‘To raise them from the dead?’
‘To give them a new life. A new start.’
‘Is that what you did to Alex?’
‘We helped him.’
‘Is that what you did to him?’
‘We helped him, David.’
‘You’ve got a fucked-up idea of help, you know that?’
He laughed. ‘The one thing we’ve been is consistent. We’ve never drifted from the course we set, whatever the challenges. You…’ He looked me up and down, as if I’d just crawled out of the sewer. ‘You’re running around pretending you’re some sort of — what? — vigilante.’
‘No, I’m not a vigilante.’ I paused, looked at him. ‘You think I wanted any of this? I didn’t want this. But the moment your friends walked me into the middle of nowhere to bury me, everything changed. So, I will hurt you, Michael. If it’s you or me, I will hurt you.’
He nodded. ‘But you’re not a cold-blooded killer, David.’
‘What’s the password for the Contacts folder?’
‘You’re not a killer.’
‘What’s the password?’
He smiled. Said nothing.
I cocked the gun. ‘What’s the password?’
‘You’re not a killer, David.’
I placed the gun against the outside of his thigh.
And pulled the trigger.
The noise was immense: a huge, tearing sound that shattered the silence into millions of pieces. Michael cried out in agony — a tortured wail — and scrabbled around at his leg, clutching the wound as blood oozed out between his fingers.
‘Fuck!’ he shouted, both hands on his leg now, one pressed against the lip of the wound, the other trying to stem the flow of blood. He looked up at me.
Now he was scared.
I sat down at the laptop.
‘What’s the password for the Contacts folder?’
He looked up, as if he couldn’t believe I was still asking.
‘I’ve seen a lot of gunshot wounds,’ I said to him. ‘During my time abroad, I saw a man get shot in the chest and still survive. The outside of the thigh is probably one of the best places to get shot — lots of fat, no major organs nearby. So, unless it’s gone all the way through to the femoral artery, you won’t die. But you’ll definitely die from the next one, because I’ll put it in the middle of your fucking head.’
Michael transferred hands. Both were covered in blood.
‘I’m sick of running from you people. Of being led around in circles while you tell me you’re doing good. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not a cold-blooded killer. But I’ve killed, and I’ll do it again, because I know I’m too far into the darkness not to. So, I’m going to ask you again and for the final time: what’s the password for the Contacts folder?’
He looked, gawping, hesitated. Then: ‘Two, five, one, five.’
I put the code into the password prompt and the Contacts folder opened up. Inside was a Word document. I double-clicked on it. At the top of the document was an address: Stevenshire Farm, Old Tay, nr Lochlanark, Scotland. Beneath that were two other names: Building 1 (Bethany) and Building 2 (Lazarus). And beneath that was a further line: the numbers 2-5-15, followed by a URL.
‘Go to the farm,’ Michael said, his voice starting to fade a little.
I clicked on the URL and the web browser booted up. Within seconds another painting started to load. A man was knelt in front of Jesus, his face lifted to the sky. He was tormented. Eyes like fires. A mouth like the opening of a tomb.
‘What’s two, five, one, five?’
‘The second Gospel, Mark; the fifth chapter; the fifteenth verse. “And they come to Jesus, and see him that was possessed with the devil…”’
And see him that was possessed.
Then it hit me like a sledgehammer.
The man in Cornwall. The same inscription had been tattooed on to his arm.
‘I tried to help you, David. I tried to tell you to turn around and walk away. But you didn’t want to listen. You wanted to wade across the swamp to the darkness beyond. You wanted to see what was on the other side. Well, now you get to find out.’
‘Who is he?’
Michael didn’t reply.
‘Is he in charge?’
‘No, not in charge.’ Michael looked at me. ‘We got him in at the start, just for one thing. His…experience helped us. But then we started needing him more and more, and slowly he became more powerful. Manoeuvred himself. And, after that, he started bringing his own… ideas.’ He stopped, shook his head. ‘So, no, he’s not in charge. But he might be out of control.’
‘So stop him.’
Michael said nothing.
‘Stop him.’
‘He can’t be stopped, David. The God that I know, the God that has your wife, isn’t the same as the God he works for.’
I frowned at him. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘“And they come to Jesus, and see him that was possessed with the devil, and had the legion, sitting, and clothed, and in his right mind: and they were afraid.”’
‘Speak in English.’
‘His name’s Legion…’ Michael said, and glanced towards the laptop, and the painting open on it. ‘“Because many devils were entered into him.”’
I wrapped duct tape around his wrists and ankles until the roll was finished and then bundled him into the corner of the room, tying him to one of the radiators.
‘I’ll phone for an ambulance,’ I said.
‘So you’re not a killer after all?’ Michael said. ‘No — don’t phone for an ambulance. We don’t like to involve the authorities unless necessary. I think you can probably understand why. If I don’t check in every six hours, someone will come for me. It’s a routine we have. A form of protection against people like you. Until then, I’m sure I’ll be fine.’
He studied me while I collected up my things.
‘You know, I never felt any animosity towards you, David. I was always fascinated by you. By the determination you have.’
I didn’t say anything.
He looked down at the wound in his leg. ‘But they will hurt you now.’
‘I’ve already been hurt.’
He shook his head. ‘Not by him.’
He watched me with a look I recognized. I’d seen it before in war zones; in the little pieces of hell I’d walked through and written about. It was the look people had when they were in the middle of a street reduced to rubble, cradling someone they loved in their arms.
It was the look people had when they were gazing into the face of a dead man.
Legion
Legion came out of the darkness and clamped a hand on to the man’s face. The man shifted in the chair, trying to wriggle free, but every effort to lean away from the hard plastic of the mask saw the devil move in closer, eyes darting, breath crackling through the tiny nose holes. The man’s wrists and ankles were bound to the chair; the chair was bolted to the floor. Legion’s fingers dug deeper into his skin. Then, slowly, he turned the man’s head, forcing him to look directly at the mask.
‘Do you know where you are?’
The man shook his head.
‘You’re at the gateway to your next life.’
Legion smiled inside the plastic mouth slit and then pushed his tongue out between his lips. The two ends emerged, wriggling like fat worms breaking the surface of the earth.
‘Oh, God.’
Legion stopped. Stared at him. ‘So, do you believe in God?’