Convalescence (11 page)

Without thinking about it, I ran from the summerhouse and followed them. I pulled up short when we reached the pond.

Uncle Thomas was standing with his back to the water, while Michael stood barely six feet away from him, staring at him impassively.

My uncle had his hands out in front of him, as if fending Michael off. He was gibbering, “No…please…you don't understand…I had to do it…”

And then an arm burst from the water of the pond and a bony hand gripped his ankle. For a moment he teetered on the edge of the pond, trying to keep his balance, but another hand broke the surface and grabbed him, and then another, and he fell backwards into the water.

I ran forward and watched as three misty-white shapes seemed to envelop my uncle and drag him under.

I turned back to Michael. He was smiling, and as I watched him, he simply faded away.

A cold October wind blew across the cemetery, blowing leaves in our faces as Amy and I stood by the graveside.

“How many do you think there were?” she said.

“I don't think we'll ever know that for sure. They found three bodies when they dragged the pond, all young boys. And that's just in this country. Elise got a visit from some men the other day.”

“Elise?”

“Miss Holt,” I said. “They were from South Africa—policemen looking into a number of missing children. Apparently they were investigating their disappearances before Uncle Thomas returned home. Once he left the country, their investigation dried up. They've reopened it in light of what happened here.”

She shivered and pulled her coat more tightly around her.

“Have you seen Hughie since?” I said.

“Only at his mother's trial. He was there when the judge sentenced her to life in prison, but I haven't seen him since,” she said.

“What's it like being back at St. Joseph's?”

“Not so bad. I was amazed when they agreed to take me back, especially with…” She let the sentence hang, but patted her swollen belly. “Sister Rosalie has been very kind to me. She set the other nuns the task of turning one of the storerooms into a nursery.”

“And do they mind?”

“I think they're loving it. You can hear them singing hymns as they paint the walls.” She smiled.

“Do you miss him?”

“Andy?” She shook her head. “No, not really. Once I realized he only wanted to be with me for one thing, it kind of took the shine off the relationship.”

“You're worth more than that,” I said.

“Listen to you, Mr. Wise Beyond His Years,” she said with a smile. “Besides, he made breaking up with him pretty easy. You should have seen his face when I told him I was expecting.” She reached out and held my hand, squeezing it lightly. “Thanks, Jimmy. Thanks for warning me about him.”

“It wasn't any of my business, really. I thought I was speaking out of turn.”

She shook her head again. “Sometimes you have to decide who your real friends are. How are things working out with Miss Holt?”

“Fine. She's waiting in the car. She didn't really want to come to the graveside.” I brushed my windblown hair out of my eyes. “They say you don't really know someone until you live with them, and that's certainly true of Elise. The other day she was teaching me how to play poker. She must be very unlucky in love because she's a wicked card player,” I said, smiling.

“You sound happy,” she said.

I nodded. I suppose
I was. There were days when I missed Mum and Dad and my little sister, Sally, but those days were getting fewer and fewer. Life was starting to get easier.

I suppose that's what convalescence is all about.

About the Author

Len Maynard & Mick Sims are the authors of several thriller novels including
Nightmare City
,
Stronghold
, and
Stillwater
, the Department 18 books
The Eighth Witch
,
A Plague Of Echoes
, and
Mother Of Demons
, all from Samhain.

They are currently working on a more thrillers. They have been published with romance under a pseudonym, have had nine story collections published, and are currently completing the tenth. They have had numerous stories published in a variety of anthologies and magazines. They have won awards with their screenplays. They also work as editors, and do ghost writing projects, and have been essayists, reviewers and small press publishers.
www.maynard-sims.com

Look for these titles by Maynard Sims

Now Available:

Nightmare City

Stronghold

Stillwater

Department 18 series

The Eighth Witch

A Plague Of Echoes

Mother Of Demons

The hunt is on!

Mother of Demons

© 2015 Maynard Sims

A
Department 18
novel

Alice Logan has gone missing, and Harry Bailey and Department 18 have been called to help find her. The main suspect is Anton Markos, a satanic cult leader who has a predilection for young women like Alice. Members of Markos's cult start turning up dead—shredded by what seems to be a wild animal. Is there a madman within the cult? Or is it something far more horrible?

Can Department 18 discover the impossible truth and end the spree of murder, insanity and carnage? Or will they become the prey?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Mother of Demons
:

Jason West pushed open the door to the library and stepped into the cavernous book-lined room.

Violet Bulmer sat in the corner, the desk lamp catching the gray flecks in her copper hair. She looked sixty but he knew her age to be thirty-nine. The last few years had not been kind to her.

“Hello, Vi.”

