Due to a strong tailwind, the flight to Paris had been quicker than expected and Harker had slept the whole way, just waking up in time to see the sun rise as they touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport on the outskirts of that beautiful city. A short taxi ride later and he asked to be dropped off a quarter of a mile from the address that Stefani had texted him. Initially he had intended to be driven right up to the door but when he realised where it was, he couldn’t deny himself the chance to take some time to enjoy his present surroundings. Located on Avenue de New York and at the edge of the Seine river, the house had a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, which soared high above the skyline on the other side. Whatever kind of practitioner this Dr Marceau was, he got well paid for it because the house prices here must have been astronomical.
With his hands in his pockets, Harker strolled up to the front door and gazed up at the fine stone façade of the Haussmann-style building. Built in six storeys, the second floor was known as ‘Noble’ because in the days before elevators it allowed the wealthy owners easy access to the grandest rooms. Of course in the modern era it didn’t matter and, as Harker inspected the apartment buzzers, he found Dr Marceau’s nameplate linked to that on the third floor. Not quite ‘Noble’ but still impressive. He pressed it and waited patiently, enjoying the sight of two young lovers passing him by, who clung together so tightly that he doubted even a crowbar could prise them apart.
‘Oui?’ a voice crackled over the intercom, and Harker dutifully reverted to French.
‘Dr Marceau?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr name is Alex Harker and I was hoping to speak with you.’
‘Who?’
‘Alex Harker. I was an acquaintance of the late Father Davies.’
There was a pause and then the intercom clicked on again.
‘I’ve already spoken to the police. I’ve told them all there is to tell.’
The man sounded cautious but this was no surprise to Harker. ‘I’m not with the police, Doctor, I’m a professor at Cambridge University and a close friend of Father Davies’s daughter. It was she who asked me to speak with you – if you have the time?’
The respectful pleasantry had the intended effect and the door lock now buzzed open.
‘Very well, please come up.’
The lobby was dark inside and, after noting the elevator’s ‘out of order’ sign, Harker, with a groan, climbed the black stone steps to reach the third floor, where he found a chubby man in his fifties about six-foot-tall, wearing a beige cashmere jumper, brown corduroy trousers and sporting a peculiar pair of red horn-rimmed reading glasses and standing in the apartment’s doorway. Dr Marceau said nothing as Harker approached but he protectively closed the door halfway.
‘You’ve nothing to fear from me Dr,’ Harker reassured, with both palms raised in a gesture of peace. ‘I only want to talk to you, if that’s OK?’
Dr Marceau gave Harker a careful look up and down and, seemingly convinced his guest was not someone to be worried about, he beckoned him closer. ‘Then you’d better come in, Professor.’
The door had now been opened fully and Harker offered a polite nod before entering, whereupon Marceau closed the door behind him and clicked a couple of thick brass locks, one underneath the other. Whoever this was, he was definitely a man who considered his security of paramount concern.
‘After you.’ His host pointed along the bare-wood flooring of the hallway. ‘We can talk in there.’
The living room was as charming as the building’s exterior and, although somewhat sparse in furniture, it boasted a wealthy, aristocratic vibe that said ‘I’m wealthy but have no need to show it’. Off to Harker’s left a light-green double sofa stood behind a cracked marble coffee table, with a tub chair on the opposite side, and at the far end of the room hung a large mirror above a white, stone fireplace, its reflection giving greater depth to the room. Off to the right an open doorway led into what looked like a narrow dining room with a thin table surrounded by black leather doughnut bar stools. Either the doctor did very little entertaining or he didn’t mind his guests being extremely uncomfortable whilst eating.
‘Have a seat.’ Dr Marceau gestured and Harker took the far end of the sofa, as his host took the black leather tub chair. ‘Now, what is it I can do for you, Professor Harker?’
Despite the cordial words Dr Marceau looked intensely uncomfortable and Harker immediately set about trying to put the man at ease.
‘As I said, Dr Marceau, I was asked by Father Davies’s daughter, Stefani Mitchell, to speak with you in the hope you could spread some light on his…’ Harker paused as he tried to find the appropriate words, ‘…untimely and macabre demise.’
‘Well, that is one way to put it, I suppose, but perhaps gruesome, or even ghoulish is a better way.’
