‘Welcome to my parlour,’ Carlu proclaimed flamboyantly as he pushed Harker down the creaking wooden staircase with the tip of the gutting knife pressed firmly to his back. ‘You should feel honoured at having the chance to see it.’
There were a lot of emotions Harker was experiencing at this moment, but being honoured was definitely not one of them. ‘You didn’t call the police at all, did you?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Carlu replied, prodding Harker forward. ‘There’s really no need for them, you see.’
Following the sudden appearance of a knife in Carlu’s hand, Harker had attempted to make a break for the front door, but after a short scuffle, of which he had been on the losing end, the larger man had dealt him a blow that had literally made his teeth rattle. After being momentarily stunned, any further plan to escape had come to a swift end when Mama had broken a large flower vase over his head. Following this, Carlu had finally pacified him by holding the knife to his throat, before leading him down into the basement. Both the vicious old crone and annoyingly attractive Sofia had been ordered to stay upstairs as Carlu proceeded to give Harker ‘the tour’, as he put it. The way the man said it had sent a chill through Harker’s body, but as he was led into the area beneath the house he was consumed only with a feeling of dread. The ‘parlour’ looked like more of a dungeon than a storeroom for consumables and, as Harker surveyed the dank décor, his dread now turned into nothing short of terror.
Twenty metres or so in length and half as wide, the parlour floor was covered in shiny grey linoleum tiles, and in the corner there was a cage with rusting bars large enough to hold a crouching prisoner. On one side a series of steel tables linked to a washbasin were bolted onto the wall, and on another a large piece of blue tarpaulin hung from it to the floor, covering something that protruded out from underneath. Next to it was a worn hospital gurney, its cracked edges displaying the foam lining it was stuffed with; for Harker this would have been the most ominous thing in the room had he not noticed something above the steel tables opposite.
On the cracked plaster walls hung an assortment of what might have been described as gardening tools, but Harker could wager they had never been used by anyone with green fingers. A pair of shears, an axe and a saw were amongst the larger items above, with a selection of smaller knives, pliers and claw hammers filling up the bottom row.
‘You’re not a horticulturist by any chance, are you?’ Harker quipped in a shaky voice, genuinely surprised with himself for being able to produce such a smart-ass remark given his current predicament.
‘Ah, fear-induced humour, a strong quality. Keeps a man firm when faced with adversity,’ Carlu responded with a venomous smile. He pushed Harker roughly towards the centre of the room, then pressed the gutting knife lightly against his own forefinger and spun it back and forth. ‘Won’t help you here, though.’
Harker was already eyeing the axe when Carlu began to tut. ‘You wouldn’t make it,’ he growled, then reached over and, with one hand, grabbed a folding metal chair that leant against the back wall and threw it towards Harker so it landed at his feet. ‘Sit.’
Harker stole another glance at the axe before thinking better of it. He picked up the chair, unfolded it, and sat down as Carlu waved the knife towards him.
‘Good choice,’ he said, moving closer. ‘So you like my collection of trophies.’
‘Trophies?’ Harker glanced over at the rack of implements but Carlu was already shaking his head as he pointed upwards.
‘The photographs.’
It was a bizarre way to describe them, and Harker winced. ‘You mean the dead men, all killed ritually.’
Carlu looked surprised. ‘You’ve been digging deeply, haven’t you?’
‘Deep enough. I found those same death pictures back at your son’s apartment shortly after he killed himself.’
The grin on Carlu’s face evaporated. ‘I find that hard to believe, as Simone would not have been so sloppy.’
‘What, to kill himself?’
‘No, to leave any trace of his actions. I trained him better than that.’
‘He left quite a few traces actually,’ Harker replied as the image of what had been left of Lucas’s head loomed in the forefront of his mind. ‘So you know that he committed suicide?’
‘Of course I do. I sent him to you in the first place.’
