The door to the chapel is open. He must have taken my key. He bumps the wheelbarrow over the threshold and wheels me inside.
‘Home sweet home.’
There is a clunk as the door shuts behind us, the rattle of the key.
I stare around. The chapel has been lit with candles. Stuffed into bottles and propped on pews, the altar and the floor. I can smell melting wax and another, harsher, chemical smell.
But that’s not what causes my bladder to loosen.
A plastic chair has been placed in front of the altar. Above it, draped over the upper banister, dangles a noose.
Wrigley plucks the gag from my mouth.
‘Now might be a good time to pray.’
FIFTY-NINE
I stare at the dangling noose, realization dawning.
‘It was you. You killed Reverend Fletcher.’
‘Well, technically, he killed himself. Just like you’re going to.’
He pulls a small sharp knife out of his pocket, bends and slices the plastic tie around my ankles. ‘Stand up.’
‘No.’
He tips the wheelbarrow up, and I fall face first on to the floor, managing to turn at the last moment and land on my side, just missing a lit candle. I can feel the heat from the flame close to my wrist.
‘How? How did you convince him to do it?’
Wrigley grins, then sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles. A figure emerges from the small office. Rosie Harper. What the hell? She walks over to Wrigley’s side. He grabs her, hooks an arm around her throat and presses the knife against the soft flesh.
‘Get up on the chair, put the noose around your neck or I’ll kill her.’
‘Please. Don’t hurt me.’ Rosie’s eyes fill with tears.
‘Do it,’ Wrigley snarls. ‘Or I’ll make it slow.’
I stare at them both in horror. Then suddenly, Wrigley spins Rosie around and they kiss, long and hard. My limbs feel weak. They both burst into laughter.
‘Her face,’ Rosie says.
Wrigley turns back to me. ‘It was so easy. That dozy old goat got right up there and strung himself up. You should have seen the look in his eyes when he understood he’d been played.’
I push myself into a sitting position, wrist hovering over the flame of the candle behind me.
‘Why?’
‘Because when I was in care, before I was adopted, a priest abused me. Is that what you want to hear? You want reasons? You want a neat confession. Like in the movies. Will that make it easier?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Fine. I’ll play. Fletcher was a faggot and a liar. It used to be just me and Mum, but suddenly he’s around the house all the time, talking to her about books and history and shit. Pretending he’s interested in her.’
‘You were jealous?’
‘No. He was using her. He didn’t like her in that way and she couldn’t see it. Stupid bitch. Then, one day, Mum was out and I was in the garden, doing press-ups. Fletcher walked round the back and saw me.’
‘He realized you were faking the dystonia?’
‘Yeah. He said he’d tell Mum, if I didn’t.’
‘She never suspected?’
‘Mum was so wrapped up in her writing I could have grown another fucking head and she wouldn’t have noticed. Plus, she liked the idea of adopting a “broken” one. It’s why I started faking it to start with – to stand out from all the other unwanted brats. But now Fletcher was going to ruin everything.’
‘And he had to die, for that?’
‘I tried to warn him off, to get him to leave –’
Something else clicks into place. ‘The Burning Girls pinned to his door. The fire in the chapel?’
‘Stupid fucker wouldn’t take a hint.’
‘And what about Saffron? Why kill her?’
‘The lying faggot told her anyway. She knew something was up when he died. Kept asking all these questions.’ He shrugs. ‘She was just doing my fucking head in –’
I can feel the skin of my wrists tightening in the heat, but I can also feel the plastic of the thin cable tie softening.
‘I’m not getting up there. I’m not going to make it easy.’
‘Yeah, you are.’
He nods at Rosie and she disappears back into the office. A moment later she re-emerges with another thin, pale figure.
And I realize that he’s right. I’m going to kill myself here tonight.
SIXTY
He must have fallen asleep (or maybe passed out) for a while. When he opens his eyes, it’s dark. He’s cramped and cold. Shivering. Apart from his ankle, which feels like a lump of molten lava on the end of his leg.
It occurs to him dimly that passing out, shivering and burning are all signs of an infection running rampant in his body.
But he can’t deal with that now. He sits ups, orientating himself.
The graveyard. Yes. That’s where he is. Watching out for her. Is she home? His eyes search the cottage. It’s in darkness. But he can see lights flickering in the chapel. No, not lights. Flames. Like candles.
Why would there be candles in the chapel? Something is wrong. He can feel it in his gut.
He fights through the lethargy and pain, pushes himself to his feet and starts to limp, slowly, across the graveyard.
SIXTY-ONE
‘Mum!’
I stare at my daughter. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. Are you all right?’
Her arms are bound behind her. Rosie has a knife pressed into her back. The serrated knife from the exorcism kit.
‘You were right, Mum. All along.’
I smile sadly. ‘I hate to say I told you so –’
‘Sweet,’ Wrigley says.
Rosie shoves Flo towards him and he wraps his arm around her neck. He holds out his other hand to Rosie.
‘Honey, I think I’m going to need a bigger knife.’
She smiles, taking the small knife off him and handing him the serrated one. He presses the blade to Flo’s eye. And, this time, I know he’s not faking.
‘Now get up on the chair.’
‘Mum,’ Flo whimpers. ‘He’s going to kill me anyway.’
‘And I can do it fast or slow. I can cut her up bit by bit while you watch.’
‘Then what? You think you’ll convince people that I killed my own daughter, set fire to the chapel and hanged myself?’
‘You’ve found it hard to settle here, Reverend. You still feel so guilty about what happened at your old church. Really, it was inevitable.’ He shrugs. ‘You know why I like fire? Fire fucks everything up. By the time the police start to piece it all together, we’ll be long gone.’
‘Sussex’s own Bonnie and Clyde.’ I look at Rosie. ‘You really think someone who can do all of this will think twice about getting rid of you?’
She snarls, ‘Shut up and get up on the chair.’
The flame is so hot against my wrists I want to scream, but I feel the tie give. I tug my wrists apart but keep them behind me. Then I get to my feet and shuffle backwards towards the chair.
Wrigley smiles. ‘See. Told you you’d do it.’
I turn. But instead of climbing on to the seat, I grab the chair and fling it at Wrigley.