A Death Displaced (20 page)

‘My brothers ... you can’t seem to control them fully. What do their minds look like to you?’

‘Similar to yours, but closer to their physical bodies. I saw some of their patterns. I could have controlled them. Would have taken more time. Effort. They are not like you. Their minds are different to others, and so is yours, but yours is more complex.’ Then Aldrich said reprovingly, ‘Yours is out of my reach.’

Why were his brothers’ minds different?
Do they have the ability I have? Maybe they have it, but to a different degree?
Yet another mystery to put on his list.

‘Why did you try to use your ability to get Juliet and me to hand over our valuables?’ he asked, perplexed. ‘You obviously have a lot of money … look at your manor.’

‘I get whatever I can from anyone who comes to my door. Why not? I love free stuff. Mobile phones are fun. Private texts. Surprising how many people have naked pictures of themselves on their mobiles. Some people, I make them give me their clothes. Sometimes I trance them into sexual favours. Mind wipe. They don’t remember anything.’

Nick cringed at the thought of it. If he hadn’t been immune to Aldrich’s ability, Juliet and he may have been subjected to that. He wanted to call Aldrich all sorts of names: pervert, sicko, rapist. But it would have done no help. ‘Have you always had this ability or did you gain it somehow?’

‘It was a gift.’

‘Someone passed it down to you?’ It was difficult to imagine someone or something bestowing such a gift. Surely it was impossible?

‘A gift from Moloch.’ Aldrich’s voice was heavy and full of homage when he said Moloch.

Moloch? That sounds familiar.
Nick mused over where he’d heard it before. It felt recent in his mind, like something that had caught his interest, something not good. Then he remembered.

When he’d researched mythology on the internet, he’d found a link to another website. He’d read about Moloch but hadn’t paid much attention. Moloch was some sort of ancient god, worshipped by Canaanites and Phoenicians. Nick had found artist representations of the god, large and horned like a bull, and in some pictures it even had a bull’s head. Then he recalled the worst part: in the past, worshippers sacrificed children by fire to the horned god.

‘Are you referring to the ancient god Moloch?’

‘Who else could I mean?’ Aldrich acted offended.

‘But Moloch isn’t real.’

Aldrich made a fierce attempt to shake free his tied arms. He groaned and wriggled, then gave up. ‘Moloch is my
master!
I do
His
bidding.’

You do his bidding …? 
That should mean something, Nick knew it should. There was a bigger picture here, a web involving more than just those present.

… Moloch’s bidding …? Ah!
It all fit into place. ‘Katie Baker. You kidnapped her,’ said Nick, askance.

Abruptly, it felt noticeably colder and oh so still, like the trees had stopped their rustling to hear Aldrich’s response. At first Aldrich looked frightened, but then he smiled a wicked grimace. ‘She was a gift to Moloch,’ he said proudly.

A pungent twist in Nick’s stomach made him feel sick. Saliva began to fill his mouth, and he almost wished he hadn’t figured it out. ‘Children have been disappearing on this island every ten years or so,’ said Nick, struggling not to shake. ‘It couldn’t have been you all those times. You don’t look much older than thirty.’

‘I’m older than I look. Moloch grants me many gifts.’

Nick didn’t believe any of this Moloch business. Even though he’d meditated in the past in an attempt to meet deities, had he ever really believed in any form of gods? Or a singular god? He wasn’t so sure. Maybe at the time he’d just been desperate, craving to believe in anything.

But Moloch … he simply couldn’t believe in the existence of a god so evil. Aldrich could have been born with his ability, and maybe part of it was longevity or even immortality, but Nick was certain Aldrich was delusional about his beloved god.

Thinking on it, it made a weird kind of sense that Aldrich was older than he looked. His accent was fleeting and unplaceable, the way he spoke was muddled, and his name didn’t match his appearance. He could have been worshipping his imaginary god for hundreds of years. Maybe more.
All those poor children.

‘You burnt them all alive?’ Nick asked through tense lips.

‘No. They go into the light.’

‘What?’

‘I used to burn them, centuries ago. Then Moloch appeared to me personally. Yes.
Personally
. He demands that they go into the light.’

