Eleven

‘I renounce my faith . . .’

Mark had returned. He was lying crumpled on the floor of the driving cabin again. He could see what was happening in the compartment. He could see the broken seal; the body of Father Daniels; the two men lying on the floor. He could see that Azimuth had channelled itself into the Catalyst for a mild diversion, not content in the knowledge that soon the Ghost Train would reach its destination and all Earth would be subject to its unleashed, evil influence. Mark could see what it wanted to do with the girl. As he spoke, his hand dropped away from the silver crucifix hanging around his neck.

Instantly, the converging, invisibly pulsing lines of power in the driving cabin surged with vitality. The air crackled, a blue light suffused the cabin . . . a light that was somehow dark. It blossomed and spread, until the details of the driving cabin began to grow thinner and vanish. A great roaring filled Mark’s ears, as of some terrible wind. And then he knew that the very essence of Azimuth had returned to the driving cabin. The evil touch of wings and eyes was with him once again. It had heard him and returned rejoicing.

Thrice Denied! Of your own free will you speak! And so shall it be! I will embody within you. I will be of you. And you will be mine.

Mark gave himself willingly.

It entered through his eyes as he knew it would. It slithered into him like a seething, wriggling mass of abominable voracious snakes. It plunged deeply and greedily into his mind; a hideous, rapacious invader. It had lied to him. It would feed from him. It would consume him. And now he could not stop it because he had given himself willingly. He had offered up the virgin territory of his mind and now that Azimuth had been admitted, it would greedily devour. But Mark had known that this would happen.

Mark was thirty years old. He had been twenty-­nine when the accident had happened. Now, as Azimuth swarmed into his mind, he retreated before it down the halls of memory to the time when he was twenty-­eight, happily married with a promising career, a wife whom he loved deeply and a beautiful daughter. And as Mark retreated, he took with him the central core of his mind, the very essence of his being. Azimuth came after him, consuming and digesting two years of Mark’s life, anxious to claim everything of Mark as it ravaged onwards. It was drawing power from its feasting, becoming stronger and faster. Mark leaped backwards in time, taking his individuality with him down through the years.

Twenty-­five, twenty-­four, twenty-­three, twenty-­two . . .

And Azimuth followed greedily, tasting and raping everything that Mark had ever experienced, everything he had ever loved or hated. Everything good was pillaged and distorted to make food; everything bad was expanded and savoured for the Tasting.

. . . Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven . . .

It claimed and tasted everything, defiling Mark completely. And still Mark pressed backwards, keeping himself from it as it advanced.

. . . Six, five, four, three, two, one . . .

It swallowed and engulfed, tasted and orgasmed as its possession neared completion. Barely ahead of this thing from Hell, Mark was a newborn child. His lifetime of experience belonged to Azimuth. But still he pressed backwards in time . . . back . . . back to the time of his birth.

And beyond.

As a foetus in his own mother’s womb, Mark carried and retained his essence and individuality. Unborn and without sin, he lay sheltered and protected from the ravages of that which possessed his born self. It was a place that the Evil could not enter. Moreover, he knew, it was a place that Azimuth had disregarded. Exultant in what it believed to be its complete possession, Azimuth turned aside and withdrew. Within the womb, for the first and last time in the history of mankind, an unborn child shed tears for the sacrifice of its own life to come.