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Phase IV
Complete disorientation. A frenzied whirr of multicoloured specks amidst the darkness. A dull roaring in the back of the mind. Whole self adrift. Body numb. No world now. No dreams here. Falling beyond oblivion. From somewhere in the nothingness, gradually the dull roaring gets louder. The whirring blackness closes in, tighter, and tighter and becomes a flickering red hue. Things are changing. A stench of burning. A raw breeze on the face. Eyes open. Involuntary gasping for air. The grey sky. Body still numb. "Will." "Will." Just a confused, grey sky. Deep, somnolent cloud. "Will!" Still, deadening lostness. "WILL!" And suddenly, with a violent start, Will came to his senses. He was lying within a wide crater of soil and rubble, beneath an inclement overcast sky. Around him and to his right was a smouldering mess of charred furniture, glass, wood and limestone masonry, punctuated by a few remaining sections of brick wall and stone pillar. The remains of Wesley Methodist Church. To his left, smoke and flames billowed from the half-demolished façade of Epworth Court. He was lying roughly in what was formerly the middle of the Epworth Court car park. "WILL!" A figure came running towards him. For the time being Will's glasses were missing and - not helped by the haze of smoke in the air - he couldn't tell who it was, except that it seemed to be a powerfully-presenced man, with light shimmering around his face. "It's time to go!" Will fished around for his glasses. The world was suddenly moving very fast. Earnestly, and almost involuntarily, Will asked the one question that had now entered his head: "Where's Kate?" "She's in the car," the man replied, "over here." He signalled towards the street. "Come on, we need to go." Will was disoriented and confused, struggling to catch up with what was going on around him. But one thing he knew instictively was that no human could have answered his question the way that this man had. It was a question bound by the laws of the Quotes Book. Will still couldn't quite make out the man's face. A profound sense of awe overcame him, and his eyes welled with tears as he asked the man, "Are you God?" "No, not quite Will - but a reasonable guess," he archly replied. "I'm Brian Beck." Will felt relieved. And as Brian Beck lent Will his hand to help him up, he realised that the apparent shimmering of light around Brian's face had merely been his glistening scalp. "Well done," said Brian as Will got up, recovering his scratched glasses. "Right, let's go." Meanwhile, amidst the chaos, Kate was yelling from the car, "Will! Come on! Will!" It was Steven Wilson's car, and somewhat battered from the blast. He was in the driving seat. Kate, and Ali Tesh were sitting in the back. Brian Beck helped Will into the back of the car, and then got in himself, sitting in the front passenger seat. It was starting to rain. The mood in the car was one of sobriety, and exhaustion. Kate and Ali both had tears in their eyes. Without any delay, Steven put his foot down, and they sped away down Victoria Avenue. It was an autumn Saturday afternoon. "Will! Are you ok?" cried Kate. She had a few grazes on her face, which was dirty with soot and sweat. She had been standing just outside the back entrance to Wesley, holding the door for Will, when the bomb went off. She had subsequently scrambled to the car. "Yeah, I think so," Will replied. "What happened? Where's Peter Graves?" "He's dead!" sobbed Kate, breaking down. The other three knew just how she felt. "He was in the vestry when the explosion happened," Brian Beck continued. "He didn't have a chance. You were extremely lucky Will. If Kate hadn't got you towards the back entrance to the church when she did, I think you would have borne the brunt of the blast along with Peter. In fact I'd say it's a miracle that either of you survived." "I don't understand," responded Will. "What happened back there?" In his own nonchalant way, Steven answered. "Someone blew up the church." Brian helpfully intervened: "I received a phone call from Peter about twenty minutes ago. Essentially what he told me is this: He was in the vestry, and had just been visited there by a female intruder. She had, apparently, demanded that he give her the Methsoc Quotes Book, which, as you know, he has been guarding for the past few weeks." They progressed at speed along Gilbert Road. "As we might well expect, he adamantly refused to hand it over. When he had made it clear that he wasn't going to comply with this woman's demand, she left, giving him to understand that she was going to barricade him inside the vestry with explosives. So he was asking me urgently to get help. I was on King's Parade at the time, so I phoned Kate and Steven because they're so close to Wesley, told them more or less what I've just told you, and asked them if they would take a look." Will was still very shaken, finding it hard to take in. Kate, emotional, continued the account: "So we went round. Steven waited in the car, ready to go, so we could hopefully get away if there was going to be an explosion, while I went inside to try and help Peter. When I got to the vestry, the whole outside of the door was layered with blocks of plastic explosive, connected to an electronic detonator thing." Kate's voice was cracking. She was finding it desperately hard to maintain a semblance of composure, though, gripped by her emotion, Will's attention was now unwavering. "It had a timer counting down; it was on about two minutes. I told Peter, on the other side of the door, what I could see. He thought about it and said to me, 'I'm sorry Kate, I don't think there's anything you can do,' and told me to run away." Kate was now sobbing freely. "He said, 'Tell Tricia I'm sorry, I'm really sorry; that I'll always love her.' It was true. