The Revelation Room (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 1) (25 page)

Ben walked down the basement steps
and through the Cannabis Room with his mind in meltdown. He didn’t care what
happened to him anymore as long as it was quick. Maybe a bullet to the back of
the head. That way he wouldn’t see it coming.

The cannabis plants tickled his arms. Ebb told him to stop as
they neared a door at the far end of the room. There was a large silver key
protruding from the lock.

‘Before you go into the Revelation Room, I want you to
remember it’s a sacred place. It must be treated with the utmost respect at all
times.’

Ben almost laughed out loud. The image of the two corpses on
the landing burned like lanterns in his mind. Unlike the body at the bottom of
the tower, he’d had no trouble in identifying Marcus and Dixie. In some weird
way, he was becoming almost immune to death and suffering.

‘I can’t watch you all the time, Benjamin, but the Lord
Jesus Christ is
always
watching you. Please remember that. And the Lord
Jesus Christ tells me everything.’

‘Really? I’d n-never have g-guessed.’

‘Unlock the door and go inside. We haven’t got time to wait
for you to finish a sentence.’

Ben considered telling him to piss off and take a rocket to
the moon.

‘I’m sure Madeline will be pleased to see you.’

Ben’s breath froze in his throat. ‘M-Maddie?’

‘Yes, M-Maddie. Now get inside and shut the door behind
you.’

Ben twisted the key in the lock and opened the door. He
stepped inside. Whatever preconceptions he might have had about the Revelation
Room vanished as he saw Maddie and Emily bent over a man lying in the corner of
the room. The man looked dead.

‘Close the door, Pixie-pea,’ Ebb shouted.

Ben shut the door. He didn’t hear Ebb lock it. Tears spilled
down his cheeks. ‘M-Maddie?’

Maddie hobbled towards him, her bare feet scraping against
the concrete floor. The sunshine had completely vanished from her eyes. Her
overalls were unzipped almost to the waist.

‘I’m so s-sorry.’

Maddie’s blonde hair looked almost brown in the dim light.
It hung in loose strands over her shoulders. She stood in front of Ben, arms
hanging by her sides. ‘At least we’ve found your dad.’

‘My d-dad?’

Maddie pointed at the man with Emily. ‘He’s over there,
Ben.’

Ben looked from his father to the three skeletons pinned to
the wall. ‘Who the h-hell are th-they?’

‘I don’t know.  I don’t
want
to know.’

Ben tried to take everything in. Tried to register what he
was seeing. Tweezer and Ebb’s dog lying dead in the middle of the room. The
skeletons pinned to the far wall. The pink wig and sunglasses perched on the
skull of one skeleton. Emily kneeling down beside his father. And poor
bedraggled Maddie with the sunshine missing from her eyes. There was a terrible
stench. Like mould and excrement mixed with a splash of piss. Or, perhaps, a
splash of death.

‘Your dad’s alive,’ Maddie said, ‘but I don’t think he will
last much longer if we don’t get him out of here.’

‘My d-dad’s alive?’

Maddie reached out and took Ben’s hand. ‘Come on. He’s
talking a bit.’

They limped over to Ben’s father, hand in hand, Maddie’s
right foot dragging against the concrete floor. Ben wanted to pick her up and
carry her, hold her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be
all right, but he barely had enough strength to support himself.

Geoff Whittle had one eye open. The other was bruised and
swollen shut. His beard was almost stained black with filth.

‘Dad?’

Geoff opened his mouth to speak. Ben noticed one of his
front teeth was missing. ‘You… took… your… time…’

Ben looked away. ‘I’m so s-sorry.’

Geoff coughed and wheezed. ‘Not… your… fault.’

‘It’s best not to try and speak too much,’ Emily said.

Ben felt a sudden urge to shake Emily. ‘Does she know w-why
we’re here?’

Maddie nodded. ‘She knows, Ben.’

