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  “My car’s over there,” she said, pointing to a Golf on the other side of the car park. Amber and Schaefer hurried over. “Get in the back. Stay down,” she said, as she unlocked the car. Schaefer complied. He climbed into the back, slammed the door, and lay down on the back seat. He stared up, looking at the tops of the trees and the cloudy night sky through the rear window. Outside, the wind blustered pushing the grey clouds swiftly past the twinkling stars. The tops of the trees trembled back and forth. Amber put the car in gear, reversed out of her space and drove down the long driveway. As they passed through the main gates, Amber turned to give Schaefer a sweet smile.

  “I think we’re okay,” she said, as she turned on to the main road and sped away from the miserable institution. “I put your clothes in a bag on the floor.”

  Schaefer sat up and felt at his feet for the small canvas bag that contained the shoes and clothes he’d been wearing when he’d been kidnapped. He started getting changed.

  “How much do you know?” Amber asked.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Schaefer asked sadly. “All those times we saw each other…”

  “I didn’t know,” Amber replied. “He only told me you were my father tonight. It’s been ten years, your face, my real name; they weren’t even memories any more. Just dreams.”

  Schaefer nodded. She’d only been a child when they’d taken her. Not the beautiful, intelligent young woman she’d become. All those years. All those shared experiences lost forever.

  “What do you know about The Collective?” Amber asked, as she concentrated on the road.

  Schaefer slid his trousers on. “It’s a powerful, ancient Cult.”

  “Gilmore founded the Collective,” Amber said. She gave Schaefer a moment to absorb the notion, before continuing, “He’s over a thousand years old. He was a blacksmith once, long ago. His village was attacked and his family were killed.”

  “I’ve dreamed about it,” Schaefer said soberly. “But it’s not…”

  “Possible,” Amber cut him off. “It’s very possible. Gilmore vowed he would have vengeance, but his quest took many years, and he grew too old to face the men he hunted in mortal combat. He needed more time, so he sought a way to extend his life. He heard stories of an old witch, a dark queen known as Astranger. He sought her out and after many years searching, found the beautiful, young queen. He offered her his undying loyalty in exchange for the secret of immortality, and she agreed. Astranger taught Gilmore the secret. The dark soul must be transferred to a new host. Astranger had found a way to possess young bodies, jumping from one to another as the decades passed.”

  “Gilmore wants my body?” Schaefer smiled darkly.

  “Every host must be prepared to take the darkness of Gilmore’s soul. The body must be capable of containing a hugely powerful being. He recognised the power of your spirit when you brought your sister to him. As he gets more and more powerful there are fewer and fewer vessels strong enough to contain his spirit. The moment you came into his life, he had to have you.”

  “Why did he take you?” Schaefer asked. “Why not torture me like the man in my dream?”

  “The light of your soul has to be replaced with darkness. Physical torture worked when Gilmore was young, but now he is old and tremendously powerful, the vessel must be prepared for evil that is beyond anything we could imagine. How did you feel before I came for you?”

  Schaefer thought about the question for a moment, and then answered, “Empty. Lost. Dead.”

  “He almost succeeded in destroying you entirely, twisting you to darkness. The next stage would have been transference,” Amber said.

  “What about the Collective?” Schaefer asked. “And Lomas?”

  “Edward Lomas was a powerful psychic who had been a thorn in Gilmore’s side for many years, seeking to expose the truth. Gilmore saw an opportunity to use you to get rid of him,” Amber replied. “Gilmore started the Collective as a way to find new hosts. They commit terrible evil in order to identify possible hosts for their master. Gilmore keeps the senior priesthood loyal with the promise that whoever finds him a new host shall be granted the secret of immortality. The cult recruits by kidnapping children, enlisting the vulnerable – he’s been using Milton House as a spawning ground. You’ve been bringing him new members for years.”

  “Fuck!” Schaefer exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Gilmore promised he’d kill my real family if I ever betrayed him,” Amber replied. “I had to play along.”

  “We’ve got to find your mother and Oliver. Get them to safety,” Schaefer said urgently.

  Amber shook her head, “No. We’ll never be safe. Not as long as he’s alive. He’s got no alternative to your body, and not much longer to live in his current one. He’ll tear the world apart looking for us, and the Collective has people everywhere. The MI5 investigation was faked in order to get you to lead his people to Lomas, but he really does have followers inside the security services. The Collective and its crimes are real, but no one has put the pieces together. All people see is a world descending slowly into madness. We’re the only ones who can stop him.”

  Schaefer watched his daughter, as they drove on in silence. Her eyes sparkled with determination, but there was something else behind it. Sorrow, perhaps. The misery of stolen years.

  “Amber,” Schaefer began. Her eyes lifted to look at him in the rear view mirror. “What did he … what has he done…”

  “Not now,” Amber replied firmly. “We can talk later. First we kill him.”

