Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Gary has been in the house for some time and there was no surprise when he returned to find that his house was just as empty as it had been when he last left. Part of him had hoped that Isabelle would be here and that he would be able to call the whole thing off. But he knows that it is too late for that, especially now.

He is sitting on a couch and feels a sharp pain in his upper thigh. It takes him a moment to work out just what it is before he jumps up and pulls the offending object out of his pocket. His house keys are now in his hand and he cannot even begin to convey the feelings coming over him. This one little thing would have annoyed him in the past but right now he is furious – the impotent fury of a man who cannot do anything else for the moment.

He throws his keys onto his glass table and, for a split second, as they fly through the air; he is convinced that the impact is going to smash it. They land with a loud clatter, that’s all; he gives out a small sigh of relief.

He slumps down onto the couch again, right beside where he threw his jacket earlier. He rubs his face vigorously to shake out the fatigue he is feeling. Little pinpricks of stinging shoot up all over his face. It isn’t exactly pain but it is very unpleasant. He winces just a little and regrets what he has done.

He knows that Isabelle is in a lot of trouble and feels useless, sitting around in the house and doing nothing to help her. He understands why David has sent him back to the house to wait and see if she arrives home safe and unharmed. He is too involved with the whole situation and is no good to anybody considering the frame of mind he is in right now. David needs 100% from his team and it is something that Gary is unable to deliver.

But isn’t everyone involved really? No matter how briefly, everybody else who is with David Oswald knows Isabelle. The fact that she has disappeared and it’s implications on him should have an affect on everyone.

Gary shakes his head. That would make them all the more determined to get her back, but still not have the clouding of judgment that Gary is experiencing. He decides the best bet is to make another cup of coffee and hope for the best - there is no way that he is going to be sleeping tonight.

He wanders into the Kitchen, flicking the light on. He jumps back in surprise when he spots the face that is peering into the window. Before he has the chance to compose himself and run over to see where the figure is heading, it is gone into the night.

4.

Tuesday 27th April 2010

02:05

Beside Walter Ingalls bed is a very old style phone, which somehow manages to look new. It has something to do with the design; as if modern technology can no longer look like the style from a past era. It is designed for a retro feel but it just looks so new, so shiny. Downstairs he has a candlestick style phone from the time when phones were first invented, black with an almost bone like shine to it. This one is the same colour but it is a simple box, slightly raised at the back, two turrets pushing up with a golden branch (to perfect to resemble a branch and its random wanderings but it is the only way Walter can describe them) on each side, acting as a cradle for the receiver. Walter has fallen asleep whilst reading a book.

Suddenly Walter is awake. He woke up to the sound of the ringing phone. To say that he is very displeased to be getting a call at this time of night is an understatement. He is a very light sleeper and he has woken up very quickly. The thought, “this had better be damned important”, is already running through his head. Who would be calling him now?

He picks up the phone. There is no way for him to be pleasant right now and the way he says, “Hello”, reflects this.

“Hi Dad it’s me…”

Suddenly Walter’s demeanour changes. His voice softens slightly. Gary is a smart kid and there is no way he would be calling this early in the morning unless there is something serious happening.

“Gary?”

“I’m sorry to call this late…”

Walter shakes his head, forgetting for a moment that his son will be unable to see him doing so. It is funny what goes through your mind at this time in the morning. He instantly thinks, “It’s not late, it’s early.”

“Don’t worry about that. What’s wrong?”

“I want to give you a phone number. If I don’t call you back every ten minutes until I say otherwise, I want you to call this number and tell the man who answers that you think Gary is in trouble.”

“What are you talking about? What the hell’s going on son?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain it later, dad. Could you just take down this number?”

“I don’t have a pen and paper. Give me a minute.”

As Walter has a quick search for pen and paper, he feels violent shivers running up and down his spine. He hasn’t experienced a sensation like that since he had found his wife dead all those years before. He starts to think about her. He misses her so much. It doesn’t matter, though; he knows that he will be seeing her again soon.

5.

Tuesday 27th April 2010

02:06

Isabelle is not known to exaggerate but she is sure that she has been asleep for months when she finally wakes up. She cannot believe that she had managed to fall asleep during her attempt to escape from the bonds that are holding her in place. She has no idea why she feels so tired.

She tries to accustom her eyes to the dark and shapes begin to form around her, seeming to come out of the darkness. She realises that she is no longer alone in the room.

She guesses that there are about half a dozen figures in the room with her. From the shapes she guesses that they are cloaked figures like the ones who had kidnapped her. It is hard to tell but she can imagine that they are all facing her and staring. As her eyes adjust more to the dark, she starts to make out more details.

“What do you want?” She finally asks. Just then, she feels something drip down onto her lips. It is a very unpleasant, ticklish sensation, all the more because it has surprised her and she does not have the power to wipe it away.

Suddenly she is aware of a wet patch on her forehead, which she hadn’t felt moments before. He tongue flicks out onto her lips to taste the liquid in an automatic response. Her mind is already on overdrive and she does not want to know the origins of the liquid.

She immediately tastes the distinctive coppery tang of blood. This is too much. Panic and bile rise up from her stomach. She lets out the loudest scream that she can muster in the circumstances; a fairly pitiful shriek as her rapidly filling and emptying lungs seem to be too caught up in the panicking process to issue anything stronger.

“Quiet child. The blood is not yours. It is the blood of someone else taken by the Brethren tonight.”

She manages to stifle her useless screams down to self conscious and disgusted sobs. “You mean that you killed someone?”

The silence that is returned speaks more volumes than anything they could possibly have said in answer to this.

“Are you going to kill me?”

There are a few more seconds of silence and, in this time, Isabelle manages to think the worst. They are going to kill her and she has been right. She is never going to see Gary again. But then quiet laughter breaks out amongst the cloaked figures. The whole thing is so absurd sounding that Isabelle feels like she could start laughing too, if the circumstances were ever so slightly different.

“Of course we are not going to kill you. You are important to us.”

“Then please untie me!” She begs.

The cloaked figure closest to her raises a hand. He has been the one who has been doing all the talking. Isabelle is already thinking of him as the leader of the group.

“Not yet, Isabelle. There is something we must do first.”

Suddenly the chanting starts and the whole situation scares Isabelle even more. She is in the middle of some kind of satanic ceremony. She should have known from the blood on her forehead but, up until now, the thought hasn’t even crossed her mind. The talk of sacrifice didn’t even lead her to this conclusion.

She is very surprised to feel the blood dry and solidify on her forehead. It is a warm sensation at first and she has to admit that it is quite pleasant. She is glad that she can no longer feel the blood; she had wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. It had been like having an itch under a plaster when you have broken your arm. It was there and there was nothing that you could do about it.

She becomes aware of a faint glow on the floor around her chair. It seems to brighten as the chanting becomes louder. She looks around at the shape of the glow and realises that she is sitting in the centre of a pentagram. That would make sense if she were part of some satanic ceremony.

Suddenly she can feel the shape of the dried blood on her forehead and just knows that it, too, is a pentagram. It is no longer a nice sensation and she wants to scream again, sure that her lungs are now capable of bringing the whole building down. But now she is unable to move a muscle, let alone scream. She finds that she can’t even blink, although her eyes are drying up and stinging quite badly.

There is a sudden loud electrical crackle. Sparks of electricity come from the points of the pentagram around her.

And then Isabelle knows no more.