‘Quite,’ Harker replied, glad to see the doctor was prepared to be upfront concerning the unpleasant business. ‘She learned that you were there tending to the boy shortly before he and his mother were killed.’
‘That is correct. I was treating the boy for paranoid schizophrenia, as I informed the police.’
‘Really? Because we were told that Father Davies believed the boy to be possessed.’
The very mention of possession had Dr Marceau squinting and shaking his head dismissively. ‘Rubbish, the boy had a mental disorder, and it was Father Davies who managed over time to convince the child’s mother to accept otherwise. Davies should have been ashamed of himself for taking advantage of a vulnerable single parent like that.’
‘So you knew Father Davies then, before the murders?’
Marceau’s eyelids dipped so that it was clear to Harker that, even though the doctor had let slip his familiarity with the priest, he had certainly not wanted to.
‘Our paths had crossed from time to time, yes.’
‘How so?’
‘I saw him at the mother’s residence a few times when dispensing my medical duties, but we were never friends.’
He was now becoming visibly agitated and began to rub at the forefinger of his left hand and Harker now became convinced that, despite the good doctor’s evasive response, the man was chomping at the bit to get something off his chest.
He leant forward and eyed his host closely.
‘Doctor, I recently came into ownership of an item that Father Davies had apparently given to a friend for safe keeping. This item is rather unique and the man holding onto it was subsequently murdered because of it.’
Marceau said nothing but his eyes began to widen and he rubbed his forefinger ever harder as Harker continued.
‘I also went to visit his house but was greeted by a grotesque sculpture of a slaughtered bull, before some young man attempted to drown me. That same fellow was found chopped up into pieces in the back of a police van soon after, and later on I myself witnessed a satanic ritual of some sort – one that he was supposed to attend. Would you have any thoughts on the matter?’
A thin film of perspiration had now appeared across Dr Marceau’s temples and, although he had stopped rubbing at his finger his breathing was getting quicker and he inhaled deeply, then slowly released a sigh.
‘Do you still have that object?’ Dr Marceau asked blankly
‘Not on me but, yes, I do.’
Marceau sat back in his tub chair, letting his arms droop over the sides as his shoulders sagged. ‘You know you’re on a dangerous path, Professor?’
‘That I’m aware of,’ Harker replied, leaning in closer as one would do to tell a secret. ‘The real question is,’ he said in little more than a whisper, ‘what do you know?’
As Harker watched the man’s expression begin to glaze over, he realised that the one to talk next would be the loser. Like during an interrogation, where silence itself is one of the most powerful weapons available, he remained silent as outside the droning of a bus passing by did nothing to relieve the intensity of the moment.
Nearly an entire minute thus went by, and Harker was almost about to put the same question again, when Marceau’s lips opened very slightly and he quietly murmured, as if having to force the words from his mouth, ‘Come with me.’
The doctor stood up and made his way into the adjacent dining room, followed closely by his visitor. He then stopped at a closed door, produced a silver-coloured Yale key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. ‘Don’t judge me until I’ve had a chance to explain,’ Marceau continued, waiting for Harker to nod in agreement before turning the key and walking inside and flicking on the light.
The aroma of burnt joss sticks hung in the air and, even though they stank, that was the only pleasant thing about the room. It was about half the size of the living room and every square inch of wall space was covered with framed photographs, drawings and newspaper cuttings relating to God knows what. Four plywood bookshelves held what must have been a few hundred titles, ranging from Dante’s Inferno to works concerning human biology and particle psychics. At the far end, underneath a blacked-out window, a thick beechwood writing desk held on its surface a pile of papers and journals, along with three small shrunken heads; the eyes and mouths sewn shut and acting as paperweights.
Harker had seen shrunken heads once before at Oxford’s Pitt Rivers museum and, although ugly little things, they weren’t exactly something for which he would judge someone badly, but as he gazed downwards he realised what Dr Marceau had been referring to. Taking up the entire width of the floor was a pentagram carved into the floorboards, embellished with the satanic image of a goat’s head whose horns, ears and chin comprised the five points.
‘Please allow me to explain.’ Marceau stated quickly, as Harker stared at him in surprise and contempt. ‘The pentagram on the floor is just for research. It’s not what you think.’
