Midnight: The Second Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller (34 page)

83

R
obyn gasped and covered her face with her hands. She wanted to run but she knew that the door was locked, and Nightingale had drummed into her that under no circumstances should she leave the pentagram. She closed her eyes and mumbled the Lord’s Prayer to herself, then something began to laugh, a deep throaty rumble that made her stomach tingle. She squinted through her fingers.

It wasn’t human but Robyn didn’t know what it was. It was tall, so tall that its head almost touched the ceiling. It was covered in scales and a forked tongue kept flicking from its mouth; the eyes that scrutinised her were reptilian but it stood upright on two legs and it was wearing clothes that looked as if they were made from steel mesh. It was breathing slowly and each time it exhaled she could smell something fetid that burned the back of her mouth and made her want to gag. It moved its head slowly as it looked around the room, then it bent its neck to stare down at her. It opened its mouth, revealing a shark’s mouth with row upon row of triangular teeth.

Robyn crouched down, trying to make herself as small as possible. The stench got worse and she threw up, vomit spraying over the floor in front of her. Her heart was racing and she forced herself to breathe slowly. The thing stood facing her, watching her with slanted, yellow, unblinking eyes. Her mind was whirling and she tried to concentrate on what Nightingale had said to her. It was important to address it by name at the first opportunity and to maintain eye contact. And he’d said that on no account should she show fear; but that was easier said than done because the thing standing in front of her could kill her with one blow or bite.

She stood up, fighting the urge to vomit again. ‘You are Sugart, and I have summoned you,’ she said. She could hear the uncertainty in her voice but she clenched her fists tightly and stared into its yellow eyes.

Sugart looked slowly around the room again, and then back at her. Its chest rose and fell and its foul breath made eddies in the smoky air.

‘What is it you want?’ asked Sugart. Its voice was low and menacing and seemed to come from deep within its chest.

‘I want to get out of here.’

84

N
ightingale stared at Frimost as he spoke, choosing his words carefully. ‘A man called Ainsley Gosling sold you a soul thirty-one years ago. The soul of his then-unborn daughter. In exchange for her soul, you gave him power over women.’

Frimost nodded thoughtfully. ‘That may be so.’

‘You don’t remember?’

‘Many souls are promised to me. Many men want what I have to offer.’ He banged his stick on the ground. ‘I grow impatient, Nightingale. Get to the point.’

‘Her name is Robyn Reynolds now. In two years’ time, on her thirty-third birthday, you will claim her soul. I want to get it back for her.’

Frimost laughed and his whole body juddered and shook, from his double chins to the rolls of fat around his ankles. Even after he stopped laughing his flesh continued to slop around his body. ‘A deal is a deal, and once done it cannot be undone,’ he said.

‘Well, that’s not strictly speaking true, is it?’ said Nightingale. ‘Deals can be renegotiated.’

‘Only if both parties are willing. And in this case I’m not. I have been promised the soul of Robyn Reynolds and in two years’ time her soul will be mine. The deal was done and there is no going back on it.’

‘But the deal wasn’t with my sister. It was with our father.’

‘It makes no difference. A parent can sell an unborn soul up until the moment of birth. You are wasting your time, Nightingale. And more to the point, you are wasting mine.’

‘What if there was something else that you wanted? Something that I could offer you in exchange?’

Frimost looked at Nightingale, his eyes narrowing. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘That would be up to you,’ said Nightingale.

‘Would you be prepared to put your soul on the table?’ asked Frimost quietly. ‘Your soul for hers?’

85

S
ugart reached out a claw towards the pentagram, as if testing it. Robyn took an involuntary step backwards then froze as she saw that she was right up against the chalk outline of the pentagram. She forced herself to move back into the centre of the circle. Sugart’s chest juddered and a grating rumble resonated from its chest. It was laughing, she realised. It was laughing at her.

‘How did you know how to call me?’ asked Sugart.

‘I asked around,’ said Robyn. ‘Does it matter?’

Sugart shuffled to the side and cocked its head as it stared at the pentagram. ‘You have practised the dark arts before?’

Robyn shook her head. ‘I’ve never needed to. But I’m at the end of my tether now and I can’t think of anything else to do.’

‘I am your last resort?’

‘Yes.’

