Bill Franks - Jesuit

He then felt himself being dragged painfully to his feet and urged along toward the funeral box. Bewildered, he shuffled forward without resistance until he felt himself again being bound, this time at the wrists with his damaged arms behind him, and then at the ankles. Before he had time to take in the new turn of events, he was lifted into the pod, which was now empty of its hot ash and once more covered with earth and bracken.

Desperate to escape from his prison, Ottomier began to wriggle furiously, ignoring the extremes of pain that the struggle caused him. He screamed for clemency and pleaded for his miserable life but forgiveness was not forthcoming. He heard the dreaded roar of the crematorium fire as it shot into life. The comfortable bed on which he lay began to get warm, the fuel smouldering at its base. Ottomier wriggled and cried, still calling for mercy. The heat became stronger and began to burn and peel the skin from him. The fire was building slowly now, unlike the usual burial, designed to inflict the maximum pain.

The priest, a child rapist and murderer, smelled his own flesh burning, the pain more intense than anything suffered so far. His good eye roamed downwards and he observed blisters appearing wherever skin remained on his body, the now aptly named Fire Ants, streaming out through the open wounds, to be incinerated in a flash. In a final moment, Ottomier saw a bright light somewhere in his subconscious, followed by the serene face of his Lord God. A mighty sheet of flame shot through the cooking body and he was no more.

By this time, the light was beginning to fade and the crowd, excited by the brutality, adrenalin buzzing, returned to the lone captive.

‘This is it,’ thought Ignatious. ‘My Maker will receive me.’ A strange calm overtook him; he was prepared.

Suddenly, the Elder appeared through the gathering and confronted the doomed priest. “You have suffered punishment by witnessing the torture and death of your companions,” he began. “You are to die but not this day. As the sun will rise tomorrow, you will be put to death by injection of a poison unknown to you and your world. In deference to the good work you have done here, you will leave without pain and quickly. Your body will then be burned in accordance with our customs and you, unlike your friends, will be accorded the assistance to your destination of the Colibri — the humming bird feathers.” He then signalled to Karakta to bring food, drink and oils, instructing him to clean up the condemned man and give him nourishment.

“Farewell, young man,” he said to Ignatious, “and may you sit in peace with your God.” With that, he left.

The crowd began to disperse, leaving behind Karakta and two others. Ignoring Ignatious, Karakta went about his duties, bringing forward a rough, timber table upon which the others placed one of the compressed-air hypodermics and a liquid solution. This was the poison that was to be used on Ignatious and it was contained in a flask made from hardened animal skin. Ignatious absently noted that there would be far too much in the flask for the one dosage but, he reasoned, it was probably the entire stock carried. The tribes-people were able to produce the poison in any quantity from the local vegetation, so there would be no lack of supply.

Finally, having completed his task, Karakta turned to his one time friend. “Gawain, my friend. I am truly sorry about this; it is beyond my control. I am not allowed to even speak with you and my heart hurts at your present situation. I take a great risk in speaking with you now and I must leave quickly. I want to tell you before I go, that our friendship was of great value to me and it will remain with me until I die. I wish you good fortune in your next life.” A tear trickled down the face of the troubled Incuda, as he took one last, lingering look at Ignatious, before moving swiftly away to his dwelling.

Left alone, bound to the pole, Ignatious also shed a tear as the evening turned into night, stars beginning to twinkle in the clear skies. The ever-present sounds of jungle animals diminished to the odd roar or growl, with an occasional shriek from some unknown breed of monkey or bird. The night was warm and Ignatious settled to his prayer, dozing as far as his position would allow, his spirit now calm and prepared for the coming audience with his Creator.

Ignatious came from his sleep, his brain befuddled with the events of the dream. Slowly, order settled and he sat up. Putting his hands to his face, he wiped away the wetness covering his cheeks, emanating from the tears that had flowed freely in the night. He looked at the clock on the wall at the foot of his bed. It showed 7am.

The pleasant warbling of the telephone next to Sallie’s bed in the hotel,

awoke Graham first. He was pleased to feel the sensation of arousal as he cuddled into the soft, warm body of his lover, an arm wrapped around her as she lay facing away from him. A smile crept onto his unshaven face and he began to let his hand explore the firm delights of her body. Sallie grunted, a comforting, satisfied grunt, as she pushed herself to the protrusion nudging against her.

The couple lay for several minutes, Graham entertaining thoughts of gentle love-making as a prelude to breakfast, and then he realised the phone was still ringing. Of course. The morning call.

To reach the telephone, it was necessary for him to roll across Sallie’s body and, his leg straddling her, he was half tempted to ignore the infernal machine and surrender to his temptation. However, sense prevailed and he took the call, thanking the exuberant Landlord and apologising for the delay. “Better things to do?” came the chuckled reply, full of knowing innuendo. Why else would he telephone Sallie’s room?

Replacing the instrument, Graham began to return to his side of the bed. As he rolled back over Sallie’s body, intentionally pressing to her, she opened her eyes. They were soft and dreamy, hitting at his sexual senses like a sledgehammer. He paused. T o hell with duty — let’s get at it! However, exercising great restraint, he tumbled from the bed and stood, stretching.

Two wide and beautiful eyes watched him, admiring the muscular body with its unconcealed desire proudly displayed. She longed to drag him back in and smother him with her lust. However, somewhere at the back of her mind, she realised that as he was out of bed, despite his condition, duty must prevail. She sat up. “Good morning, sir. And who are you?” she said, playfully.

Graham spun around to face her. “Ah, so you’re awake at last!” he joked. “Sorry you see me in such a state,” smiling down at his undying projection.

“I’m not at all sorry,” Sallie replied. “Do we have time to cure your ailment?”

Graham shrugged his shoulders, an apologetic expression on his face. “Wish we did have, but duty, unfortunately, calls.” Blowing Sallie a kiss, he went to the bathroom.

By nine o’ clock, Graham and Sallie were with George Flint in his office, drinking coffee. “Do we have an identification, yet, George?” opened Graham.

“Yes, we do. And it’s something of a surprise,” replied George, grim-faced. “He was identified as Thomas Singleton, father of the murdered girl, Debbie!”

For a few moments Graham did not speak, the news shocking him. His mind worked furiously. Once more, a connection with the Jesuit. How much of a coincidence is this? he thought. “Why would he kill him?” he said aloud, staring into space, his brain fitting facts into place. “What is the connection?”

“Who are you talking about, Graham?” asked George. “We can only answer your questions when we have a positive ID.”