‘No, what I’m thinking is far worse,’ Harker stated flatly, staying close to the doorway. ‘What kind of doctor are you anyway?’
‘I’m not Doctor Death, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
Marceau headed over to the desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a picture frame. ‘All this stuff is research, nothing more,’ he explained and passed it over to Harker. ‘Father Davies and I were working on it together.’
Harker warily took the frame from Marceau’s outstretched hand and glanced down at it, but all the time keeping the creepy fellow in his line of sight. The frame contained a colour photograph of Father Davies and Dr Marceau both wearing shorts, matching blue T-shirts and each with a heavy backpack on his shoulders. The two men were smiling and behind them lay a vast expanse of thick forest wilderness stretching out as far as the eye could see.
‘That’s us in the Republic of Congo during our last trip there,’ Marceau said with pride before retrieving the frame.
‘Let me guess, that’s where you met the Devil and his strange glowing orbs.’ Harker said sarcastically, beginning to feel queasy from the sheer stuffiness of the room.
‘No, it wasn’t like that at all.’
‘Then what was it like?’ Harker erupted, now having reached his limit. So far he had been drowned, shot at and even got married, and he did not intend to finish it all off with having to sit through a presentation of this nutty doctor’s holiday snaps.
‘You said you would allow me to explain, so let me.’
Harker rubbed at his forehead, then nodded, as Marceau now trailed a finger across the row of books sitting on one of the shelves.
‘Since the time mankind was first able to pass on stories from one generation to another, either orally or through drawings, the concept of good and evil has always existed – or to use modern language, heaven and hell.’
‘OK.’ Harker gave a sigh. ‘I’m listening, but could you start at the beginning. Because I’m struggling to get on board here, if you know what I mean?’
‘Understood,’ Marceau agreed, appearing glad just to have the opportunity to tell someone about what he at least believed he had discovered. ‘I have always had a fascination with the occult,’ he began.
‘You’re not kidding,’ Harker said, looking down at the pentagram at his feet.
‘Yes, yes, yes. Well, I first met Father Davies at a lecture on the very nature of heaven and hell, on the concept of good and evil. Father Davies had just given up his position in the Church, and was now looking for answers to this very issue. It was this very subject, I discovered later on, that encouraged him to leave the Church in the first place. So we met by chance and then began researching the subject together: what were the origins of these concepts before religion, before society, even before any real culture had taken hold. Back when modern humans had barely begun to spread out from Africa.
Marceau pulled a slim book out with its red cover, flicked it open to the right page and then passed it over to Harker.
‘We heard about a tribe still living deep in the Congo which had been completely isolated since… well, forever. From what we can gather none of the members ever left Africa or even the Congo.’
Marceau pointed next to a black and white photograph in the book of some tribesmen dancing in a group, with the words Mbuti inscribed above it.
‘I’ve heard of them before,’ Harker remarked. ‘They rarely grow above five feet tall and are also known under the umbrella term “pygmies”. They live somewhere in the northern Congo – the lturi forest I think.’
Harker’s display of knowledge earned a smile from Marceau, and he continued with enthusiasm. ‘We found tales from the 1600s relating to the Mbuti stating they originated from another core tribe that remained still unaccounted for… until we discovered it.’
Marceau looked thrilled and, even though the idea of lost tribes was certainly interesting to Harker, it was not really at the top of his priority list at the moment. He remained quiet, listening attentively.
‘Some off the stories we heard were just so intriguing that we decided to travel there and it wasn’t until our third trip that all our research, bribery and hard work paid off – because we found them. Marceau licked his lips and took the book back from Harker, returning it to the shelf. ‘This tribe don’t even have a name, for they refer to themselves only by a series of sounds or calls and, Professor, they have never left the Congo since the dawn of modern humans. And it was the why which turned out to be the interesting part.’
He now reached for the top shelf now and pulled out an A4 cardboard envelope, from which he tipped out a number of photographs into Harker’s hands. ‘It took almost a month for them just to allow us near their camp, but after another three we were well enough accepted to be allowed access to their most important and sacred sites – like here.’