Harker felt like he was trapped between a web of plots that he was still struggling to understand and creating in him a very real sense of claustrophobia as his breaths became shallow. From Winters to Vlad, then his band of rich friends, and finally now to this bizarre family. They were obviously all connected, but how? With great difficulty he pushed aside the fact that his own life was in danger, and instead focused on assembling the pieces. ‘I know about Winters, about Vlad, about the Gigas Codex…and I know about Judgement Day.’
Carlu remained silent and eyed him blankly, then he crouched on his haunches while still maintaining enough distance from Harker to make any sudden attempt to rush him impossible. ‘The things I do have always been carried out with a healthy respect. When I take a life, I do it because I believe with every fibre of my being that I serve a higher purpose, and those needs are paramount.’ Carlu twirled the knife he was holding back and forth gently with his wrist limp. ‘But when the time comes, and our Saviour comes to judge their worthiness, it is impossible to say who will find redemption in his eyes and who will not. It is for this reason that I always allow them to know the reason for their sacrifice. For, if or when we meet again, who can say if an enemy will then be a friend as we sit together at the table.’
Harker’s first inclination was that these were the ramblings of an extremely disturbed personality, but given everything he had now seen, it made a morbid kind of sense. ‘So you yourself killed those seven men whose pictures I found?’
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Carlu hissed. He stood up straight, with the tip of his knife still pointing directly at Harker, and leant against one of the steel tables. ‘Do I really look like I’m over two hundred years old? There was a group who came together centuries ago, let’s call it a meeting of minds. They belonged to some of the wealthiest families in Europe, and they had just one single goal…immortality. They used their considerable resources to scour the known world, exploring and chasing every legend, every story that would further their goal. They even searched for the fountain of youth, but I am afraid I know little about that particular excursion, except it ended in abject failure. After years of toil they finally came upon a coven of witches, and it was here that they gained their first insight into stories about the Codex and its hidden knowledge passed down by Lucifer himself. In fact, the knowledge of everlasting life. The coven had at one time even held one of the sacred pages, but sadly it was stolen by a band of thieves that sought the knowledge for themselves.’
The story resonated with Harker and he immediately thought back to Brulet’s account of the pages. They weren’t thieves, rather they were Templars, but evidently Carlu didn’t know that, or if he did he wasn’t willing to admit it.
‘The group then set about tracking down these pages and it was during this time that my own family entered into the fray. My forefathers were endowed with the gift of great wealth, with just a single condition – a responsibility passed on to each generation.’
‘A sacrifice,’ Harker muttered, finally understanding the reason for the seven murders he had been made aware of back at Lucas’s apartment.
‘Exactly,’ Carlu replied, now gazing at Harker longingly. ‘A sacrifice made once a generation as a show of loyalty to him who will grant us a seat as his table. It is with this role that my family has been blessed, and we have carried it out for centuries, affording us wealth, luxury – and immortality when the time comes. And that time is now, for tonight the final ceremony will take place and I and my family will be present to see his rebirth, and with it everlasting life for those who are loyal to him.’
Carlu now slid off the table and made his way closer, and Harker, sensing that was as about much as the older man was going to reveal, racked his mind for any further questions that would prolong the conversation.
‘So why would Simone commit suicide if you’re so close to gaining immortality?’
‘Once Judgement Day has been enacted, his dedication will ensure he is returned to us. His suicide is nothing more than the ultimate expression of dedication to our Lord, and don’t be in any doubt he will be rewarded for it.’
‘I’ve seen that reward on offer back at a cemetery in Cervete and, believe me, it’s nothing you would want for your son,’ Harker said bitterly, casting his mind back to the ghoulish zombies reborn from the Gigas pages.
‘Those two priests were judged and found unworthy…hell, it was I who arranged their “accident” in the first place. They could not have expected anything less after devoting their life to such a false god as Jesus Christ. But we who are believers in him who is the truth can expect so much more.’
Carlu stopped a few paces away from Harker and tapped the knife against his own cheek thoughtfully. ‘What are the chances that I and my generation would be the ones to reach this moment? My ancestors did it, although still with a true belief, for wealth and fortune. But to think that it is during my lifetime that the Day of Judgement will occur is almost unbelievable. It is almost enough to make one believe in reincarnation…or destiny.’
