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Karsten had retreated up against the wall. Mother was so close to him that he choked in her vile alcoholic breath. “You will get me Wrichtishousis or you will join David Purdue in the oubliette, you ungrateful miscreant.”

A sudden clap started both of them. It sounded like a large rock had fallen on the porch's corrugated iron roof.

“Are you expecting anyone, my friend?” she asked sarcastically, toting the gun at his belly.

Karsten shook his head profusely. “Of course not! This is your house. Are you expecting anyone? Perhaps you sent for someone to kill me?”

“Oh don't insult me,” she groaned, and promptly shot Karsten in the hand, shattering two of his fingers. “I do my own cooking and I do my own killing, you insolent coward.” He howled in pain, a rather lovely melody to Purdue's ears. “Besides, I still need you to annex Purdue's holdings.”

Another sound, footsteps, ensued from the front of the house. There were no car lights outside, and when Mother checked from a hidden peephole in the wall she saw no other vehicles or strange figures lurking. Then she saw someone by the door. Mother closed the dining room door to block out Karsten's childlike whining. Setting her gun on the table she went to answer the door.

“Good evening, Madam,” a tall, attractive priest greeted.

“Good evening, pastor. Are you lost?” she asked.

“No, why would you ask that?” he smiled.

“Because the gods worshiped here are eons older than your Christ,” she stated in a condescending tone. “I’m afraid you’re wasting my time and yours by calling on me. Good night.”

He stepped against her closing door, halting its movement, but he maintained that smile so well that it was almost unpleasant to behold. “But I am not here to discuss the Lord, Madam. I am here to… how do you say… raise hell.”

Mother had the most peculiar reaction to his words. Her face twitched in confusion before lighting up in amusement, and then she let out a hysterical laugh that Father Harper could tell was true humorous invigoration on her part. Through her cackle she heard a window shatter in the back and she ceased immediately. “What have you brought here?” she hissed at him, trying to strike him. But Father Harper had no reservations regarding stumping the acts of harpies and he caught her arm in mid-air.

“Justice,” he said to her and pushed her back into the house.

“Joseph!” she screamed as she scuttled for the Luger on the table. “Joseph! Help me, you worthless bastard!”

The door to the dining room opened, but it was not Joseph Karsten. A very tidy blond man stood there with his doctor's bag in one hand and a grasping awful looking young woman on the other. “Good evening, Madam. This is Maria Winslet, a very talented hacker who used to work with your private investigator, Jonathan Beck. She’s the one to thank for disengaging all your alarm systems.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the Italian looking girl saluted through drugged eyes.

“And you are her doctor?” Mother scoffed. “Jesus, I hope you never have to see to me, if that is what your patients look like.”

“Oh, trust me, lady, the only treatment you would get from me is a death certificate,” Lance retorted. Maria laughed lazily at his excellent counter, having no idea where she was. “Who is Joseph?”

A horrible sound echoed from somewhere in the drawing room. They all listened, apart from Mother, who started talking loudly, but Father Harper seized her and tightened his huge hand over her face to silence her. By his swiftness and strength she knew he would be a formidable opponent, so she relented in provoking him.

“H-h-aaalp!”

“What the fuck was that?” Dr. Lance whispered.

The ghastly cry had no voice, only a dry rasp formed into vowels, like a mummy speaking from its sepulcher. Again it tried to make a word, but it came to no more than a whimper.

“What is that?” Dr. Lance scowled.

Maria snickered, “Probably Purdue.”

“Where are you keeping him?” Father Harper asked the old woman. She declined with silence.

“Give her to me, Father,” Dr. Beach offered.

Purdue was trying to make alarm, feeling a second wind fueled only by bare hope. He slammed one of his hands against the wall of his prison until it bled. Trying repeatedly to cry out in vain, he started sobbing in hopelessness. They walked over the mouth of his cell without even noticing and he had nothing to make noise with. Purdue gathered all his strength and screamed. Nothing but hissing breath came out of him, yet he knew this was his last chance. In the scrape of his throat something emerged.

A sound, a little shard of sound escaped him, sending his rescue party scampering to find him. Once Purdue heard the commotion near his pen he summoned more strength and it came freely now that he was so close to freedom. Purdue tried once more, crowing like a morning cock as words eluded him.

“He is under the floor!” Dr. Lance shouted. “Get him out! Get him out!”

Taking Mother with them to the kitchen the two men looked for the entrance to the oubliette. They did not bother to negotiate with the cold hearted wench, so they simply obliterated the door that covered the entrance. Gasping at the sight of the iron spikes, Father Harper retreated slightly, dangling the thin old woman from his grasp.

“Get a rope, doctor!” the priest cried. Unable to give the gun to the untrustworthy Maria to watch Mother, and unable to save Purdue with both dangerous women free, the two men decided on something that would normally be construed as villainous.

“Throw them in the oubliette?” Dr. Lance offered. With a reprimanding look from the preacher the doctor felt a bit bad for suggesting it, but then Father Harper gave it some thought. “We really don't have any choice.”

“Don't you even think about it, you miserable son of a whore!” Mother growled at the doctor. “I will unleash people on you that your God will not save you from!”

“Can you do it from a little room under your house?” he asked the hissing witch, and gave her a nudge into the gaping mouth of the prison cell. Striking her head against the wall of the room on her way down, Mother was knocked unconscious and landed with a twisted thump in front of Purdue. He did not move. He did not feel sorry for her and he did not hate her. Purdue felt absolutely no emotion at the vision of her bleeding face in the dust and grime of her own oubliette.

The priest dropped down a thick rope he retrieved from the broom cupboard and came down with perfect execution. My God, it seems that the Almighty is sending priests to save souls in quite a physical way, Purdue thought as he watched the strong chaplain reach the bottom of the rope without even running out of breath.

“Now I have seen it all,” the doctor said from the top level, peering down. “A clergyman throwing an old lady down a trap.”

Father Harper looked up. “I told you. I was not always a priest.”

Wincing at the grisly remains of Maria's partner, Father Harper reached for Purdue. “David?”

Purdue nodded, barely able to stay conscious. “We're here to help. Up there a medical doctor is waiting to take care of you until we can get you to the nearest hospital.”

“T-th-ank y…” Purdue tried, “…you.”

After they lugged Purdue's injured body upward and laid him on the dining room table for some emergency treatment, Father Harper took Maria to the trapdoor. He removed his collar and undid the pin to reveal his throat and chest. She slapped him hard. “You wish, Father.”