Marceau selected one of the photographs and Harker began to examine it. At first it looked like just another cave painting but as he examined it more closely it began to dawn on him that there was nothing familiar about this image all. It showed a group of humans gazing up towards a sky portraying white clouds and the orange glow of the sun in the corner. The image had used the natural curvature of the bumps in the wall it was painted on to produce an almost 3D image. And although that in itself was not unique, what Harker now saw in the depiction was.
For in the sky directly above the group of people there was a large black hole, like a gap torn into space, while inside dark wispy shapes appeared to be approaching from within it.
‘They tell tales of something they refer to as the “happening”,’ Marceau said, sounding more excited with every word he spoke. ‘We took a small chip from the cave painting itself and carbon dating couldn’t even date it because it must be older than fifty thousand years old, which is as far back as carbon dating can go.’
‘Are you sure?’ Harker asked with surprise because, as far as he knew, the oldest cave painting ever found was thought to be about forty thousand years old.
‘No doubt,’ Marceau crowed and he turned his attention back to the picture of the ominous cave painting and tapped at the image of a large black hole in the sky. ‘The events of this particular day were passed down in an oral tradition to five of the tribe in each generation, in case one should die suddenly, and what they eventually described to us was chilling.’
Harker picked up the book and began to examine the photograph in detail as Marceau revealed more of what he had discovered.
‘This event they called “the Happening” was like a collision of realities when a rip in the sky opened up and a dark force descended upon the earth and became trapped, only to wander the confines of the planet causing great pain and misery wherever it went. This force could inhabit and enslave the minds of man… but then something occurred, not recorded, and that same dark force was banished to the peripheries of the world… until now.’
Harker now stared at the doctor with a look of deep concern. ‘Dr Marceau, you seem like a nice man but I have to suggest you’re not just wacky… but maybe clinically insane because what you’re saying is just—’
‘I am not. So listen, and listen up good,’ Marceau replied defiantly. ‘Mathematicians and physicists now believe that our universe is just one of many alternate realities, each with its own laws of physics completely different from our own. So everything Father Davies and I discovered leads me to believe that this “happening” the tribe described… well, maybe it was real. But, instead of something spiritual, it was actually another reality that collided with ours and left these beings – demons, spirits, whatever you want to call them stranded on our planet. Over thousands of years, stories of these same spirits have inhabited every culture on the planet and eventually when Catholicism rose to prominence, those very tangible notions were repackaged as the Devil and his army of demon spirits. A spiritual set of ideas was therefore based on a very real occurrence. The Bible is littered with stories or analogies that show us certain truths about us as human beings and our history, so why couldn’t the same thing have happened with those beings that eventually got rebranded as the Devil and the kingdom of Hell?’
Harker closed his eyes momentarily and stifled a laugh but it was not one born from humour but rather frustration, because this tale was just too much to swallow. ‘So let me get this straight. You think that spirit-like beings from an alternate universe got stranded here during some cosmic event, in a colliding of realties creating…what? A doorway to this world? And they’ve been stuck here ever since, causing mayhem?
Dr Marceau eyed him now with a look of complete conviction. ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly like that but essentially… yes.’
‘And how about the pulsating artefact, where did you find those things?’
‘That for me became the game changer,’ Marceau replied and roaring along without even a hint of hesitation. ‘We found it in the possession of the same tribe. It had been protected and passed down through countless generations, along with stories of their arrival, since the dawn of time as they themselves explained. I don’t know if the artefact arrived on Earth at the same time as the “demons”,’ Marceau said wiggling his fingers in up the air, ‘but apparently these objects are the only things that can send them back, or destroy them… who knows. But the pair of us made a big mistake.’
Harker didn’t know how much of this stuff arose solely as the result of Dr Marceau’s obviously troubled mind but he did realise where the story was going. ‘You stole the artefact, didn’t you?’
Marceau looked guilty as charged, and nodded his head ashamedly. ‘At the time we thought such a monumentally important item needed above all to be protected, but now I see we were unfathomably wrong. There are people, servants to these things that want it badly, because it is these spirits’ only weakness, and the very reason the tribe kept the artefact hidden for of thousands of years.’ He looked in complete awe of the idea. ‘For all that time, these people stayed hidden away in the darkest most primordial spot on planet Earth, just so as to keep this artefact concealed and thus stop it falling into the hands of those that might seek to use it for their own twisted aims. And, in a matter of only months, we two managed to screw everything up royally.’
