The Revelation Room (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 1) (22 page)

Ebb looked up at Sister Alice and
tried to process the words spewing forth from her mouth like the staccato rasp
of machine gun fire. ‘Stop. Stop. Stop. Slow down.’

‘The Devil’s in them, Father. Right inside them. They’re
rotten to the core.’

Ebb dry swallowed. ‘Fetch me water and painkillers.’

Sister Alice looked at Ebb as if he’d just requested a fresh
turd for lunch. ‘Pardon, Father?’

Ebb called upon all the saints within him for restraint.
‘Water. I need water and painkillers.’

Sister Alice opened her mouth to say something else, but
then seemed to think better of it.

Ebb sincerely hoped that she would rid herself of hysteria
by the time she returned. The remains of his nose felt as if it was still
clamped between Tweezer’s manky teeth. As for his leg, that had been reduced to
a butcher’s bone. He would definitely need a tetanus jab sometime soon. And
antibiotics. Not that he blamed poor Maxine for his mangled leg. No, sir.
Tweezer’s unprovoked attack had confused the poor animal.

He looked up at the skylight. Dark clouds rolled across the
sky. How he longed to feel fresh air in his lungs. To feel the cool
invigorating summer breeze on his face. And a rent boy clamped to the end of
his pecker. But now was not the time to indulge in fantasies. Not while Brother
Tweezer lay rotting in the Revelation Room along with dear Maxine. There was a
slim chance that the dog was still alive, but he didn’t dare raise his hopes.
One thing
was
for certain, though: if that dog was dead, Brother Marcus
would be burned at the stake. Ebb had raised that dog from a pup. To lose her
now would be like losing half of his heart.  

Sister Alice returned with a glass of water and painkillers.
‘Shall I help you up, Father?’

Ebb nodded and allowed Sister Alice to help him into a
sitting position. A grenade exploded in his mangled nose. Ebb hollered and beat
his fist against the sheet.

‘Are you all right, Father?’

Why did everyone seem to ask him questions designed to
elicit murder? ‘Do I look all right, sister?’

Alice didn’t answer. She fed two paracetamol caplets into
his eager beak. Ebb washed them down with the glass of water. His throat felt
like a sandpit. Water dribbled down his chin. He tried to relax, but it was a
big ask. A corpse in the throes of rigor mortis was more supple than he was
right now.

Ebb studied Sister Alice’s plain, poker face for signs of
the Devil. It was becoming difficult to distinguish who was and who wasn’t
contaminated by Satan’s poison. ‘Right, now tell me what’s happened.’

Sister Alice relieved him of the glass. ‘I don’t know where
to begin, Father.’

‘The beginning should serve you well, sister.’

‘Sister Emily is pregnant,’ Alice blurted.

Ebb studied the woman’s face for signs of mischief. There
was nothing instantly detectable. But that didn’t mean he should drop his
guard. ‘Pregnant?’

‘She is carrying Brother Marcus’s child.’

A surge of energy passed through Ebb. For a few seconds, the
afterburner in his nose was put on the backburner. ‘This is a joke, right?’

Alice shook her head. ‘I wish it was, Father. I’m as
horrified as you.’

Ebb tried to link his thoughts to coherent speech. It was
like trying to hitch a trailer to the wind. ‘Horrified? Horrified? Please tell
me that this is a joke.’

‘Perhaps we could abort the child, Father?’

‘Abortion is the contraception of the Devil. How could you
even dare to make such a suggestion?’

A nasty tic tugged at the corner of Alice’s mouth. ‘I’m
sorry, Father. It was Sister Dixie’s suggestion, not mine.’

‘I shall pray for you.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

‘You claim that Brother Marcus is the father of this bastard
child?’

‘That’s what Emily says, Father.’

‘Fetch that heinous weasel from the tower.’

‘There’s something else, Father.’

Ebb’s brain couldn’t could cope with any more bad news.
‘What?’

‘Benjamin and Brother Bubba tried to attack me. They tried
to get out of their room.’

‘The sooner I’m up and running, the better it will be for
everyone.’

‘Benjamin was saying things about you, Father.’

‘Benjamin? He doesn’t know the first thing about me.’

‘He claims you killed Brother Cyril.’

Ebb’s heart stopped. There was no way on God’s sweet earth
that Benjamin could know about Cyril. Bubba couldn’t talk. And even if he could
talk, he was Polish for Christ’s sake. The bugger didn’t know a stitch of
English. ‘Benjamin’s not been here five minutes. How could he make such a
preposterous claim?’

