Bill Franks: Jesuit

On the other side of the perimeter, lions had approached the tigers and were joining in the unexpected feast, to the accompaniment of the trumpeting of elephants and the nervous whinnying of the antelope.

By the time the Rangers arrived, some staying on the outside of the enclosure, the gruesome affair was over. Those entering the inside of the compound had been delayed by the rhinos who were in an aggressive mood for many minutes after being hit by powerful tranquilliser darts and threatening to charge the insignificant jeeps. They reached the devastation as the animals casually dispersed, walking off as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

None of the Rangers had had the time to wonder at the man and the woman who had emerged from the melee to walk calmly past the attack scenes to the gates, and who were just being allowed through by stunned Rangers there. The couple moved through the gathering crowds to a taxi rank and entered the first vehicle. “St. Cecelia’s, Pangbourne, please, driver,” instructed Ignatious.

Sitting close to the Jesuit in the rear of the taxi, Sallie could not shake the feeling of rapture, even though, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she hated it. Why not have me here, in the back of the taxi? Take me now, as I am — whatever you wish! The wicked thoughts invaded her again and again.

At last, the cab arrived at the church, where Sallie paid the fare plus a reasonable tip for the driver. Ignatious ushered her to the vestry door and knocked.

Father McCahill was surprised to find the Jesuit on his doorstep, especially after seeing him arrested and his vehicle towed away by the police. “Hello, Brother,” he boomed, happily. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He laughed. “I thought you must have committed murder at the very least! Come in. And, who is the young lady?”

Ignatious smiled pleasantly. “Thank you, Father. This is Sallie; she is a friend of mine. She wanted to come along with me and see your interesting little room.”

“Ah,” said the priest. “I can understand anyone being interested in that.”

In the short telephone call of two days ago, when Ignatious made the appointment to visit, Father McCahill had mentioned a special room in the church, which he would like the Jesuit to see. It had only recently been discovered and dated back at least three centuries, probably more. He had said no more than that, but it had been enough to gain the interest of Ignatious.

Once inside, the three sat down to the usual tea and cakes as Ignatious began his tales of adventure in the Amazon after convincing the priest that the arrest had been a dreadful mistake. Father McCahill was fascinated by the stories and strangely drawn to the wonderful being that had entered his domain. He had wanted to ask about the lovely young woman but his brain would not move in that direction, the Holy Brother filling his head.

The Safari Park had become a scene of frenetic activity. Ambulances, T.V. crews, newspaper reporters and police were jostling around the entrance gates waiting for the all-clear from the Rangers within the enclosure, who were hunting down the wild beasts and sedating them with darts. Cameras were flashing constantly, even though there seemed little to photograph at that time.

As soon as the word came, the gates were opened and in drove two ambulances, hurrying to the scene of horror. Hardened to sickening sights through their experiences sorting out motorway victims, the paramedics went about their grisly work in a quietly efficient manner. Not a single body was intact. However, the occupants of the breakdown truck that had come to remove the wreckage were amazed to discover two injured, but alive members of the forensic team, huddled together in a recess of the vehicle, shuddering in shock in their unconsciousness.

On the perimeter, the two detectives had been assessed and treated on the spot before being whisked away to hospital in a low-slung vehicle. The elder one, Graham, seemed to be suffering only from concussion and a few scratches and bruises whilst the other was badly lacerated along the front of his body where the razor-wire had sliced deeply into him from the weight of his companion. Whilst Graham would be released from hospital within a couple of hours, after undergoing a thorough examination, Clive would remain there for another two weeks and would not return to duty for a further month.

The conversation in the vestry finally came around to the hidden room, a conversation from which, strangely, Sallie allowed herself to be excluded. She rose to follow the priest and the Jesuit as they made their way into a conservatory that backed onto a wall of the ancient church. In here, the priest, smiling knowingly, gripped a protruding stone and pulled. Amazingly, a section of the wall moved silently and smoothly inwards; the mechanism, untouched since its installation, working as easily as any modern day appliance. The door slid back into place once the last person stepped in.

The room beyond revealed an area of around twenty five feet square, lit by a narrow window of thickened glass, measuring about six feet by one. Along the walls were several oil lamps placed in the original torch holders and being the only concession to modernisation. There was no mistaking the intent of the room — it was clearly designed for torture.

Dotted around the walls were several sets of shackles around which dark stains and splatter marks could be seen. These would be the entrenched marks of blood carried down the centuries.

In one corner, stood a mediaeval brazier with the various iron implements still stored in it and, next to that, a small, thick wooden table was secured into the brickwork. It resembled a smaller version of a butcher’s table and on it lay several iron items, designed no doubt, to inflict agony on the unfortunates brought here.

The focus of attention was two other wooden tables that took up the centre of the room, standing side by side. They resembled, even more, butcher’s tables except that they were adorned with straps and shackles. The telltale stains were again in evidence.

For several minutes Ignatious stood silent as the ghosts of the place came to him, soaking into his body, invading his mind. He could plainly hear the screeching and pleading of the victims as they sought relief from the expertly delivered pain.

Breaking from his trance-like state, he turned his gaze upon Sallie. She looked at him in alarm for a brief moment and then her face relaxed and she smiled — a smile of undisguised lasciviousness. Yes, my God! Yes! I am yours. You desire me now! I want you — take me!

She began to peel off her blouse, the eyes, dark and clouded, looking into her Saviour’s. Next came the skirt, and then the shoes, kicked off in wild abandonment, and the stockings she chose in preference to the sexless tights, followed by the bra. She stood, attired only in her flimsy panties, her firm breast standing firm and proud, as the men gawped at her, even the Jesuit being gripped by the beauty.

The ghosts of the ancients shrieked into the room as Sallie, without spoken command, climbed onto one of the tables and lay on her back, arms and legs outstretched, the smile still playing on her lips.

Ignatious turned his attention to the transfixed priest, boring into his mind. “Yes, Father,” he said quietly. “I can read into your thoughts and into all the thoughts you have ever had.”

Father McCahill heard yet did not. He was staring at the near-naked woman on the table with his mind held by the invading forces.

“Secure her to the table, Father. Use the straps at the edge of the table to fasten her left arm.”

The priest moved forward and carried out the Jesuit’s bidding. The spirits screeched ever louder. Sallie was fully compliant, even making it easier for the fumbling man to do a proper job by moving her arms and legs into the various positions. At the end, she was firmly strapped with arms and legs apart but able to move her head.