She looked up, peering at him over her half-rimmed glasses, and pushed a stray lock of her wild hair away from her face. “I didn't expect you to show,” she said. “Not after the last time.”

“You called, I came. That was the deal.”

“I wouldn't have blamed you…”

“How long were you in hospital?” he said.

“Three weeks. You?”

“Six. I was pretty beaten up. What have you got?”

There was an empty seat beside her. She patted the cushion. “Come and see.”

He sat down next to her at the desk and stared down at the file she had open in front of her. He picked up an eight-by-ten, black-and-white photograph of a smartly dressed young man exiting a famous eatery in Piccadilly.

“Who is he?”

“Erik Strasser, former CEO of Hematite Software and high priest of one of the fastest growing covens in the country.”

“Why haven't I heard of him?”

“Up until a year ago he was based at Hematite's head office in Dusseldorf, and then, for reasons that were never made clear, he was relieved of his post. So he upped sticks, relocated to London and continued to spread his vile philosophy here in our backyard.”

“Where's he living?”

“He has a penthouse apartment in Clerkenwell and a country pile in the Cotswolds.”

“And the coven?”

“He also owns a converted warehouse in Docklands. As far as I understand it, they hold regular meetings there.”

He dropped the photograph back onto the desk. “And your interest is? Apart from the obvious.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips. “Strasser is pure evil. The reason his coven has grown so rapidly is because he targets young people, mid to late teens, early twenties—vulnerable people disaffected by modern society and the teachings of the church.”

“I would have said that accounts for the majority of the youth of today.”

Violet gave him a withering look. “Cynic.”

“Just an observation.”

She shook her head. “I suppose I can't expect you to change, Jason.”

He smiled. “How long have you known me?”

“Too long,” she said, allowing her own smile to flit across her lips. “Strasser's like a disease, spreading his poison and infecting anyone who crosses his path.”

He listened to the vitriol in her words. “This is personal,” he said. “Isn't it?”

Violet looked at him long and hard, as if assessing whether or not to tell him. Finally, she looked away and stared down at the file. “I have a niece, Alice, my sister's girl. Bright, pretty little thing…at least, she was.”

“And now?”

“I barely recognize her. My sister has her in a clinic in Hampshire.”

“What happened to her?”

“Strasser happened to her. She met him during her final year at Oxford. She thought the lifestyle Strasser was offering would be fun and exciting. Within three months, Alice was heavily addicted to methamphetamine and was very quickly going downhill.”

“How did your sister get her away from him?”

“The silly girl came home, to touch Stephanie for money. Said she needed it to further her studies. My sister may be many things, Jason, but she's not a fool. She could see from Alice's appearance that something was badly wrong. She promised to help Alice financially, and insisted she stay the night, with the promise that the next day they'd go to the bank together and make a withdrawal for the amount Alice was looking for. Instead she locked Alice in her bedroom and sought help from a friend of hers, a doctor with a private practice. Of course he was risking his career by helping her, but Stephanie can be very persuasive. Alice was committed to the clinic a few days later.”

“And Strasser?”

“He came looking for Alice. He turned up at the house, as bold as brass, and demanded that my sister release her into his care. Said they had a deep, loving relationship and that he would take responsibility for her rehabilitation.”

“But Stephanie wasn't taken in by him?”

“As I said, Stephanie may be many things, but she's not a fool. George, my brother-in-law, called the police to see Strasser off the premises, and then Stephanie rang me to see what I could find out about him.”

Jason pointed to the file in front of her. “And that's what you found out?”

“So far,” Violet said. “But I have a feeling I've only just scratched the surface.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“Well, we're not going to go up against him alone. We played that game last time, and we didn't do very well, did we?”

“So what do you suggest?”

“We ask the professionals to get involved.”

“The police?”

She made a sound of contempt in the back of her throat. “They wouldn't know where to start.”

“Then who?”

“I want you to go and see a man I know, Harry Bailey. I helped him with something he was investigating a few years ago.”

“Who's this Harry Bailey?”

“He works for Department 18. A government agency set up to investigate psychic phenomena, the paranormal.”

‘”The government uses taxpayers' money to investigate ghoulies and ghosties?” Jason said incredulously. “I'm surprised the
Daily Mail
hasn't tried to expose them and bring them down.”

“They operate below the radar of the popular press, and believe me, they've saved the country's bacon on more than one occasion.”

“Seriously?”

“Jason, I'm deadly serious. I never joke about such things.”

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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Convalescence

Copyright © 2015 by Maynard Sims

ISBN: 978-1-61922-911-2

Edited by Don D'Auria

Cover by Scott Carpenter

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: November 2015

www.samhainpublishing.com