That confirmed his suspicions; Aldrich had been sacrificing children for centuries. Maybe not all on Lansin Island, but still … they were children.

Aldrich spoke some more. ‘Their own parents sacrificed them. Mr and Mrs Baker led their daughter into the light.’

But Mr and Mrs Baker had made appearances in the media, begging for information on their daughter’s whereabouts,
thought Nick. They still searched for her now; Mora had shown him the newspaper roughly a week ago. ‘You did it, didn’t you? You used your mind-trick on her parents. You forced them to sacrifice their own child, and they don’t remember a thing.’ He clenched his fists. ‘You’re sick and disgusting.’

‘Moloch demands it. Parents must do the deed.’ Aldrich actually laughed and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, ‘I don’t make the rules’.

Nick paced back and forth. ‘Moloch isn’t real, you delusional freak!’

A sharp barking noise escaped Aldrich’s mouth. He spat towards Nick and although the spittle fell short, it managed to infuriate Nick some more. 

The urge to hit Aldrich, to make him suffer, was almost overwhelming. He was unsure if he could fight it off. Why could people like Aldrich get away with such monstrous things when someone like Nick received a beating for trying to do the right thing, like stopping Alan from stealing?

He began to tap the palm of his left hand, fast and hard.
I’M CALM, I’M FOCUSED, I’M CALM, I’M FOCUSED!
It didn’t work. He thought maybe the best plan to distract his anger might be to ask more questions, to keep the ‘conversation’ flowing. What could he say though? All he could do was judge this disgusting man.

‘Think of all the good you could have done with your power.’ Nick felt he had to say it. ‘You could have changed the minds of the world’s most evil people. You could erase a paedophile’s intentions, change their life completely and save a lot of suffering. You could change someone’s limiting thoughts and behaviours. You could destroy evil intentions in anyone’s head; get people out of prison with a fresh mind free from hate or criminal intentions. Maybe you could even use your ability to cure someone’s mental illness. But instead you destroy lives, sacrificing innocent children!’

It tired him thinking of all the suffering Aldrich could have prevented, but his conscience nagged at him.
Would it be ethical to invade anyone’s mind at all? Even if your goal was to cure them of their murderous tendencies? A human has the right to their own private thoughts. Is it wrong to take away that right? If the world knew about Aldrich, would or could they even use his power ethically?

Before, Nick had thought he’d a good sense of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, but this really tested him. Maybe thinking in terms of ethical or unethical was easier. Or harder. Or maybe these labels didn’t matter, and it was purely a being’s intention that was important. Giving out love or giving out hate.

Aldrich shouted, ‘Only Moloch tells me what to do.
I do His bidding!
’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve told me already,’ Nick said, exhausted. There was still so much he wanted to ask, but he didn’t think he could handle the answers for much longer. ‘How do you … pick people? Do you ever leave the manor to find your victims?’

‘It’s a fun game.’ Aldrich was sinister and smiling. Blood crusted down his face. ‘Moloch doesn’t ask often. He expects one every ten years or so. Give or take some years. If I get the chance, I sacrifice more than that. As often as I like. It was easier in the past. There are places in the world where it would go unnoticed, but Lansin Island is where Moloch wants me. This is his home for now. Where I worship him. To pick my victims, I have methods. But let me ask you something first.’ He glowered at Nick. ‘Are you going to kill me?’

The air stopped in Nick’s throat. He was stuck for words. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
Kill him? Murder? No. I couldn’t.
But he couldn’t turn him in to the authorities either, as much as he wanted to. Mr and Mrs Baker needed closure, and so did the other parents from across the years ... but could Nick tell them about all this? If he turned Aldrich in, he would escape easily, and then who knows what he would do?

‘No, I’m not going to kill you. We will figure something out, a compromise. I just want to ask you more questions.’

‘A compromise? Yes.
I know!
That pretty woman with you. I can make her
yours
. I’ll make her your slave. She’ll treat you like a king. I can do that. Make her yours. Your
bitch
. Yes? And you’ll let me go?’ He spoke quick this time, excitedly.

‘No! You can’t invade someone’s mind like that. She has her own free will. She’s no one’s slave.’ Nick almost barked the words out, angered by the lack of respect for Juliet.

