Clive Barker - Sacrament

i

He didn't go straight to the Cunningham house, but stopped off at the newsagent's for a pack of cigarettes. Adele had apparently spoken to others besides the vicar while Will had been in the study, because Miss Morris already knew about Hugo's demise. 'He was a fine man,' she said. 'When's the funeral?' He told her Friday. 'I'll close up shop,' she said. 'I want to be there to pay my respects. He'll be missed, your father.'

Frannie was at home, in the midst of housework, apron on, hair roughly pinned up, duster and polish in hand. She greeted Will with her usual warmth, inviting him in and offering coffee. He declined.

'I need to talk to you both,' he said. 'Where's Sherwood?'

'Out,' she said. 'He disappeared early this morning, while I was still getting up.'

'Is that unusual?'

'No, not when he's feeling unwell. He goes up into the hills, sometimes stays out all day, just walking. Why, what's happened?'

'A great deal, I'm afraid. Do you want to sit down?'

'That bad?'

'I don't know if it's bad or good right now,' he said.

Frannie untied her apron and they sat in the armchairs either side of the cold hearth. 'I'll keep this as short as I can,' he said, and gave her a five-minute summary of events at the hospital. She offered a few words of condolence regarding Hugo, but then kept her silence until he reported on the effect the name Rukenau had had upon Rosa and Jacob.

'I remember that name,' she said. 'It's in the book, isn't it? Rukenau was the man who hired Thomas Simeon. But how does that all fit with the happy couple?'

'They're not a happy couple any more,' Will said, and went on to tell her the rest. Her expression grew more astonished by the moment.

'He killed her?' she said.

'I don't know if she's dead. But if she isn't it's a miracle.'

'Oh my Lord. So what happens now?'

'Eventually Steep's going to want to finish what he started. He may wait until dark, he may

'Just come knocking.'

Will nodded. 'You should pack up a few things and get ready to leave as soon as Sherwood comes home.'

'You think Steep'll come here?'

'He may. He's been here before.'

Frannie glanced towards the front door. 'Oh ... yes ...' she said softly ... . I still dream about it. Dad in the kitchen, Sher on the stairs; me with the book in my hand, not wanting to give it to him-'she had visibly paled in the last few moments. 'I have a horrible feeling, Will. About Sherwood.' She got to her feet, wringing her hands. 'What if he's with them?'

'Why are you even thinking that?'

'Because he never quite let go of Rosa. In fact he thought about her all the time, I'm pretty sure. He only admitted to it once or twice, but she was never far from his mind.'

'All the more reason you should pack and be ready to go,' Will said, getting to his feet. 'I want us out of here the moment Sherwood comes back.'

She headed out into the hall, talking as she went. Will followed. 'You said earlier you weren't sure whether the news was good or bad,' she remarked. 'Seems to me, it's all bad.'

'Not for me it isn't,' Will said, 'I've been living in Steep's shadow for thirty years, and now I'm going to be free of him.'

'If he doesn't kill you,' Frannie said.

'I'll still be free.'

She stared at him. 'It's as desperate as that?' she said.

'It is what it is,' he replied, with a little shrug. 'You know, I don't regret knowing him: he made me who I am, and how can I regret being me?'

'I'm sure a lot of people do. Being who they are, I mean.'

'Well, I'm not one of 'em,' he said. 'I've got a lot more out of my life than I ever thought I would.'

'And now?'

'Now I've got to move on. And I can feel it happening. Things moving in me.'

'I want you to tell me.'

'I don't think I've got the words,' he said. He smiled. Then, seeing the quizzical look on her face, he said: 'I'm ... excited. I know that sounds weird, but I am. I was afraid there wouldn't be closure to all of this. Now I'm going to have it, one way or another.'

She broke her gaze, and hurried upstairs, calling back down to him as she reached the landing. 'Have you got any way of defending yourself against him?'

'Yes I have.'

'Are you going to tell me what?'

'Just something,' he said, reaching inside his jacket and touching the knife, which he had not done since picking it up. He felt the thrill of its history in his fingers, and knew he should let it go. But his flesh refused. His fingers tightened around the gummy hilt, instantly addicted to the rush it supplied. Oh the harm this knife could do- lt would not be hard to kill Steep; to slide the blade deep into his unhappy flesh and stop his heart. And if he had no heart to stop, then the knife would just go on cutting holes in him, until he was a thing of scraps, with the life pouring out everywhere.

'Will?'

Frannie was calling from upstairs.

'Yes?'

'Didn't you hear me? I've been yelling.'

Lost in the blade's brutalities, he hadn't heard a word. 'Is there a problem?' he called back, opening his jacket as he did so. His hand was still clamped to the hilt of the knife, his knuckles white. 'I'd just like a cup of tea!' Frannie yelled back.

It was such an absurd contrast - the knife in his hand, filthy with Row's juices, and Frannie's thirst for tea - that it snapped him from his reverie completely. He pulled his knife-hand free, and closed his jacket as though he were slamming Pandora's Box.

'I'll brew up,' he said, and went through to the kitchen, his body aching as he moved. He could not at first understand why. It was only as he washed his hand clean under the cold tap that he realized it was the scars left by the bear that were troubling him, as though his system was punishing him for denying it the pleasure of the blade by awakening old pains. He would have to be careful, he realized. The knife was not to be treated lightly. If and when he wielded it, there could be consequences.

His hand cleansed, he busied himself about the kitchen preparing the tea, hearing Frannie thumping about above. He had brought the threat of calamity into her life, but her sanguine manner suggested she had vaguely expected it. Like him, she had been marked; so had Sherwood. Not as profoundly, perhaps; but then who was to say? If Sherwood had not fallen prey to Rosa, perhaps his mental state would have improved over the years, and Frannie would have been freed of her responsibilities to him. Courted, perhaps; married, perhaps. Lived a fuller, happier life than had been her lot.

He was filling the enamel teapot with boiling water when he heard the front door open and close, and Frannie calling from above: 'Is that you, Sherwood?'

Instead of declaring himself, Will hung back. Frannie was coming downstairs now. 'I was getting worried about you,' she said. Sherwood mumbled something Will couldn't hear. 'You look terrible,' Frannie said. 'What on earth's happened?' 'Nothing-'

'Sherwood?'

'I'm just not feeling very well,' he said, 'I'm going up to bed.' 'You can't. We have to leave.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Sherwood, we have to. Steep's come back.'

'He won't touch us. It's Will-' He stopped in mid-sentence, and looked towards the kitchen door, where Will had stepped into view.

'Is Rosa still alive?' Will said.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Sherwood said. 'Frannie, what's he talking about? We don't have to leave. Will's just here to cause trouble as always.'

'Who told you that?' Frannie said.

'It's obvious,' Sherwood replied, staring at the floor rather than his sister's face. 'That's what he's always done.' 'Where is she, Sherwood?' Will said. 'Did he bury her?'

'No!' Sherwood shouted. 'She's my lady and she's alive!'

'Where?'