‘Woah, woah, there Doctor,’ Harker gasped and barley keeping up with Marceau’s ramblings, ‘What the hell are you talking about? What people? What servants?’
‘Yes, of course, I’m jumping ahead; I tend to do that.’ Marceau said fretfully, only just registering Harker’s confusion of his tall tale. ‘Once we got back from the Congo someone, one of these people I mentioned, turned up on Father Davies’s doorstep, asking questions. ‘She was aware of the artefact’s existence and knew we had stolen it. Crazier still, she and her partners were convinced it signalled the arrival of the Antichrist, if you can believe that. Of course that’s just total rubbish. The Devil, Antichrist, spirits – whatever you want to call them, have always been here. Biding their time until things were just right.’
‘Oh, right, because dimension-jumping beings seem plausible to you but the Antichrist is just plain crazy,’ Harker replied with a shake of his head. ‘And what exactly is the reason they were biding their time?’
‘To use your jargon, to open the gates of Hell or, to use my own wording, to open a link between realities.’
It was clear that Marceau felt like he was on shaky ground in this part of his explanation, which was ironic considering the tall story so far, but he immediately sought to sum it all up for Harker. ‘I don’t know… maybe they want to bring all their brethren into our universe and claim it for their own. Or maybe they just want to go back to their universe. All I know is that these things are as real as you or I and so I believe it was they who possessed Father Davies and caused him to do the things he did. He was controlled by the very hand of the so-called Devil himself.’
Harker watched his host nervously fidgeting with his fingers and he realised that, even though he himself was wholly unconvinced by the man’s truly nutty explanation, it was something that Marceau believed without question. It would be plainly wrong to play on the doctor’s delusions but perhaps there were some truths wrapped up amidst this whopper of a tale. ‘There’s a woman I ran into back in Athens who seemed dead set on getting her hands on the missing artefact. So dead set that she killed the man Father Davies had entrusted it to.’
The very mention of this had Marceau gulping, and the blood began to drain from his face. ‘Was she a black woman with dreadlocks?’
‘That’s the one,’ Harker replied in surprise, ‘with a thick Jamaican accent.’
The man’s teeth began to chatter slightly and his eyes darted back and forth as he pondered. ‘There’s a group I belong to which I think you should meet.’
‘A group? Who exactly?’ Harker asked apprehensively, finding that his host’s panicky demeanour was beginning to rub off on him.
Marceau was already tapping a number into his phone as he replied. ‘A group set up a long time ago to act as guardians for just this reason.’
As the doctor waited for the phone to reply, Harker found his head spinning from all this craziness and he couldn’t help thinking that this group might have been more appropriately a mental health support group than the supposed guardians of Marceau’s dimension theory.
‘This group… er, they don’t sit around in a circle and perhaps indulge in some kind of medication, or maybe herbal remedies, do they?’
‘Oh, shut up, you condescending idiot,’ Marceau snarled as his call was now answered. ‘It’s Gérald. We have to meet… I know, but it’s serious. I’m here with someone who knows where the stone, is and I think the Red Death does as well.’
‘The Red Death!’ Harker mouthed in alarm but Marceau ignored his concern with a grimace and instead concentrated on his phone call.
‘He calls himself Professor Alex Harker… Bring him with me? Are you sure? Very well, we’ll see you there in one hour on the dot.’ Marceau hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘You’re in luck as they’ll meet with us, but listen here, Professor – if that’s truly your identity – I’ll have no more of your contempt, do you hear me?’
Marceau’s demand was made with total and absolute seriousness and, even though Harker wanted nothing more than to just grab a taxi and subsequently drop the good doctor off at the nearest mental health clinic for some well-needed R&R, he instead decided to give this man the benefit of the doubt. He steadied himself and offered a compliant nod of his head.
‘Good,’ Marceau said, with his beady eyes bulging behind those thick-lensed horn-rim glasses of his. ‘Because if you want to live past today, you’ll now do everything I tell you and without question, understand? Everything I say from here on in must be treated with complete and unwavering seriousness. You have found yourself in the midst of a war, Professor Harker, where even the slightest mistake can lead to certain doom.’ He said this in a raised voice that was now quivering with a rage. ‘Now tell me… How do you feel about hot buttered toasted teacakes?’