The Survivor

Ian Filbury, who was Eton’s clerk of the council, as well as being the local choirmaster and church organist, grunted with displeasure.

  ‘Just another day wouldn’t have hurt, Andrew. I mean, you don’t suddenly go under like that for no reason. The doctor should have insisted that you stay for another day’s observation.

  ‘He did, Ian. It was I who insisted otherwise. I’m fine now. Really.’

  ‘Have you remembered what happened yet? Why you sparked out like that?’

  The vicar shook his head.

  ‘All right, Andrew,’ Filbury said, ‘I’ll leave you to rest now. But I’m coming back this evening mind, and if I think you’re any worse, I’ll have the doctor around like a shot.’

  The vicar smiled up at him, a thin, wan smile, a distant look in his eyes. Yes, he remembered, but it was his burden.

  When Filbury had left the house and the clergyman’s housekeeper had disappeared into the kitchen to prepare him a light dinner, he was able to concentrate his mind. He’d been told by Ian of the two bizarre deaths the day before, and he felt sure there was a connection between them and the death of the man down by the river. He closed his eyes but snapped them open instantly. The image of what he had seen in the church was too sharp, too vivid! It frightened him beyond belief, and yet he knew he had to be there this day, this coming night. He asked that God would give him courage, uncertain of what he would have to do, only knowing he would be needed.

  Slowly, he knelt down beside the chair, resting his clasped hands on one of its arms, and he prayed more earnestly than he had ever prayed in his life.

  But he kept his eyes open. And occasionally he looked over his shoulder.

  14

  Keller eased the car into the speeding fly-over traffic, accelerating fiercely to match their pace. Once he had settled into the flow, he relaxed and glanced across at Hobbs in the passenger seat. Gauze affixed with large plaster strips covered his mouth and chin; more stretched in a narrow band across his nose. Although both men had rested for most of that day, the evening traffic, as it poured out of London, was already beginning to weary Keller.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked Hobbs.

  The medium winced as his lips tried to form the words. ‘It hurts,’ he managed to say wryly.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough to stop you,’ Keller apologized.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’ The words were barely discernible.

  ‘I’m sorry you became involved.’

  The medium shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s little control over situations like this.’

  Keller knew it caused Hobbs considerable pain to talk, but there was so much he needed to know. There was so much he still did not understand.

  The violence of yesterday had disturbed him deeply and he suddenly recalled the much-publicized consequences of an exorcism conducted by two Yorkshire clergymen of a few years back. The two men – a Church of England vicar and a Methodist minister – had cast out at least forty evil spirits (it had been reported) from a man, but had been unable to remove the final three, insanity, murder and violence. The man had been allowed to return home where he had then murdered his wife, tearing out her eyes and her tongue, ripping off half her face with his bare hands. The case had shocked the world, but Keller and, he assumed, the rest of normal society had ultimately dismissed the murder as the work of an uncontrolled lunatic, blaming the two clergymen for their part in encouraging the man’s delusions. Now yesterday’s incident had caused Keller to view the matter in a new light. He looked anxiously at Hobbs.

  ‘Who were they? Why did they do this to you?’

  The medium studied the co-pilot’s profile in silence for a few moments, then answered: ‘You know who they were, Mr Keller. But if I had realized he was amongst them, I think I would have kept as far away from you as possible.’

  ‘You mean Goswell?’

  ‘Yes, Goswell. An evil man when he was alive, and now it seems just as evil after death.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘You don’t understand, but you believe in life after death now.’

  Keller nodded. ‘I’ve never actually disbelieved. I suppose I’ve just never really thought about it too much.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve had the worst possible example of its power. Most people generally turn to spiritualism when they need comforting after they’ve lost someone close; others dabble in it out of curiosity or because they’re after excitement, looking for the unusual. Unfortunately, you’ve had its reality thrust upon you.’