‘So what has Jacob Winters got to do with all this?’ Harker asked, fear for his life now giving way to curiosity.
‘Mr Winters’s bloodline stems from one of the founding fathers of the group, and without him we would still be searching for those missing Gigas pages. There were originally seven pages written by the hand of the Devil, but only three contained the knowledge that would allow the black Judgement Day to occur with him at the helm, instead of the false prophet Jesus Christ. Up until recently our search had only retrieved one, but Mr Winters, by the grace of Lucifer himself, discovered the other two.’
Harker was baffled by Carlu’s response. ‘Three?’ The third had been locked away in the Templar’s vault until only hours earlier and yet this whole business had been set in motion several days ago, as far as he knew. Add this to the fact that Vlad had not seemed at all concerned about the pages…and if that was the case, then what did he know that these Satanic followers obviously didn’t? ‘He found the other two?’
‘Yes, months ago. How and where was not explained to me, but without them this final wonder about to come could not have been attained.’
‘There’s still something I don’t understand. Why did Winters have Simone kill himself, and by doing so drag me into all this?’
The question had Carlu looking confused as he leant towards him with a frown on his forehead. ‘You weren’t dragged into anything,’ he declared, much to Harker’s surprise, ‘but Mr Winters wanted one final token of loyalty from our family, and my son was more than happy to oblige. Indeed, he was honoured to be given the opportunity.’
The answer seemed surreal to Harker, but given the promise of immortality and considering the high esteem in which they held Winters after his discovery of the last pages, it made a twisted kind of sense. It also appeared that whatever Jacob Winters’s game plan was regarding Harker, the old man was keeping it close to his chest, and Carlu now confirmed this.
‘The truth is that only a few short hours ago I had a message from Mr Winters, requesting my help with a problem he has.’
‘Oh yes,’ Harker replied as the man moved even closer. ‘What problem would that be?’
‘You.’ Carlu whispered it with a smile and began to move in closer still.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ Harker growled, finally out of questions, but that did stop Carlu in his tracks, and he now backed away slowly towards the blue tarpaulin draped across the far other side of the room.
‘Now that’s funny,’ Carlu said, and he gripped the corner of the plastic sheet and pulled it downwards to reveal something that had tears of fear welling in the corners of Harker’s eyes. ‘For it’s exactly what he said.’
The bloody corpse hung from two meat hooks like a macabre hunter’s trophy, with spikes entering beneath the man’s shoulder blades and protruding through his chest just above the nipples. Both of the hands and feet were missing digits where they had been sliced off, and the torso was covered with deep, jagged cuts like those delivered by a saw. The blood-matted hair had dried and hardened into spikes deliberately styled to look like a crown of thorns and, even though the face had been battered to a mush, it was the man’s groin area that really drew Harker’s attention. The victim’s genitals had been shredded, and now one lone testicle hung from a thin sliver of muscle dangling beneath him.
‘What the fuck!’ Harker gasped, totally transfixed by the gruesome sight. The amount of pain the poor fellow must have suffered was beyond anything Harker could even begin to imagine and, as Carlu now edged towards him in what could be described as a slithering motion, he stood frozen to the spot.
‘My family’s sworn duty is to arrange one sacrifice once every generation, which means only one of us ever gets the honour, but that hardly seems fair, does it?’ Carlu hissed, moving still closer with the knife firmly held in one hand. ‘So I have always allowed them to indulge in such things, which is only reasonable, I feel, and as for me…well, practice makes perfect, don’t you think?’ Carlu was now well within striking distance and his expression suddenly became glazed and misshapen, as if this were a different person Harker was now looking at. ‘He lasted for seventeen days,’ Carlu said as his breathing now became erratic, exhilarated at the thought. ‘I wonder how long you will last?’
