Jesuit

“Go to your Maker, Father, and may he have mercy upon you,” said Ignatious gravely. The demonstration was fully effective.

Before speaking again, he concentrated for a few seconds, releasing the victims from his mental grip. Both began immediately to babble, imploring Graham to save them. The words gushed out in such a terrified manner and at such a pitch that it was impossible for Graham to distinguish what was being said. The message, however, came across loud and clear.

“Now,” the calm voice spoke again, “Graham, you have a choice. Possibly the worst choice you will ever have to make, and whichever way you choose, you will suffer unending heartache. In this way, you will be paying back to the Lord for your misdeeds. A necessary scourging of the soul.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you demented pillock?” burst Graham.

The ghostly cries of anguish had settled to a whisper as Ignatious explained further. “How often have you wondered in your life, what you would do if given the awful choice of saving, say, your father at the expense of your mother, or vice-versa; or your wife or your child, for instance?” No reply.

“Well, I am giving you that choice now. I know what you have done. I know your preferences; I know your mind and your fantasies. I even know how you will choose.” He allowed the words to impact on all three before carrying on. “If you fail to make your choice within ninety seconds from when I say, I will touch both with these stems from the beautiful rose and you will be able to watch them die in front of you. However, I will allow room for some redemption by giving you the choice. One has to die and travel to the wonderful Creator, while the other lives on. Whichever way you go, how will you be able to carry on your relationship in the beautiful manner it was beforehand? How will you erase the thoughts in your chosen one’s head, that you have caused one to die?”

A shocked Graham looked into the Jesuit’s eyes. His head suddenly cleared as Ignatious penetrated the recesses of his mind, concentrating him on the task in hand and the truly awful decision he would be forced to make.

The thorns moved next to the skin of the victims as Ignatious said: “Now,” and began to count off the ninety seconds…. “One, two, three, four….”

Tears were now streaming from both women’s eyes, their mouths opening to speak; to plead, but nothing came out. The terror restricted their throats, paralysed their brains. Please. Please, Graham. Save me!

“Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine.”

Me, Graham. Me! You have to save me! Both thought alike as the seconds moved inexorably on.

“Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine…”

Save me! Save me! Time moved forward.

“Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two, eighty-three…”

“Bethany!!” the single word cracked through the air, rebounding off the stone walls with their shackles, as the screeching of the spirits reached a crescendo.

A simple, instant movement was all it needed. The thorn pierced Sallie’s arm, sending her into the same, terrible spasms of the priest. Within seconds, Graham’s lover was dead and his heart was near to breaking point. He was unable to comprehend the horror of what he had witnessed and of his own major contribution to the horror.

As Graham fell to his knees, then to the ground, blubbering and screaming like a child, Ignatious calmly picked up Sallie’s car keys and silently left. The spirits retreated to whatever place they occupied in the Netherworld.

The evil room was filled by the heart-breaking sounds of Graham’s anguished cries as Bethany wept along with him, her thighs wet with the waters that had involuntarily escaped as the ninetieth-second was approaching. Their lives would eventually settle down; they would put this behind them. She loved Graham so much and he had proved his love for her in the most emphatic manner possible. Yes, things would be all right in the end, she convinced herself. How could he have sex with her? The final thought put doubts on her resolve. Life was going to be difficult from now on.

As Graham finally dragged himself to his feet and began to release Bethany, Ignatious was moving onto the motorway in Sallie’s Ford Mondeo, destined for a Jesuit farm situated at the beautiful and mysterious village of Avebury in Wiltshire, which dates back to around 2000 B.C. Here, Ignatious could recharge his aura, absorbing the atmosphere and the accumulation of spirituality amassed through the many centuries.

There was also another reason; at the farm he would be protected and given a new identity. He would rest for a month or two, ease into the new personality and then set out to continue with God’s work, as he saw it.

The relationship between Graham and Bethany had, immediately in the aftermath of the terrible experience, been very close, each feeling a need to smother the other with affection and love. However, now, two months on, little niggles had begun to creep in; silly, needless fault-finding and criticisms.

Whilst being pleased that Graham had saved her at the expense of Sallie, the fact that he had actually deceived her and compounded the deceit with lies, gnawed at her. How could she punish herself in this way, she had thought, time and again, doubting a man who had made the ultimate decision, made a terrific sacrifice for her and, beyond argument, had proved his love? She was also painfully aware that he was still grieving over his lover. For the marriage to survive, it would need a lot of soul-searching and possibly more than one frank and deep discussion. Bethany had to believe that, given time, their lives would return to normal. The Jesuit was still having an effect on their lives, even though he had not been seen since that fateful day.

The trail had gone cold — as cold as the bodies he had left in his wake and that fact troubled Graham deeply, adding to the pressures on him. Clive had just returned to duty but he was on a course of counselling in an endeavour to rid himself of the terrifying memories of the experience with the animals, and had been consigned to desk duties for the immediate future.

With a sigh, Graham put away the bulky file on Brother Ignatious Saviour, ready to turn his attention to other murder investigations that had been put his way. As the metal drawer slammed shut, the 10:15 am Eurostar railway shuttle from England to France was just setting off on its journey through the English Channel tunnel.

Aboard was a clean-cut passenger, exuding fitness coupled with a worldly knowledge etched into his dark- skinned face. His passport showed the name: Doctor Rhamada Gupta, registered as an Indian National, and an archaeologist by profession.

Ignatious would travel under this name until reaching another Jesuit farm, situated in Southern France, where he would again adopt a fresh identity and wash away the skin colouring to once again become European. His Godly work was soon to restart.