  FORTY

  The clock on the dashboard said 3.06 AM. They parked a quarter of a mile from Gilmore’s house and hurried along the quiet country lane. Amber carried something small wrapped in cloth – a gun or a knife. Schaefer jogged behind her trying to come to terms with the fact that he had succeeded. He had found his daughter. He had almost lost his mind and his life, but he had done it. He and Amber were reunited. They slowed as they reached Gilmore’s driveway, and Schaefer took the opportunity to slip his hand around Amber’s and squeeze it softly. Amber seemed surprised at the tender gesture, but quickly got over her shock and smiled at her father. They walked up the driveway and approached the front door.

  “I have a key,” Amber said, as she slipped her hand into her pocket. She produced a key and opened the large front door.

  Schaefer closed it quietly behind them as they crept into the hallway, which was lit by a single low lamp at the far end. Schaefer looked closely at the partially lit hallway and realised that the artwork and antiques that cluttered Gilmore’s life were probably things that he had acquired when they were originally produced. Amber led Schaefer away from Gilmore’s study, down a dark corridor that turned east.

  “He doesn’t sleep,” Amber whispered. “He’ll be in his chamber.”

  They stopped outside a set of mahogany double doors. Amber twisted the latch and pushed one open. The room beyond was shrouded in total darkness. She moved forward, but Schaefer restrained her.

  “Let me go first,” Schaefer said. Amber nodded and handed him the bundle she carried. Schaefer unwrapped the cloth to see something he recognised from his dreams. An ancient knife with two black dragons twisted around the handle. Red rubies glowed in the eye sockets of each dragon.

  “It’s the only thing that can kill him,” Amber whispered. Schaefer took the knife by its handle, which felt comfortably familiar. Schaefer stepped forward into the pitch black room. He turned to see Amber silhouetted against the faint light that bled down the corridor. She followed Schaefer inside.

  “Find a light,” Schaefer said quietly.

  The far wall lit up with blue light that shone in the shape of a mandala that had been carved into the wall. The familiar symbol of three overlapping triangles inside a circle. As disturbing as that was, it did not unsettle Schaefer as much as the sight of the silhouetted figures who stood in front of the mandala. There must have been a dozen of them. Schaefer turned to see Amber at the lighting co
ntrol. She flicked the remaining switches and the chamber walls came to life with illuminated occult symbols. Twisted figures, pentagrams, Latin text all carved into stone with light shining through.

  “Amber,” Schaefer said with growing dread. Amber walked towards Schaefer, her eyes changing colour. They became a deep black, like Obsidian’s, only worse.

  “Your daughter made way for me many years ago, Mr Schaefer,” Amber said. Only Schaefer knew it wasn’t his daughter. He felt anguish beyond imagining as he realised the horror that now occupied his daughter’s body. “I am Astranger.”

  Schaefer watched with horror as Amber joined Gilmore, who stood a few paces away in the centre of the room. Schaefer was reeling. His eyes danced around the room as his mind spun. He saw Obsidian, many of the men from the First Church of the Eternal Light, Lucas and the fake detectives who had arrested him, the tube driver that had taken him out to Chesham. They were all part of the Collective. They were all part of the evil conspiracy that had defeated him.

  “The dark things we had to do this body to prepare it for my soul,” Amber continued. “Well, they’re best left to your imagination.”

  Schaefer looked at Amber with pure venom in his eyes. He moved towards her with the dagger, but didn’t get three paces before he was restrained by a cadre of Gilmore’s acolytes.

  “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, Daddy?” Amber asked with a wicked smile.

  Gilmore approached Schaefer. “There are few things more devastating that securing your prize, and having it snatched away from you. How do you feel, Schaefer?”

  Devoid of the last vestiges of humanity, Schaefer glared at Gilmore. “I’m gonna kill you.”

  “I thought as much,” Gilmore said. He turned to Amber and bowed as he said, “He is ready.”

  “I’m gonna kill you all!” Schaefer shouted wildly. “Every single one of you.”

  “Tenebris dominatur. Præpara hoc corpus pro anima mea. Hoc profanum corpus erit mihi domum,” Gilmore said quietly. He drew occult symbols in the air as he made the incantations.

  Schaefer felt the familiar knife handle in his hand. He had twisted the blade up against his inner forearm to conceal it from his captors, and suddenly realised he had one last chance. He twisted his wrist and stabbed at the nearest arm. There was a scream and one less hand gripping him. It was all the opportunity he needed. Schaefer slashed wildly, scattering his captors. He tried to get to Gilmore, but the old man had run behind a protective wave of acolytes who were now closing on Schaefer. Gilmore would have to wait. Schaefer ran through a side door and escaped down a dark corridor. As he blundered along, bouncing from wall to wall, Schaefer could hear the cries of those pursuing him. Schaefer reached the end of the corridor and fumbled for the door handle. He found it just in time. He opened the door and stepped through, slamming it behind him just in time. There was a heavy bolt on the other side of the door, and Schaefer slid it into the lock just as the hammering began on the other side.