Without hesitation he slammed the gutting knife into the right side of Harker’s chest, which produced a cracking sound. The knife was only embedded about three centimetres but it was enough to have Harker clasping it, as Carlu stood back and grinned. ‘I think I heard a rib crack,’ he said, rubbing his hands and, as Harker groaned, he turned his attention to the wall lined with rows of other cutting implements. ‘Your lung will have been punctured, which is extremely painful, but don’t worry as it’s not life-threatening…not with my expertise. You won’t die until I let you.’ With arms raised he began to lovingly run his hands across the assortment of tools before him. ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’
As Carlu continued to wallow in his own depravity, Harker was amazed to find he felt no pain at all, not even numbness. And, as he looked down and grasped hold of the knife sticking out of him, he understood the reason why. The knife had been driven not into his chest, but into Carter’s metal drinking flask, which he had taken from him back at Mont-Saint-Michel. Harker stood up slowly on shaky legs and, as a surge of adrenalin took hold, launched himself forward in a single bound, slamming his shoulder hard into Carlu’s back.
The impact sent the Corsican killer hurtling forward, slamming into the nearest steel table. His head flicked forward and collided with the wall with such force that a chunk of plaster broke off and fell onto the table top.
Carlu fell to his knees, quivering groggily as Harker ripped a small tree axe off the wall rack and, holding the heavy metal blade between his palms, he brought the thick wooden handle down against the stunned man’s skull. The blow knocked him out cold, spread-eagled on the floor, whereupon Harker retreated and dropped the weapon. There was now a real feeling of pain in his chest, so he looked down at the gutting knife sticking out and realized that his attack on Carlu had actually pushed the blade deeper. He should have panicked at the realization but, considering what Carlu had planned for him, he instead felt nothing but relief. Harker placed both hands around the knife’s handle and pulled it out with the same scraping sound that Carlu had mistaken for the cracking of his rib, as the metal flask underneath his jacket gave way.
Harker reached under his shirt and, although he could feel blood, he realized the damage inflicted was minimal and he guessed the tip of the knife had penetrated his flesh less than a centimetre. He gave a relieved sigh just as he heard the shuffling of feet from one of the rooms overhead. He immediately leapt towards the foot of the staircase and held the knife poised up against his chest, ready to strike.
A few seconds passed before the noises above him stopped, and now confident that his actions had not alerted the rest of the family, he quietly began to climb the steps. Family, that was a joke, Harker thought, pausing as one of the wooden planks creaked underneath his weight. A family of bloody serial killers.
This terrifying thought had him retreating back to Carlu’s motionless body, where he slid the gutting knife into his own jacket pocket, then retrieved the small tree axe lying next to the man. Outside a few culinary efforts in the kitchen, his skills with a blade were next to zero, but surely anyone could use an axe.
Harker returned to the staircase and began once again making his way upwards, placing his feet carefully either side of the steps in an effort to avoid any creaking, and he succeeded in making it right up to the parlour entrance without so much as a squeak. With the axe grasped in his hand, Harker slowly turned the black metal knob, pushed the door open just a fraction, and peered out through the narrow gap.
The hallway beyond was empty, and even though he could see the front door from where he stood, making a dash for it was not an option. He had come here specifically to get answers, and so far all he had discovered was an unhinged family with a penchant for generational serial murder and a twisted belief in Satan.
Harker edged his way through the doorway and gingerly crept towards the sitting room he had been led into initially. The wooden flooring looked like it was just begging to make a noise and so, as he had done earlier with the parlour steps, he stayed as close as possible to the walls until he reached the room. There was no noise coming from the other side of the door and he quickly decided that leaping in brandishing an axe was not the best course of action. If Carlu’s kin were in another part of the house, the noise he caused would immediately alert them to his location.
Harker pressed his cheek against the door frame and, after pausing to steady his breathing, slid around the edge of the door – only to come face to face with Mama.
Harker jerked back in shock and, as the old woman’s eyes began to widen and her mouth opened, his instincts took over and in one swift move he punched the wooden axe handle into her face, sending Mama to the ground in a heap, clutching at her nose.