  Keller smiled without humour. ‘With a vengeance, you might say.’ He found a gap in the middle lane of cars, indicated and moved into it. The Stag began to pick up speed. Suddenly, he asked: ‘What happened to them? Why have they become like this?’

  Hobbs shook his head sadly. He winced audibly as he spoke and put his fingers to his mutilated lips so that his words were even more muffled. Keller leant towards him to hear. ‘When we first met, I told you that after an accident of this kind the departed spirits are often in a state of shock; they become what we call “crisis” spirits. We don’t know just how long this condition may last: it could be hours, days, years – or even centuries. Sometimes something has to be achieved in this world before they can go on, before they are released. In this case, it seems you are the only one who can release them.’

  Keller remembered Cathy’s voice from the previous night. There had been so many voices – he had recognized Captain Rogan’s – but when they had faded, when Hobbs had actually returned from his trance and Keller had felt as though he were sinking, his senses weakened by the spirits’ onslaught, she had come to him, her voice soft with pity. She had warned him of something, but now it was all too hazy; he couldn’t remember her words. He had felt her warmth though, and it was a comfort to him. He understood now why so many sought loved ones after death had separated them from each other, for their closeness, their mutual devotion, did not die with their bodies but continued, their compassion becoming a bridge between the two worlds. He had felt this and the warmth had flooded through him so that his sudden oblivion had become sweet. He knew Cathy was not among the others, that she had passed on to something more peaceful, and he knew that she had not been alone. He could not remember the words – had there actually been words or had the knowledge been conveyed only by thought? – but she had let him know that she and many of the victims had found their peace. Theirs was not the tranquillity most mortals assumed was waiting for them, for there was even more to accomplish in the next world, but rather an inner knowledge that led finally to the ultimate truth. It was as if death were only the opening of the first door; there were many, many more doors to be reached then passed through. Those that had remained earthbound had been too confused to go on and they had fallen under the control of others more powerful, others seeking revenge for their deaths and one who sought only to perpetuate his own malignity.

  She had gone then, her being – for there was no physical image, only an overwhelming sense of her presence – fading rapidly and he felt, unwillingly, leaving him alone and vulnerable. His plunge into unconsciousness had continued and it had taken the injured Hobbs some time to arouse him again. When he had regained consciousness, he was immediately aware that the overbearing oppression had been lifted from the room and, somehow, he knew it was due to Cathy’s intervention.

  He had cleaned Hobbs’s wounded face and hand as best he could and removed most of the shards of glass buried in the skin. He found his own face was covered in tiny cuts and scratches, although none were deep enough to worry about. His throat was strangely bruised as though strong fingers had dug into his flesh and squeezed, and his scalp was tender where invisible hands had pulled at his hair. After a much-needed drink, he had driven Hobbs to a hospital to have his cuts treated properly. Neither of them had felt inclined to explain to the concerned doctor in casualty just how the injuries had come about, but the story of Hobbs having tripped and fallen whilst carrying a gin bottle acro
ss the room had satisfied the medic’s curiosity.

  They returned to the medium’s house and Hobbs had insisted that Keller stay the night. He had refused to discuss the previous events, and had assured the co-pilot that the spirits would not return that night; he sensed a protective barrier around the house. Keller had been too exhausted to argue and had fallen into a heavy slumber almost as soon as he lay back on Hobbs’s old, but comfortable, settee.

  The following day Keller had plied Hobbs with questions but the medium had become strangely uncommunicative, a fact the co-pilot put down to his painful injuries, and several times he found the little man regarding him with a strange look in his eye. He couldn’t tell whether it was fear or curiosity contained in the look. Perhaps it was both.

  Hobbs had taken on the air of someone who had resigned himself to fate; as if he were a swimmer who had given up fighting against the current because he knew it was useless to do so – he hadn’t the strength – and was allowing himself to be carried along into the whirlpool. It was late afternoon when Hobbs had seemed to reach some inner decision. He announced they were going to Eton, back to the scene of the crash. Only there could the answer be found.