Sugart smiled. ‘My favourite customer.’ The tongue flicked out. It was several feet long, grey and slimy, and moved as if it had a life of its own.

‘Is that what I am? A customer?’

‘I can give you what you want. Your freedom. You will have to pay a price for it. That makes you a customer.’

‘So you can do it? You can help me escape?’

‘Of course. But are you prepared to pay the price?’

‘What price?’

‘You know what the price is. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have summoned me.’

‘My soul?’

‘Yes. Your soul.’

‘What if I don’t believe that I have a soul?’

‘Your belief is neither here nor there. All that I require is for you to offer it to me in exchange for what you want.’ The tongue flicked out and just as quickly vanished back into Sugart’s mouth.

‘I want to get out of here,’ said Robyn. ‘I want to go far away and I want a new life.’

‘Agreed,’ said Sugart.

‘And I want to never be found, never brought back to this place. I want to keep my freedom.’

‘Agreed.’

‘You can do that? You can really do that?’

Sugart’s face twisted into what passed for a grin. ‘If I can’t hold up my end of the bargain, what would be the point of all this?’

Robyn ran a hand through her hair. ‘Do I have to do something? Sign something?’

‘You mean, sign a parchment with your own blood?’ Sugart threw back his head and laughed. ‘That isn’t how it works, Robyn. You tell me what you want, I tell you the price, and if you agree to the price then the deal is done and there is no going back. Your word is your bond.’

Robyn folded her arms. It had gone icy cold in the room and her breath formed clouds around her mouth. ‘Then let’s do it,’ she said.

‘You understand there is no going back, and a deal once done cannot be rescinded?’

‘I understand.’

Sugart nodded and his reptilian tongue flicked out. ‘It is done,’ he said.

The smoke rippled and there was a deep rumbling noise that vibrated through Robyn’s internal organs, and then Sugart was gone.

Robyn put her hands on her hips and looked around the room. ‘Now what?’ she said.

86

F
rimost rolled his head around, pushing his chin against the rolls of fat around his neck. His face was dripping with sweat and it glistened in the candlelight. ‘I am waiting, Nightingale,’ he said. ‘Your soul for your sister’s. That’s a deal I can work with.’

Nightingale stared at Frimost for several seconds. ‘No,’ he said eventually.

‘So you want to save your sister, but not at the expense of yourself?’

Nightingale grimaced. ‘I went to a lot of trouble to keep my soul. I’m not prepared to give it up now.’

Frimost shook his head. ‘You have nothing else I want. So say the words and let me go.’

‘If I change my mind about my soul, can we deal?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Frimost.

‘I’ll get back to you,’ said Nightingale.

‘I wouldn’t leave it too long.’

‘Why? Do I have a sell-by date?’

Frimost laughed and the walls shook. Small puffs of dust rose up from between the gaps in the floorboards. ‘You’ll find out, soon enough,’ he said. ‘Now say the words and have done with it.’

Nightingale sprinkled herbs over the smouldering crucible and wrinkled his nose as the pungent fumes assailed his nostrils. ‘
Ite in pace ad loca vestra et pax sit inter vos redituri ad mecum vos invocavero, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, Amen
.’

Frimost began to laugh again, then there was a flash of light and an ear-splitting crack and he was gone.

‘Nice talking to you, Frimost,’ Nightingale muttered. He took out his cigarettes and lit one. He blew smoke and looked at his watch. If everything had gone to plan, Robyn should just have finished her conversation with Sugart. If she hadn’t, then it had all been for nothing. All he could do now was wait. And hope.

87

N
ightingale got home just after two o’clock in the morning. He called Jenny to tell her that everything was okay, then he showered and fell into bed, exhausted. He woke at ten and made himself a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee, and spent the rest of the morning watching television. At just after midday Jenny phoned and asked him if he’d heard anything and he said that he hadn’t.

‘I’ve been checking the internet and Sky News and there’s no word of any escape from Rampton,’ she said.

‘I’m assuming they’ll phone me if she does get out because I’m down as next of kin,’ said Nightingale. ‘What about your Welshman? Caernarfon Craig?’

‘He’s emailing me through Facebook again, fishing for personal stuff, but I’m still ducking and diving,’ she said. ‘I’ve logged onto some of the suicide sites that he’s told me about. There’re a lot of very depressed people out there, Jack.’