  Schaefer turned to discover that he was in Gilmore’s study. The lights were on and a fire was blazing in the hearth. Schaefer caught sight of the two Hieronymus Bosch paintings and was drawn to the one of various women suffering. He drew closer and studied the detail. There in the background, Schaefer suddenly realised that his daughter had been in front of him all the time. A small girl, her face turned away from us, but she wore a dress of purple flowers on pink cotton. Surrounding her were four hellish figures. Demons possessed of instruments of terrible torture.

  “You can only imagine her suffering, Thomas,” Gilmore said from the doorway. Schaefer turned, and, through a distorting wave of tears, saw that the old man had come through the main door. “That painting shows all the souls tormented by my mistress Astranger. I am Trauco, or perhaps you know me by my Voodoo name, Papa Boya. We spent some lifetimes in the Caribbean, but the humidity really isn’t good for the temperament.”

  Schaefer crumbled, and dropped to his knees, broken at the thought of what had happened to his daughter.

  “Have you ever heard of Sisyphus?” Gilmore asked as he approached. “He was a Greek king who tricked the gods. His punishment for such blasphemy was to spend eternity in Hell rolling a rock to the top of a hill. Each time he reached the top, the rock rolled to the bottom and he would begin his torment all over again. He was the first recurring man.”

  Schaefer sobbed at his defeat. He would never see his daughter again. He would never hold her.

  “Do you know what happens to your soul when I evict it from your body?” Gilmore asked. “It becomes trapped in the hell that I created for it. You are fated to repeat this misery for all eternity, Thomas. Just like Sisyphus, you are a recurring man. You. And your daughter. You cannot imagine the hell she is trapped in.”

  Those words turned Schaefer’s self-pity to burning rage. Schaefer jumped up and lunged at Gilmore. He plunged the dagger deep into Gilmore’s chest, and felt the hilt crack into the old man’s rib cage. Gilmore staggered back, shocked by the sudden show of strength. But the shock quickly turned to calm acceptance. Schaefer was deeply unsettled as the lights started to flicker and pulses of energy ricocheted off the dagger, creating a link between him and Gilmore. Gilmore smiled as the flow of energy grew. Schaefer realised that he had completed the ceremony and that the final step towards darkness was murder – the taking of another life. In his twisted desire to destroy Gilmore, Schaefer had sealed his own fate.

  “Remember this!” Schaefer shouted at himself as the energy between him and Gilmore built to a crescendo. Schaefer felt terrible pain, as though he were being pulled apart cell by cell. “Remember this!” Schaefer yelled. It was the last thing he ever said. The pain was too much for him to bear and he collapsed to the floor surrounded by a powerful field of energy. Suddenly the energy flared and died, the lights shorted, and the room went dark.

  *

  The door opens. The man that was once Schaefer steps out of the darkened study. He holds an ancient dagger in his hand. Trauco, the lord of darkness. Inside the study lies the body he had inhabited until moments earlier. Trauco is pleased with his new host. He sees the woman once known as Amber, but now his queen Astranger. He takes her hand and bows to kiss it.

  “Thank you, my queen,” he says. Once, long ago, he had dreamed of vengeance. Now he only dreams of being with her. They have so much to do together. So much darkness to give the world. And so many more lives to live. As they walk down the corridor, their disciples bow in honour of their king’s new body. One, Obsidian, who did most to bring Schaefer to him, has earned the secret. They will need to find him a vessel. So much work to be done.

  *

  In the study, past the limp body of the old man are two paintings. The light from the open door falls on the painting of men trapped in hell. There is a new figure in the painting. It is Schaefer, his face in torment as he tries to grab the hand of a young girl who is just out of his reach.

  ONE

  “You ever feel like you’ve been somewhere before?” The grey-haired detective asked.

  Schaefer wasn’t paying any attention to the question: his mind was in the garden. The sun shining through the trees. Their leaves casting dappled shadows on the dry grass as their branches swayed in the gentle breeze. Schaefer remembered he had been barefoot, his feet crunching the brittle summer earth into dust as he moves stealthily towards the big oak at the bottom of the garden. She’s hiding there. She always hid there. A flutter of purple flowers on pink cotton. A small, perfectly-formed cheek. She can’t resist peeking, but Schaefer knows the rules and pretends he hasn’t seen her. He knows her stomach will be churning with the excitement of the chase, anticipating that sudden moment of discovery. The roar. The run. The hug. The rush of adrenalin giving way to the relief that it’s all pretend. That she’s safe wrapped in his arms. That he’s never going to let her go.

  Schaefer allowed himself to get lost in the moment. It was one of a handful that he had forced himself to relive every day, so that his recollection woul
d be perfect. So that he never forgets. His little girl, running through the sunlit garden. Sweet. Innocent. Beautiful. Forever just out of reach.

  Remember this.

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