  Keller hadn’t questioned the reason for his arriving at this conclusion, for he felt the need to return to the town himself, the impulse becoming more irresistible as the day went on. But now, as the car sped along the M4, passing the turn-off to Heathrow, drawing nearer to the little town whose peace had been shattered so abruptly, fear welled up inside him. He knew the night would provide many answers. He knew after this night, nothing would ever be the same again.

  He became aware that Hobbs was speaking again, his words slightly slurred as he endeavoured to control his lip movements to allow only the minimum of pain. ‘I thought Goswell had died years ago,’ he was saying.

  ‘You hadn’t realized he was on the 747?’ Keller asked.

  ‘No, Mr Keller. I didn’t read the newspaper reports of the air crash. I long ago lost interest in mankind’s self-inflicted tragedies.’

  ‘But you knew of him?’

  ‘Goswell? He was a most corrupt man. Hardly in the class of The Beast, Aleister Crowley, but there were many similarities between them. You no doubt know of his wartime exploits in this country, his association with Mosley, and the investigation of some of his more hideous exploits which eventually led to his having to flee from the country.’

  ‘I’d heard about him, and a friend told me a few more facts yesterday. But I didn’t believe anyone took him seriously.’

  ‘Oh yes, he was taken very seriously by people who knew of the mysteries he dabbled in.’

  ‘You mean Devil worship, black magic – all that nonsense?’

  ‘After all you’ve been through, you still don’t understand that much?’ Even though muffled, Hobbs’s tone was incredulous.

  ‘Life after death? Yes, I believe in that now. But Satanism?’ Keller shook his head for an answer.

  ‘It exists as a religion, Mr Keller, just as much as any other religion. The difference is, its devotees worship Satan rather than God. There are at least four hundred known covens in England today, so whether you actually believe in it or not is immaterial. It exists.’

  ‘But magic?’

  ‘It has been called by some the science of the mind. Crowley gave many examples of the power of his mind, most of which was turned towards evil purposes. You witnessed, yourself, the power Goswell is exerting over these unfortunate spirits, the power he had over me! How can you deny it? And then there is the question of your survival.’

  Keller forced his eyes to remain on the road ahead, but he was startled by the last remark. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How do you imagine you survived such a crash when every other person on board perished? Can’t you believe some strange power saved you?’

  ‘Why me? Why should I be the one?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps you were the only one who could accomplish whatever it is they want.’ Hobbs fell into a brooding silence. Keller continued driving, his mind confused and shocked.

  Hobbs began to speak again, slowly, thoughtfully. ‘You said the voices spoke of a bomb last night. Goswell hasn’t been heard of for years – the last I heard of him was at least fifteen years ago and the word was he’d started a new religious order in the United States. You can imagine what sort. Now, he still has many enemies in this country, particularly among the Jews, who, even after thirty-odd years since the end of the Second World War, are still claiming retribution for atrocities against them. Suppose they discovered he had sneaked back into the country, perhaps to spread more evil as in the old days; then they’d do their utmost to even the score.’

  ‘You mean plant a bomb? Kill all those innocent people as well?’

  ‘We’ve seen what the fanatics of this world will do, Mr Keller. The innocent, no matter how many, do not deter these fanatics’ plans for vengeance.’

  ‘So?’

  Hobbs took a deep breath. ‘What if you were saved to avenge Goswell’s death?’

  ‘That’s crazy!’ The car swerved dangerously and Keller fought to control it. When he had, and the horns of other angry motorists had died down, he said: ‘If he had that kind of power, why didn’t he save himself?’

  ‘Because he was an old man. Too old to seek out his murderers and claim his revenge; he needed a younger man.’

  ‘It’s preposterous! Even if I found the person responsible, why should I do anything about it? If Goswell is as evil as you say, he’d want me to kill, and I certainly wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘You may not have any choice. You saw what happened to me.’