Ordinarily the thought of assaulting an old woman with an axe handle would have seemed to him appalling, but this was no ordinary situation and she was certainly no ordinary OAP.
‘Don’t move,’ Harker growled as he saw Sofia leap up from the furthest sofa. She froze, staring at the axe in his hand rather than at him.
Where’s my father?’ she finally yelled, seeming not to care about Mama, curled up in a ball and still nursing her bloody and most likely broken nose.
‘He’ll live,’ Harker replied angrily, and he raised the axe above his head and directly over Mama, ‘which is more than I can say for your grandmother if you don’t do exactly as I tell you.’
Still dressed in her white nightie, Sofia scowled at him as she considered the situation and then gave a nod.
‘Good.’ Harker still held the axe high. ‘I want two things and then I’m gone. Firstly I want a car…so get the keys now.’
Without a moment’s pause she headed for one of the sideboards and opened the drawer so quickly that Harker instinctively took a step backwards.
‘Easy,’ Harker warned her, ‘or the granny gets it.’
Sofia decided to comply, and very slowly pulled a key from inside the drawer and threw it over at Harker, who caught it with one hand while still holding the axe aloft in the other.
He glanced down at the Porsche tag. ‘Nice,’ he remarked, and pocketed it, then resumed his threatening stance as Mama sat up.
‘You dirty thieving bastard,’ she croaked, still clutching her nose. ‘You’ll die for this.’
‘Well, you were going to kill me anyway, so zip it, Mama,’ Harker replied, enjoying the feeling of being in control after coming so close to being dispatched and in such a terrible way. ‘There’s just one more thing I need to know. Where is the Judgement Day ritual taking place, and when?’
Both of them remained tight-lipped and Harker realized that the longer this business took, the sooner Sofia was going to realize that there was no way he would actually chop up Mama. He raised his foot and placed it against the old woman’s chest, shoving her down onto her back. He then stood over her with the axe gripped tightly as if to show how serious he was. ‘I’m not going to ask you again.’
Sofia’s eyes darted back and forth between him and Mama, then after a few tense seconds her shoulders slumped and she slowly pulled a silver Cartier pen from the pocket of her nightgown and began scribbling something on the back of the photograph of Lucas that Mama had dropped on the table earlier. ‘Here,’ she said, before flicking the photograph towards Harker. ‘At ten o’clock.’
Harker withdrew the axe handle and warily reached down to snatch it off the floor. He glanced at it briefly. ‘Good,’ he said, placing it in his pocket before taking a step away from Mama, though still keeping the axe semi-raised. ‘Now get on the floor.’
‘I am on the floor,’ Mama hissed, rubbing at her chest.
‘Not you, old timer…you.’ Harker motioned towards Sofia, who dutifully lay down on her front. ‘On your stomach, Mama,’ he continued, and with a groan the old woman did as ordered.
He moved over to the telephone and ripped its cord out of the wall, then proceeded to tie Sofia’s hands and legs together tightly and with surprisingly little resistance on her part. He then took the telephone over to Mama and, with nothing else available, bound her hands with the cord that linked the receiver to its base, before resting the instrument on her back. It would not take them long to loosen the knots, but it should give him ample time to reach the car and make a quick exit.
‘Where’s the Porsche?’ he demanded, dropping the axe onto the nearest sofa.
‘Round the side of the house,’ Sofia replied, shooting him a nasty look. ‘You won’t make it.’
Harker dangled the Porsche keys in front of her eyes and smiled. ‘I think I will.’
‘Not to the car, you idiot. To the ritual. He’s too powerful, and you don’t stand a chance.’
Harker felt a twinge of anxiety twisting in his chest but he maintained a confident smile. ‘You mean the Devil?’ he suggested sarcastically.
Sofia shook her head and then let it drop onto the expensive white rug. ‘You’re in for a shock, Mr Harker, you really are. I only hope I’m there when it happens.’
‘Well, then,’ Harker replied, turning towards the door, ‘I guess I’ll see you in Hell.’