Emily held her hands up. ‘And I’m sorry. Okay? But how was I
to know this would happen?’

Maddie looked away. ‘You didn’t.’

Emily’s lower lip trembled. ‘I loved Marcus. And now he’s
dead. And we’re all going to die. How sorry do you want me to be?’ 

Ben looked at his father. It had gone past the time for
blame. Emily was right; they were all going to die. ‘Can’t we s-sit him up a
bit?’

‘Both his legs are broken,’ Maddie said, ‘and his right
arm’s busted. And he’s been shot in the shoulder. They shot him when he was up
a tree trying to get photos of Emily.’

Ben hunkered down. He reached out and stroked his father’s
forehead. He didn’t know what to say. Emotions squabbled in his head. ‘I’m
s-sorry.’

‘You… did… okay.’

Ben shook his head. He’d done shit, as usual. Stutter-buck
couldn’t save anyone’s life for sticky toffee. ‘I sh-should have called the
p-police.’

Geoff tried to draw breath. ‘If… cops… showed… up… we… were…
all… dead…’

Emily laughed. ‘Like we’re not now.’

‘I know one thing,’ Maddie said, ‘we’re not giving up.’

‘What do you propose we do?’ Emily said. ‘Rugby tackle the
Father when he comes through the door?’

‘I don’t know what we’re going to do. But we can’t just give
up. We’ve got to try and fight.’

‘I’m pregnant, in case you’ve forgotten.’

Maddie ignored her. ‘How are you, Ben?’

‘Okay,’ Ben lied.

Maddie looked at Ben and chewed her lip. ‘What did he do to
you?’

Ben looked away before he started blubbing like a baby.
‘N-nothing.’

Maddie brushed hair out of her eyes. ‘Maybe we can talk
about it later, huh?’

Ben didn’t even believe there would be a
later
.
‘Maybe.’

‘We could ask Ebb for some water. Try and negotiate with
him,’ Maddie suggested.

‘Why would he give us water when he’s going to kill us?’
Emily said.

Maddie turned away. ‘We don’t know he’s going to kill us.’

Emily looked at Tweezer’s corpse. ‘Really? So Tweezer’s just
resting, is he? And what about Marcus and Dixie? They’re just having a nice
long soak in a bloodbath, are they?’

Maddie groaned. ‘I know. I know. But we have to try and stay
positive.’

Emily rolled her eyes. End of conversation.

Ben’s brain pounded against his skull. He looked at his
father. Geoff Whittle was barely breathing. Blood leaked from his nose. At
least his eyes were shut. Ben didn’t want to look into those eyes again.
Stutter-buck the failure couldn’t even muster words of comfort for a dying man.

Thunder rolled across the blackened
sky as Ebb stared at the lifeless body of poor Sister Alice. Rain lashed down
upon her corpse as if God himself was mourning her tragic loss. Lightening
flashed across the sky.   

Ebb felt an overwhelming urge to take an axe from the
woodshed and chop Brother Marcus into a thousand pieces. It was obvious what
had happened now. You didn’t need a degree in whodunit to figure this one out.
Poor Sister Alice, his fallen angel, had gone to the tower as instructed, and
Brother Marcus had thrown her from the top. And then Brother Marcus had
attempted to flee the scene with his three witches, Dixie, Emily and Madeline.

But he didn’t have time to wallow in grief like a hippopotamus.
Not while the Devil was on the loose. There would be plenty of time for
reflection when he got to Thailand.

He pointed the shotgun at Bubba, his faithful Polish
workhorse. ‘Hoist her on your shoulders and take her down to the basement.’

Bubba had already carted the bodies of Marcus and Dixie down
to the Cannabis Room. To be fair, Bubba hadn’t been in any position to refuse,
but credit where credit was due, Bubba had performed well.