  ‘But you contacted the spirits. You opened yourself to them.’

  ‘Yes, last night I did. But there was another time when I didn’t, and yet a spirit managed to control me. A woman came to me because her husband had committed suicide when he had discovered her infidelity with another man. She pleaded with me to contact her husband so she could beg forgiveness; she really loved him, you see. I was a powerful sensitive at that time – too powerful – and contact with the dead man’s spirit proved to be no great problem. He seemed distressed at first, but readily forgave his wife. There was one condition though: she had to visit him regularly through me.

  ‘I was prepared to carry on with the sittings for a while, even though I discouraged too many such visits – the living become too dependent on them – but in this case, I saw it was for a worthwhile cause. It went well for a while; the dead man seemed a kindly sort of chap, gentle – trusting. I didn’t realize he was merely using the time to develop his powers on the other side, to make a firmer bond of contact between us personally.

  ‘Then, one night, he took over my physical body, and I went for his wife. You see, all he wanted was revenge. He wanted to commit the act he had never had the courage for when he was alive! And I was his instrument! Fortunately, as I was choking the poor woman, my own inner spirit rose up and cast out the man’s evil spirit. I was lucky the woman never pressed charges against me, but she seemed to understand what had happened – or in her own remorse decided the action had been just. She committed suicide three days later, so the husband had his revenge after all. After that, I gave up spiritualism; I had become too receptive.’

  Keller risked a quick glance at the medium. My God, is he mad or am I? He wanted to stop the car and kick the little man out, but something in Hobbs’s calmness prevented him from doing so. The medium looked across at him and Keller felt, rather than saw, his painful smile of sadness beneath the bandages. ‘You still don’t believe, do you?’ Hobbs said.

  ‘I don’t know any more,’ Keller replied. ‘It’s all too incredible. Give me time to take it in – it’s all happened so fast.’

  ‘But there isn’t enough time, Mr Keller. Perhaps I’m wrong about Goswell – it’s just a theory. If you really knew the man, you’d go at least halfway to believing me. You’ve no idea of the power of evil. Nevertheless, I understand your disbelief and s
ympathize; but tonight will, I hope, answer a lot of questions.’

  Keller saw the sign for Colnbrook and edged over into the inside lane. He left the motorway and, at the roundabout, turned off towards Datchet. The roads were dark and the absence of other cars made him uneasy.

  They drove along in silence, Keller more confused than ever, Hobbs thoughtful and becoming increasingly apprehensive about the night that lay ahead of them. It had been his decision to return to the scene of the disaster, the strongest possible place to make contact with the spirits of the dead; but was it wise? He knew there was conflict between the victims and he hoped he could help the good amongst them to overcome the evil. He hadn’t told Keller yet that they would need a priest, simply because he couldn’t be sure of the young co-pilot’s reaction. But Hobbs knew they would need all the help they could get.

  He realized his theory and subsequent story about himself had somewhat destroyed Keller’s faith in him, but he’d had no choice; the young man had to know what was involved. What he tried not to admit to himself, let alone the co-pilot, was that he was afraid of him. There was a disturbing power in the young man, something indefinable, intangible. And, despite his obvious confusion, there was a great strength in him, too. A strength they would both be in need of throughout that night.

  They passed through Datchet and turned off to the left, into Eton Road. Keller switched his headlights to full beam, throwing the trees on either side of the road into flat, eerie relief. The co-pilot became calmer as they drew nearer to Eton and the wreckage. The doubts, the fears, seemed to be leaving him, draining away with the passing miles. Perhaps it was because he knew he would be doing something positive that night, something meaningful at last. Or perhaps he had passed beyond the boundaries of shock, and had reached that stage where all one could do was react, where emotion or indecision played no part.

  Turning the car into Windsor Road, he saw the lights of Eton College ahead of him. They had crossed the humpbacked bridge and passed between the first of the College’s tall buildings when Hobbs suddenly clamped a hand on his arm.