Alice looked away. ‘I’m sorry, Father. It’s just what he
said. And then they tried to get out of the room. I only just managed to get
out in time.’

Ebb ignored Sister Alice’s heroics. Benjamin had to be in
possession of special powers. The kind of powers only afforded to demons.
Terror tweaked his balls and then squeezed them in a vice-like grip. So Satan
had at last declared himself ready for the final showdown. Ebb had known all
along that this day was coming. Right from the first time Jesus had appeared in
that gardening programme all those years ago telling him that his mother must
shame the shovel.

‘Are you all right, Father?’

‘What
exactly
did Benjamin say?’

‘He said that you killed Cyril, Father. Why would you want
to kill Cyril? I thought he had an accident with a tractor.’

Ebb felt like reaching up and wrapping his hands around that
turkey neck and squeezing the chicken bones out of her. ‘Never mind accidents
with tractors. What else did Benjamin say?’

‘He said that you cut out Bubba’s tongue because he saw you
kill Cyril.’

Ebb sat up in bed and swung his legs over the edge. The room
swam in and out of focus. His head throbbed and his nose bleated like a lost
lamb on a hilltop.

‘You need to rest, Father.’

‘Rest?’ Ebb squawked. ‘You think I should rest when Satan is
among us?’

‘But you’re not well, Father.’

Ebb rubbed his eyes. ‘Satan is in our hearts.’

‘I don’t think—’

Ebb was in no mood to ponder what Sister Alice might or
might not think. ‘He is spreading his filth and lies like a deadly virus.’

Alice looked away. ‘He cannot defeat us, Father.’

Ebb hacked phlegm. ‘Can’t defeat us? We have Sister Emily
pregnant with Brother Marcus’s spawn. Brother Bubba attacks you, and Benjamin
makes wild accusations. And you say Satan can’t defeat us?’

‘Is it true, Father?’

Ebb looked at Sister Alice. She was all fuzzy around the
edges. There were tiny silver balls clinging to the spikes of her hair. ‘Is
what true?’

‘What Benjamin says about you killing Cyril and cutting out
Bubba’s tongue?’

Ebb nodded. ‘All true, your honour. I killed Cyril because
he was contaminated, and I spared Bubba because he was a good worker. I simply
removed his ability to tell tales.’

After seeming to consider this for a few moments, Alice
nodded. ‘You did the right thing, Father.’

Ebb slapped his thigh. ‘Damn right I did the right thing.
The Lord Jesus Christ Himself told me to do it.’

‘Praise Jesus.’

‘If the Lord Jesus Christ told me to jump off Mount Sinai, I
would jump. If the Lord Jesus Christ told me to leap into the flames of Hell
and rescue a fallen angel, I would jump.’

A noble man indeed, Pixie-pea.

Ebb ignored his mother. ‘I did what was right. That’s all
any of us can do.’

Alice bowed her head. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘I am not bound by man-made laws. I follow Jesus Christ. I
am answerable only to the Redeemer and the shovel.’

‘You did what you thought best, Father.’

Tears formed cataracts over Ebb’s eyes. ‘There is no law in
the land that can interfere with God’s will.’

‘Praise Jesus.’

‘I would walk over hot coals in blistered feet for the Lord.
I would sleep upon a bed of rusting nails for the Lord.’

Sister Alice wept. She plucked a tissue from a box of
Kleenex on Ebb’s nightstand and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I love you, Father.’

‘We are nothing more than mortal servants. We are not here
to question the workings of the Lord. We are here to carry out his instructions
without fear or favour.’

‘A-men.’ The word was spliced into two syllables by a sob.

‘The trouble that Satan has brought to our door may seem
insurmountable, Sister Alice, but I shall pray for resolution. I shall ask
Jesus what must be done to defeat the enemy.’

‘I shall pray, too, Father.’

Ebb tried to stand on his injured leg. A hot poker prodded
him in the groin. ‘Fetch Brother Marcus.’

Alice sniffed. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘And don’t give him any hint or clue that we are aware of
his evil deed.’

‘What if he asks why he has to leave the tower unmanned?’

‘Tell him we need to sort out Brother Tweezer.’

‘Yes, Father.’

