Bill Franks - Jesuit

At twenty-five minutes past ten, by Ignatious’s watch, Thomas’s car came into view. Spotting the priest, he pulled into the lay-by and got out. Ignatious noticed the sprightliness of the walk as Thomas hurried towards him. His words had clearly had the desired effect.

On their way to the scene, the couple chatted about everyday things, both avoiding the subject of Debbie. Thomas had arrived wearing jeans, trainers and a blue sports shirt, with short sleeves. The arms were bare and showed the pattern of several small tattoos: a snake-like dragon with evil eyes, an English flag, crossed daggers and the words, “England for ev-,” the last two letters being indecipherable but the conclusion clear. Ignatious made a mental note to use the tattoos as entry, if no other suitable place could be found.

At last they reached the spot and, at the Jesuit’s suggestion, Thomas had a good look around, absorbing the atmosphere of the place.

“Now, Thomas,” the quiet, calm voice came to him. “You are taking in the ambience. You can feel the vibrations. Your daughter’s spirit is here, with us today. Do not be afraid of it.”

“But, Father, I let her down — and her mother. I went with another woman and, worse still, in our marital bed.”

Ignatious allowed the term, ‘Father.’ “Yes, my son. You did wrong but the Almighty has forgiven you. If he can, then so can your ex-wife and Debbie. In fact, I can feel the vibrations. Debbie has forgiven you. She loves you very much, Thomas, and she always will. She is now in eternity and so that love will remain.”

The kneeling man began to weep softly. “I do love you, Debbie. You know I do. Thanks for your forgiveness.” Although not a religious man, Thomas had clasped his hands as in prayer.

“Do not weep, Thomas. Debbie is truly happy. She knows that she will see you in her place together with her mother and you will be happy. Your new wife will share in that happiness, too. Heaven is not a tangible place; it is a state, an aura. Your soul will feel no pain, no sadness, no anger or jealousy. There will be nothing from this human world, except happiness and love. You will visit worlds past, times long gone. You will be invaded by all the sights you ever wished to see and many of which you have no comprehension.”

The soothing words were accompanied by the laying of hands on Thomas’s head. He felt the power of the Jesuit surge through him, holding him in a mental grip. I love this man, this priest. Scourge me! Do as you will with me! I want to feel your love! The thoughts flashed into his brain. He had no control.

“Feel the air that God has provided. Feel it, enjoy it.” Ignatious raised his hands aloft, in prayer. “Take off all your clothes, my son. Fold them into a neat pile by that tree.” He did not point to the tree, merely indicated it with his mind. Thomas carried out his instructions, in a trance-like state, folding his removed clothing neatly and stacking them beneath a nearby tree. He then returned to the Jesuit and stood before him, arms by his sides, awaiting his next instructions.

Naked that I am. Sinner that I am. Do with me as you will. Remove my sins! Scourge me! Love me!

The priest ran his hands gently over Thomas’s shoulders and arms, searching for inoculation marks. High on the right upper arm, he found what he was looking for. Without prompting and without any question being asked verbally, Thomas began to relate why the injection had been made. It was in preparation for a world cruise taken six months ago aboard a P amp; O Ocean liner. He went on to describe the luxurious cabin facilities, the first class services, entertainment and the exotic places visited. Ignatious listened patiently, as he withdrew the unusual hypodermic syringe and a small phial containing a clear liquid. Filling the syringe, he pressed gently to allow a small amount to squirt from it to clear the air bubbles.

Thomas continued his narrative, his eyes looking straight ahead, his expression vacant. He allowed his right arm to be raised by the priest, the story continuing without pause, and was unaware of the slim needle sliding easily into one of the tiny holes made by the holiday jab.

As the fluid exploded into the vein, Thomas suddenly stopped talking, looking at his advisor, his counsellor, with some puzzlement. A lop-sided smile spread along his mouth, as Ignatious slowly backed away.

Ignatious was interested to see what effect the poison would have. The dose, as always, was excessive. He watched in fascination as the smile faded from Thomas to be replaced with an unstifled yawn, followed by another. The stricken man then swayed from side to side before tottering forward in a clumsy attempt at walking, clearly feeling the effects of dizziness. Another attempted step, as he clutched at his dry throat, caused Thomas to fall. He tried to rise but was only able to get to his knees.

Ignatious noted the extreme paleness of the face. When he tried to speak, Thomas could only grate out unintelligible words, in a husky voice

He made another attempt to stand but was thwarted by legs that would not obey and a dizziness that prevented concentration. He remained on his knees. Ignatious moved nearer to him and knelt, studying the face. From the paleness, a scarlet rash had begun to appear and this spread like magic before the watcher’s eyes until it completely covered the face and neck. Thomas then began to choke and the veins at his temples began to stand out, throbbing wildly. The veins in his arms also began to pulse in the same erratic manner. Bulging eyes with greatly dilated pupils looked into Ignatious as though asking for a reason. Ignatious stared back into them, thought-waves conveying the message that, as a sinner, punishment was necessary to cleanse the soul. Powerful though it was, the thought failed to penetrate the dying mind and Thomas fell forward onto his face, the pulse now slowing at a rapid rate. He was dead within the next ten seconds. The poison, Atropine, had done its deadly work.

The Jesuit then began to pray over the body, now empty of a soul. “Good Lord above, I pray to you for this wretched sinner. He failed in his family duties and was therefore punished. I pray that you approve of my method. He is now at peace and his soul comes to you cleansed and pure. He will now be able to join his beautiful daughter, taken into your all-loving embrace and I yearn for their happiness through eternity. Amen”

With that, he knelt beside the corpse and reached into his shirt pocket. Very gingerly, he produced a small bunch of feathers, which he placed against Thomas’s right thigh. Rising, he walked briskly away to retrieve his transport, without once glancing back.

Arriving in Penn, Sampler and Dunning searched around for somewhere to stay for the night. Amongst the collection of hotels and guesthouses, they came across a delightful, Olde-Worlde hotel, situated a half mile from the southern exit of the village. The hanging wooden sign, unmoved by the slight breeze, showed the name as “The Stocks.” It was painted with the picture of some unfortunate serf, locked in the village stocks with pieces of ripe fruit squashed on various parts of his face and body, no doubt thrown by the group of laughing villagers shown surrounding him.

They drove into the car park and found a suitable spot. Going into the atmospheric hotel, Sampler ordered a lunchtime meal and two rooms for the night. The couple were on official police duty so it would not have looked proper had they booked a single room. A short walk from one to the other would easily solve the problem.

It took only a few minutes to complete the booking. The Landlord, a large, bearded man, wearing a striped shirt, open to mid-chest, with short sleeves revealing thick arms covered in dark hair, matching that sprouting from the open shirt, greeted them cheerfully. Learning that they were from the Met, he did his best to find out how well the murder investigation was going but he received scant information and was left to believe that progress was being made but at such a critical stage as to prevent the divulgence of information.