wanted to see me, because I was told it was a
woman and you don’t seem to fit the bill.”

The
man did not laugh, but didn’t seem offended either – more that he simply lacked
any kind of sense-of-humour.  “The lady of the house will be down shortly,” he
said.  “She has asked that I make you comfortable.  I am Chief of House and I
will be looking after your needs during your stay.”

“
If
I stay.”

“Of
course.  Now, can I get you anything?”

Angela
shook her head.  “Just somewhere to sit, please.”

Frank
nodded and led her to a small ante-chamber that consisted of two plush sofas
and nothing else.  He left her alone there and Angela started to think just how
surreal the whole situation was.  A couple of hours ago she’d been hanging
around a student bar in Wolverhampton and now she was sitting in a Warwickshire
mansion about to meet some mysterious stranger who obviously had more money
than sense. 

Then
there’s the whole exorcism thing.

Angela
had left the church for many reasons, but she knew that, deep down, it was also
because she feared being a part of the clergy as much as she disdained it.  She
was afraid of having to confront evil and tend to its victims. Her placement on
the isle of Jersey had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.  The blood that
soaked the church walls there was as much from the death of her faith as it was
the death of her parishioners. 

Angela’s
weaknesses were too many to be responsible for others.  She was too susceptible
to taking the path of sin.  That had become abundantly clear on her final night
as a priest in Jersey. The church had been knocked down just two weeks after
she’d quit the calling she once thought would carry her forever.

“Miss
Murs, I’m so grateful that you came.”  An attractive woman appeared in front of
her.  “My name is Jessica Bell-Raymeady, wife of the late Joseph Raymeady.”

Angela’s
face was expressionless.  Neither name meant anything to her.  “Pleased to meet
you.”

“Please,
follow me.  We can grab ourselves a drink in the lounge.”

Angela
was wary of getting tipsy again, but if her host was drinking then what was the
harm?  It was strange, but she’d expected some toffee-nosed aristocrat to be
the owner of the house, but the woman in front of her didn’t sound like an
affluent person at all – not
common
exactly, but neither was she posh. 
Her appearance gave the same casual impression – a middle-aged, blonde woman in
tatty jeans and a loose sweatshirt. 

Angela
followed the woman out of the anti-chamber and into a lounge room hidden behind
the grand staircase.  Inside there was a piano stage and a bar, as well as many
tables and chairs.  It actually looked a lot like a cruise ship lounge and
Angela wondered if it was ever used to its capacity.

“Take
a seat, Angela.  Do you mind if I call you Angela?”

Angela
shook her head.

“Good. 
I’ll go and fetch some drinks.  What’s your tipple?”

“Scotch,
if you have it?”

Jessica
smiled.  “Of course.  I have a delightful bottle of Longmorn 16.  Will that
do?”

“Supermarket
value whisky is fine by me, but hey, whatever you have.”

Jessica
let out a short, sharp yelp of laughter.  The gesture was genuine, but there
also seemed to be a strained quality to it, as if the woman were dangerously on
edge.  “To be honest with you, Angela, it all tastes the same to me too.  My
husband was somewhat of a connoisseur, but I’m just as happy with a cheap
bottle of plonk and a pizza.”

Angela
smiled and wasn’t just being polite.  The woman was not what she’d expected and
the surprise was more pleasant than disappointing.

Jessica
disappeared behind the fully-stocked bar and then returned to join Angela at
the table she’d chosen to sit at.  Angela took a sip from the whisky she’d been
given and was not surprised that it tasted like any other brand.  In fact she
had preferred the taste of the £2 shot she’d downed at the student bar in
Wolverhampton.

Jessica
was sipping from an extra-large glass of white wine and seemed to be lost in
thought.

“So
what is all this about?” Angela asked the woman.

Jessica’s
gaze snapped back to reality and a weary smile came over her face.  “It’s my
son, Angela.  He’s very sick.”

Frowning,
Angela said, “Then you should really call a doctor, not an alcoholic
ex-priest.”

Jessica
laughed.  “Oh, believe me, there’s been doctors in and out of this place for
the last six months.  Psychiatrists, Paediatricians, Oncologists, GPs; I’ve had
enough to staff a small hospital through here lately.  They’ve all had a good
look at my poor Sammie, but none of them have been able to do anything to help
– anything at all.  He’s just been getting worse.”