He
was
sexually attracted to her; he couldn’t deny that. But what Aldrich was suggesting was no better than rape. Maybe even worse. If Nick and Juliet were to ever develop to that stage, he would want anything sexual to be consensual and special. Intimate. Loving. But that was thinking way ahead. They’d only kissed for the first time today.

‘What about money?’ Aldrich twitched. ‘I’ll make you rich. Look at my manor. All the money in the world.
Yours!
’

‘No. I don’t want anything from you. I’m not going to kill you anyway.’ Nick cringed again at the thought of killing someone. He found himself glancing back towards the manor. All that money.
I’d never have to work again …
No
! He couldn’t do it. ‘I just want to ask more questions. That’s all.’

‘You want to know about your mother. I know why you’re here.’

‘Yeah. That’s why I’m here.’

Aldrich then continued with the previous conversation as if he’d never changed subject. ‘How I pick my victims … I can afford to take my time. My favourite method is to advertise. In the local paper. Old junk for sale, car for sale, collectibles, and the likes. Yes. I never own the actual items. And when they call me and come to my manor, I invite them inside. That is where the game begins. Game, yes.’ He sniffled a disturbing laugh.

‘I invite them inside,’ he went on. ‘Sometimes I ask direct questions. Other times I jump right inside of their minds.
Does anyone know you are here
? Yes equals go home and I erase their memory of ever coming to the manor, but a no and we are on to the next level.
Do you have children?
Yes, the next level. No, go home and erase memory.’

‘That sounds like a long process,’ said Nick, disgusted by the ritual-like way Aldrich picked his victims. It reminded him of TV programmes and films he’d seen with serial killers in. Well, he supposed Aldrich
was
a serial killer.

‘Yes, yes. It can take a long time to find the right person, or people. Long time. It’s ever so fun.
Fun. Yes!
Criteria: no one knows they came to my manor, no one knows they were interested in my item in the ad, they have to have children, and then the next level is programming their minds.

‘It takes some time. I program them to fetch their children and return to the manor. I program them to be stealthy about it.
Don’t tell anyone.
If they are seen too close to the manor, then turn around and try another day. If not, then continue. It’s secluded out here. Nearest house, a few miles.

‘Once they are here, the parents do the deed. I fiddle with their mind again. Ensure they have no memories of it. Then they drive away, return to their life and then think,
Where’s my dear child?
’ Aldrich smiled and looked to be pleasantly reminiscing. ‘Ha! I love to read the papers, watch the news. Sobbing parents pleading for their missing child. Funny. Mr and Mrs Baker are particularly pathetic.’

‘You’re sick. There’s nothing human about you,’ Nick said frankly. ‘I don’t want to know anything more. Just tell me what you know about my mum.’

The moment of truth. His heart quickened in preparation for the answer.

‘Your mother rang me. She saw my advert. Small family day-boat for sale. I think it was three thousand and three hundred pounds. She was disgustingly cloying.
Cloying.
Yes. Blabbed about it being the
perfect
birthday present for her husband. Soppy, sickly stuff. I played along. We agreed on a cash payment if she came to view the boat and wanted it. Of course the boat didn’t exist.’ He was looking off to the side, through the trees, showing blatant boredom.

Nick tried to figure it out as he went along, his body tensing at Aldrich mocking his mum.

‘Your mother arrived at my front door. I invited her inside. Spoke with her, she had your smile. I thought I recognised you when you came to my door earlier. Yes. Anyway, I asked your mother the usual questions:
Do you have children
,
did you tell anyone you came here
, etcetera. Ha, etcetera.
Yes!

‘She answered me confusedly. I was happy to learn she had three children: two of them ten year old boys, twins,
your brothers!
Moloch loves twins. Then I tried to trance her, use my mind-trick ... as you called it. I said to her, bring me your twins, and I attempted to dig inside her mind. But it was like yours. It was out of reach.’

Although it was cold and Nick had been chilled throughout, he experienced heat surging through him now: a hot rage. The thought that Aldrich would have sacrificed Tom and Tommy made him furious.

He wanted to cover his ears. He wanted to cry.