Bubba bent down and hoisted Sister Alice up onto his shoulders.
Lines creased his face as if exertion was trying to draw a picture of his
efforts. Ebb marvelled at the man’s strength. He was built like a beanpole and
as strong as an ox. Loyal, too. Not like the rest of them had turned out to be
when the chips were down. Bubba would be rewarded for his efforts; he could die
first before the fire was set.  

By the time they reached the Cannabis Room, Bubba was
panting like Maxine on a hot day. Marcus and Dixie both lay where Bubba had
left them in a tangled heap outside the Revelation Room.  

Ebb spat on Marcus’s back with all the contempt he could
muster. ‘Unlock the door and carry Sister Alice into the Revelation Room. Once
inside, put Sister Alice on the floor with Tweezer and Maxine. Okay?’

Bubba grunted.

Ebb wished he hadn’t cut out Bubba’s tongue. It was like
trying to communicate with an ape. ‘Then you come back outside and put Sister
Dixie and Brother Marcus inside with them. Okay?’

Bubba nodded and unlocked the door.

With Sister Alice hoisted over his shoulder, Ebb thought
Bubba looked like a fireman who’d got his bearings all wrong and was placing a
victim at the scene of a fire instead of rescuing her.

Bubba walked into the Revelation Room. Ebb followed him
inside. He looked over at the bunnies conspiring with the Infiltrator in the
corner of the room. ‘You three stay right where you are. Anyone so much as
twitches, and I’ll blow Bubba’s head off.’

Bubba heaved Alice onto the floor. Her right arm landed on
Maxine’s muzzle. Ebb tried to make allowances for Bubba’s clumsiness. He must
be dog-tired.

Not as dog-tired as poor Maxine is, Pixie-pea.

Ebb ignored his mother and pointed the shotgun at Bubba.
‘Right, go and get the other two. Any funny business, and I’ll shoot the three
wise monkeys over there in the corner.’

Bubba dragged the bodies of Marcus and Dixie into the
Revelation Room one at a time. He then stood with his hands on his hips,
panting and gasping for air.

Ebb took aim and fired. The shot hit Bubba in the chest. The
force of the impact knocked him backwards. He looked at Ebb with a
what did
you do that for?
look in his eyes. Ebb didn’t like the look of that look.
It suggested Satan might be lodging in that beanpole Pole after all.

Bubba clutched his wounded chest and staggered backwards. He
fell against the skeleton of Ebb’s mother. Bizarrely, Veronica Ebb seemed to
pat Bubba on the head with her long, skeletal fingers.
There, there! Don’t
fret. Mummy’s here
.

Bubba slid down the wall, dismantling the skeleton as he
went. He sat motionless against the wall with his chin resting on his chest.
His eyes were closed. No pennies required. With all the bones scattered about
him, he put Ebb in mind of the world’s greediest cannibal. Dark red blood
bloomed on his bright yellow overalls. His right hand seemed to be searching
the ruins of his chest for a heartbeat. His other hand rested in his lap beside
Veronica Ebb’s leather-bound book.

 Ebb made a mental note to make sure he took all the
Books of Revelation with him before the bunnies burned. And his mother’s wig
and sunglasses. Her bones would have to stay put; he didn’t fancy trying to get
through customs with her rattling around inside a suitcase. He was travelling
light to Thailand. He’d have plenty of time to worry about creature comforts
when he got there.

‘Is the Infiltrator still alive?’ Ebb asked the three wise
monkeys.

They didn’t answer. For all Ebb knew, they could be using
telepathy to communicate. ‘Sister Emily?’

Sister Emily blanked him. No matter. Ebb was old enough and
wise enough to know that you could lead a chicken to corn, but you couldn’t
make it peck. ‘You have betrayed me, Sister Emily.’

Sister Emily looked away.

‘I took you in. I gave you food and shelter. I introduced
you to the Lord Jesus Christ Himself. And how did you repay me?’

Sister Emily rubbed her belly, comforting the bastard child.
 

Ebb pointed the gun at Emily’s stomach. ‘By committing the
vile act of copulation.’