Ebb waited for Sister Alice to leave the room. He limped
over to his mirrored wardrobe and peered at his mummified face in the glass.
His eyes squinted back at him over the parapet of a thick white bandage
cordoning off his nose. His lips were cracked and peeling. A large scuff mark
disfigured the top of his head. He wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see a
crown of thorns perched on top of his head and a cross pinned to his back.

 ‘This is all the work of the Infiltrator,’ Ebb told
his reflection.

The reflection agreed. And rightly so. Everything had gone
from bad to worse since that agent of the Devil had turned up in the tree
overlooking the farm. Never mind him being a cop; he was a much more determined
adversary than a mere government gofer.

You’re a sight for sore eyes, Pixie-pea.

Ebb closed his eyes as his mother’s gruesome image appeared
in the mirrored door. Her pink wig sat precariously on top of her head. One of
her eyes was bruised and swollen. A Woodbine cigarette dangled from her pink
lips. She looked like the Barbie doll from Hell.

‘Go away,’ Ebb whispered. After a few seconds, he opened an
eye and peered at the wardrobe door. She was still there. Larger than death.
The puffed and bruised eye winked at him.

All the burnt bunnies are hopping mad.

‘Shut up,’ Ebb screeched.

Come on home, Pixie-pea. The house is on fire and the
bunnies are gone.

Ebb gawked at that winking eye. What he’d give right now for
the corner of a shovel. Unfortunately, that piece of equipment was otherwise
engaged in the Revelation Room.

Ma puffed on that Woodbine like a steam train. Her hideous
features vanished behind a cloud of smoke. Ebb hobbled over to a fire
extinguisher that was secured to the wall. He lifted it out of its bracket and
released the pin. He then aimed the nozzle at his mother’s image.

His mother laughed. A witch’s cauldron kind of laugh
designed to glue your heart to your throat. He was about to pull the trigger
when the smoke cleared in front her face. But it was no longer Veronica Ebb’s
face. It was Cyril’s leathery old chops that didn’t look so much lived in as
ransacked.

Cyril smiled.
You should have gone west, young man.

‘Cyril?’

Aye. But you can call me bunny.

‘You’re not there,’ Ebb shouted. He squeezed the trigger and
emptied a stream of pressurised foam at Cyril’s grinning chops. The foam
obliterated all traces of Cyril from the mirrored door.

Exhausted, Ebb dropped the spent canister on the bare oak
floor where it landed with a hollow thud. Job done. That would teach Cyril to
fiddle with his bunnies. He staggered back to the bed and sat down. His brain
felt as if it was filled with treacle and all his thoughts were wading through
the sticky mess.

You can lead a bunny to fire, but you can’t make it burn,
Pixie-pea
, his mother said from beyond the wardrobe doors.

Ebb summoned all the strength within him to retrieve the
discarded extinguisher. He raised it above his head and hurled it at the middle
wardrobe door. The glass exploded and fell to the floor in a waterfall of
fragmented shards.

I won’t always be able to pick up the pieces, Pixie-pea.

Ebb stumbled over to the bed and collapsed on top of the
cool cotton sheet. His wounds begged Jesus for forgiveness. His heart banged in
his chest like a blacksmith’s anvil. He rolled onto his back and looked up at
the skylight. His mother’s face appeared in a cloud. The cloud was tinged pink
by his mother’s wig.

Ebb closed his eyes and begged Jesus for guidance, but Jesus
didn’t seem to be in any mood to offer direction, other than to reiterate Ebb’s
belief that all the bunnies should go down the rabbit hole.

His mother, God rot her soul, offered to come and tuck her
poor little Pixie-pea in and read him a bedtime story. Ebb ignored her. She
could mock him all she liked. Her caustic tongue was the least of his worries.
Just so long as she didn’t step out of the wardrobe dressed in his best Armani
suit and start packing a case.

Where the hell was Sister Alice? He’d asked her to fetch
Brother Marcus, not give birth to him and raise him up as her own on cornbread
and potato wedges. He was beginning to have a nasty feeling about Sister Alice.
What if she’d deserted him and formed a union with Brother Marcus? What if the
pair of them were plotting against him right now? He was in no position to
fight back. Tweezer’s barbaric attack had weakened him considerably.

Ebb forced himself off the bed. He had a shotgun stashed in
the back of the wardrobe, and he was willing to risk the wrath of Cyril’s ghost
to get it. Anyway, the farmer was as dead as yesterday. He’d ploughed his last
furrow and planted his last seed in God’s earth almost ten years ago. Ghosts
were just illusions conjured up by the mind in times of stress.