‘State the economy’s in, I’m not surprised. But you be careful, Jenny. If this guy is behind the Welsh deaths then you could be playing with fire.’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ she said. ‘I’m copying everything he’s sent me and once I can identify him I’ll pass it all onto the cops.’

She ended the call and Nightingale showered again, then shaved and changed into a clean denim shirt and jeans, made himself another mug of coffee and lay on the sofa watching television. At some point he must have fallen asleep because he was woken by the sound of his door intercom buzzing. He went to answer it.

‘Open the bloody door, Nightingale, or by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin I’ll blow the thing down.’ It was Superintendent Chalmers.

‘What do you want?’ asked Nightingale.

‘I want you to open the door now. If you don’t there are two big men here who’re going to kick it in.’

‘Big men? Are you trying to scare me, Chalmers? Because it’s not working.’

‘I’ve got a warrant, Nightingale. And I’m counting down from ten.’

‘Yeah, using all your fingers, I’ll bet.’

‘One way or the other we’re coming in, Nightingale.’

Nightingale pressed the button to open the downstairs door. He switched off the television and then opened his front door. Chalmers was wearing a dark raincoat and a sour expression as he clumped up the stairs followed by two uniformed officers.

‘Where’s the warrant?’ asked Nightingale.

Chalmers handed Nightingale an envelope and pushed him to the side. He walked into the sitting room and looked around while the uniforms checked Nightingale’s bedroom.

‘Nothing here, sir,’ shouted one.

‘Check the bathroom,’ said Chalmers. ‘Count the bloody toothbrushes.’

‘What are you looking for?’ asked Nightingale.

Chalmers gestured at the envelope. ‘Not what,’ he said. ‘Who. It’s in the warrant. Your sister.’

‘Robyn?’

‘How many sisters do you have?’

‘She’s in Rampton.’

Chalmers sneered at him. ‘Not as of today, she isn’t,’ he said.

‘She escaped?’

‘No one knows what happened,’ said Chalmers. ‘Her room was checked this morning and she wasn’t there. But she’d left a whole lot of weird stuff behind.’

‘So what’s that got to do with me?’ asked Nightingale.

The superintendent pointed a finger at Nightingale’s face. ‘See, there’s a funny thing. Most people would have asked what sort of weird stuff. But not you.’

‘Okay, I’ll humour you. What weird stuff?’

‘You know what weird stuff. There was a pentagram on the floor, candles, a bowl of herbs. And according to the security logs, you’re the one who took it in to her.’

‘I took her a few things that her psychiatrist said might help her. The guards checked everything I took in. Even had a sniffer dog go over it.’

‘You helped her escape. I know you did.’

‘Yeah, and what exactly did I do? I smuggled in a hacksaw so that she could saw through the bars, did I?’

‘The bars were fine, all the doors were locked, there’s nothing on the CCTV. She didn’t walk out, she just vanished.’

‘And you think I had a hand in that?’

‘Where were you last night?’

‘I was in Gosling Manor until about midnight.’

‘You had a party there, did you?’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘I was alone.’

‘On New Year’s Eve?’

‘I just wanted some quiet contemplation,’ he said. ‘I was making my New Year resolutions, if you must know.’

‘Can anyone confirm that you were there?’

‘I told you, I was alone. Then I came back here.’

‘What time?’

‘About two o’clock.’

‘Still alone?’

Nightingale nodded.

‘So no witnesses?’ said Chalmers.

‘Chalmers, if I was up to something I’d have sorted out an alibi for myself, wouldn’t I? I was in the Job, remember? I know how it works. But I drove, so I’m sure you’ll be able to catch me on CCTV somewhere.’

‘What’s going on, Nightingale?’

Nightingale shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said.

‘Where is she?’

Nightingale put his hand on his heart. ‘I have no idea. And that’s the truth. Scout’s honour.’

‘You know who her last visitor was?’

‘I’m guessing that would be me.’

‘Yeah, well, you guess right. On Thursday you go in to see her. Saturday morning and she vanishes. I don’t believe in coincidences, Nightingale. Let’s go.’

‘Go where?’

‘Gosling Manor.’

‘Not without a warrant,’ said Nightingale.

Chalmers reached into pocket and took out a second envelope, which he thrust at Nightingale. ‘Get your coat,’ he said.