‘We loved each other,’ Emily shouted, stroking her belly as
if it was a crystal ball about to reveal the future.

Ebb smiled. ‘Love?’

‘Love,’ Emily repeated. ‘Something you wouldn’t know
anything about.’

‘Don’t you dare mock me. I love Jesus Christ with all my
heart.’

‘You love no one but yourself.’

‘Save your breath. I’m not listening to any more of your guff.
Just remember that God is watching you and keeping a count of all your lies.’

‘Watching me? What about you? A coward who’s about to kill a
mother and her unborn child?’

‘A whore and her bastard child,’ Ebb corrected. ‘Anyway, God
doesn’t recognise the illegitimate offspring of a union between a whore and a
hyena.’

‘Mary Magdalen was a whore,’ Maddie said.

Ebb addressed the pile of bodies on the floor. ‘See how
Satan leaps from tongue to tongue like an epidemic in a Third World country.’

Ben moved a few steps towards Ebb. ‘L-l-let them g-go.’

Ebb turned the gun on Ben. ‘What’s the matter, Nostradamus,
you got a frog hopping about in your throat?’

‘P-please.’

Ebb shook his head. ‘If you shut up and do as you’re told,
you won’t have to suffer. You keep babbling like a brook and you’ll wish your
mummy had been at the mercy of a migraine the night you were conceived. Do I
make myself clear, Pixie-pea?’

Ben looked at the floor.

‘I’ve got chores to do, and then I need to speak to Jesus. I
suggest you all take this opportunity to get down on your knees and pray to God
for forgiveness.’

‘Us?’ Emily shouted.

 Ebb ignored her. He had no time to argue the toss with
a tart. He backed out of the Revelation Room and closed the door behind him. He
propped the shotgun against the wall and locked all the bunnies in the boiler.

Sister Alice’s death had left a huge hole in his heart. He
couldn’t believe that God had allowed Brother Marcus to throw her from the top
of the tower. Why hadn’t God stepped in and thrown that low-life gypsy from the
tower instead?

God moves in mysterious ways, Pixie-pea.

Ebb looked among the cannabis plants for signs of his
mother. For once, he was inclined to agree with her. God could certainly be a
puzzle with a piece missing at times. But it was not his place to question the
motives of the Lord. He was a humble servant, and he would do well to remember
that, even when stricken with grief.

He was about to pick up the shotgun when he realised that
there were no longer any threats necessitating the use of weapons at
Penghilly’s Farm. Not physical ones, anyway. All the bunnies were either dead
or about to burn. His mother might well try to unsettle him, but her days of
locking him in cupboards and throwing him down the stairs were long gone.
 

Now the time had come, he was glad to be making a clean
break from Penghilly’s Farm. It had run its course. Served its purpose.
Scrambled its eggs. He’d gone way beyond the call of duty during his time here.
In future, he’d make sure he was a lot more ruthless and vigilant. He’d trusted
too many people. Been too forgiving. He wouldn’t make the mistake of letting
emotions blur his vision again. No, sir. It didn’t bear thinking about what
might have happened if he hadn’t come down the stairs when Brother Marcus was
about to let the bunnies go.

One thing was for certain: he needed urgent medical
attention. His injured leg felt as if a white-hot needle was suturing the
wound. As for his nose, that mangled lump of meat was in danger of rotting away
altogether. Tweezer’s rancid teeth had surely given him tetanus. His first port
of call would have to be a hospital. He’d have to blame Maxine for the assault
on his nose as well as his leg, but under the circumstances he didn’t think the
Lord would mind a little white lie.  

Better to be safe than sorry, Pixie-pea.

Ebb resisted an overwhelming urge to rifle among the
cannabis plants and weed his mother out. But he had to stay focused. She was
just trying to unnerve him. Pull him off course. He hobbled up the stone steps.
He stared straight ahead, singing Onward Christian Soldiers as heartily as his
injured throat would allow. He walked into the kitchen. He didn’t bother
closing the door behind him. No one could escape from the Revelation Room. Not
unless Harry Houdini’s ghost was acting as an advisor to the bunnies.

He made his way up the two flights of stairs to his living
quarters in the converted attic. His injured leg hampered his progress, but he
refused to give in to it. He was no quitter. Not while there was breath in his
body and the Lord Jesus Christ in his heart.

It was a real shame he needed to torch his living quarters.
He always felt a great sense of peace and wellbeing when he was up there. He
would often lay awake at night on his beautiful, king-sized bed, looking up at
the stars. They reminded him of little specks of hope painted on a vast black
canvas.  

Careful not to cut himself on the fragments of glass, he
took the rest of his clothes out of the wardrobe and threw them onto the bed.
It would be a shame to burn them, but clothes could always be replaced. There
would be plenty of time to acquire a fresh wardrobe once he was settled in
Thailand.

With the wardrobe cleared out, he moved on to his oak
dresser and added socks, vests and Calvin Klein boxers to the pile on the bed.
He then retrieved a glass jar from behind a stash of gay pornographic magazines
in the bottom drawer. He held it up to the light. Bubba’s tongue no longer
looked capable of licking lips or telling tales. The formaldehyde had preserved
it reasonably well, even though it no longer looked tickled pink to see him.

Poor Bubba no longer needed his tongue. He was sitting up at
God’s top table, and Ebb certainly didn’t deny the wiry Pole his eternal peace.
If anyone deserved a rest, then it was that tongue-tied Pixie-pea.

Ebb put the jar down on the bed beside his pile of clothes.
His head was pounding like a steam press.  

What are you gonna do if they stop you at customs with a
pickled tongue, Pixie?

His mother’s voice seemed to be coming from beneath his
underwear. The thought of her being anywhere near his boxers turned his stomach
sour. But, for the second time that day, he felt inclined to listen to mama. It
would look suspicious hobbling through customs with nothing to declare other
than Bubba’s tongue, a pink wig and the three Books of Revelation. Perhaps it
might be prudent to bury the tongue and the books somewhere in England before
heading off to pastures new in Thailand. The wig and sunglasses wouldn’t cause
any suspicion, other than possibly indicating a tendency towards
transvestitism.  

He went to the wardrobe and grabbed a small black holdall.
He put the glass jar in the bottom of it and then covered the jar with a
smattering of socks and boxers. He then added a Bible and a small silver cross
from his bedside table. He emptied the contents of his bathroom cabinet into
the holdall along with all the pills and potions from the kitchen cupboards. He
would have taken his stash of chocolate from the fridge, but the heat would
only turn it into treacle. Instead, he scoffed two Mars Bars and washed them
down with a bottle of Lucozade Sport.

After an hour of rummaging through his quarters, he hobbled
down the stairs, through the house and out to the barn. How he wished Sister
Alice was with him. She had a good eye for detail. And a calm and ordered mind.
At least, she did before Brother Marcus defied the will of Jesus Christ and
threw her from the top of the tower.

He put the holdall on the passenger seat of the Land Rover
and then retrieved two ten-litre cans of petrol from the back of the barn. He
returned  to the farmhouse and put one of the cans on the kitchen table.
He then climbed the stairs to his quarters for the last time.

A tear hatched in the corner of his eye. Even though he was
glad to be leaving, some of his fondest memories were wrapped up in Penghilly’s
Farm. But this was no time for sentimentality. No, sir. His memories were
always going to be locked up inside his head. The value of his work would never
be forgotten.

He took the cap off the can and emptied petrol over the
clothes on his bed. He then left a trail of petrol between the bedroom and the
living room before moving out of his quarters and down to the first floor
landing. He doused the beds with fuel in the Brothers’ and Sisters’ rooms and
then continued down the stairs leaving a trail of petrol behind him.