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't do anything. So I ran back to the exit. I think he was saying the Lord's Prayer when I left him. And just as I was going out the door, that's when I saw you coming out of the toilet," she said to Will. Kate had broken down completely. Tears once again welled up in Will's eyes. "I screamed at you to come towards me, but you just stood there. When you did start running, you got about as far as the kitchen, and that's when it exploded." Kate and Will were both overcome in their own ways with a whole gamut of feelings. Kate hugged Will as though his life depended on it. Steven carried on, to Will: "You were both knocked out in the blast. I can't believe either of you even survived. But Kate got up quickly and ran to the car. She told me you were there, but we couldn't see you at first. Eventually the smoke cleared a bit, and we saw you lying in the crater. That's when Brian arrived. Ali happened to be walking past as well, so we told her to get in the car." Ali was lost for words. "And then you were out cold for about five minutes," Steven continued, "before Brian managed to get you up." Will was in shock. They all were. They continued the remaining few yards of the journey in something of a stunned silence. Kate and Ali were quietly weeping in the back of the car. Finally, they turned into Brian Beck's driveway, and parked. The five of them got out of the car, and walked dazed, oblivious to the rain, to Brian's door, and into his house. Brian showed them into the lounge, where they sat down. It was a well-kept, uncluttered lounge, with magnolia walls, a plush cream-coloured carpet, a brown leather suite, and a beautiful polished mahoganny coffee table. Though the mood on this occasion was decidedly dreary. After a few moments to regain his composure, Will spoke. "So Peter's dead. And the Quotes Book has been destroyed." Steven murmured in affirmation. "I'm afraid so," said Brian. "At the moment of the blast, we all knew the Quotes Book was gone. Somehow, we just knew." He paused, taking a deep breath. "And dear Peter. May God bless his soul." "And the residents of Epworth Court," added Ali. (She obviously had never met the residents of Epworth Court.) "Who was this woman then?" asked Will, "-the woman that did this." They all looked at each other for a moment, as if to find the answer to the question. "Peter didn't say who she was," said Brian. "Whether or not he knew her, I'm not sure. But he gave me the impression that she was fairly young, and he said something about her quoting Shakespeare. All I could really tell from what he said was that whoever she was, she was hell-bent on either taking the Quotes Book, or destroying it. I take it you didn't see anyone?" "No," said Will. He explained that he had been in the kitchen, sorting out the Methsoc cupboards, and had subsequently gone to the toilet. However, he had never been aware of there being anyone else in the building. Just then, Margaret, Brian's wife, entered the room. She looked around, at their bemused expressions, the tears in their eyes, the sweat and blood on Kate and Will's faces, Will's charred shorts. "What on earth has happened?" she asked. "Margaret," Brian replied, "a terrible thing..." He told her about the explosion, and about Peter, and about Kate and Will's escape. She was naturally rather shocked by what she was hearing, but managed to remain calm and sensible. "What are you doing here?" she said. "Haven't you called the police, or the fire brigade?" Brian was slightly taken aback, but he could see her point. "We hadn't got round to thinking about such things, dear." "They'll turn up," said Steven, assuredly. "Someone's bound to have called them. Besides, there's only so much they could do anyway. If we're to have any chance of finding out why Peter was killed, why the Quotes Book was destroyed, it's a job for Methsoc." Kate suddenly realised a matter of priority. "Someone needs to let Tricia know what's happened," she said. They agreed. Brian went upstairs to attempt to contact Tricia on the phone. The rest of them remained in the lounge, as they gradually began to get over the initial shock of what had happened, and their thoughts turned increasingly to the questions of what to do next. "When Brian gets back," said Steven, "we need to call up the rest of Methsoc." Will, Kate and Ali nodded in agreement, but at that moment, the doorbell rang. Margaret went to answer it. Before her stood, in the rain, an august grey-haired, bearded man, with a benign expression on his face. Margaret and the visitor looked at each other, mutually speechless, for a brief moment. "I've come to help," spoke the visitor. Margaret was slightly astonished, which is a highly unusual state in which for her to be. "Please, come in," she replied. As she showed him into the lounge, the four Methsoccers looked at the guest, and at each other, in amazement. Right now, even Steven Wilson didn't know quite what to say... It was the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Chris was the first to speak, his arm round a sobbing Kim. "Has everyone been interviewed by the police?" There was a murmur of agreement around the room, and Tim stood up. "We need to find out what happened. There's no use waiting for the police investigation; I think the culprit is someone we know." A gasp from the company. "Well, let's start with what we do know," said Janet, "and then build up a picture of what happened." "We know that though," put in Martin, "Wesley was blown up with Peter in it!" He tried to hold back a tear during his speech, but broke down and collapsed back onto the chair. "We can't afford to get worked up about it. I know we've had a lot to take in over the last few hours, but we need to keep a clear head. The mourning will come later - first we need to ascertain what happened and why. Most of all, we need to work out whether anyone else is at risk from this murderer." Eleanor stopped speaking and there was silence, followed by a resigned agreement. "So what are the facts?" asked Tim. "There was a young woman demanding the Quotes' Book, quoting something that sounded like Shakespeare. She had lots of plastic explosives and when the bomb was about to blow up it sounded like Peter was saying the Lord's Prayer. Will, you were in the toilet and Ali was passing by; other than that, no Methsoc members happened to be around. "The other thing to work out is whether anyone had a motive for it - does anyone have a quote that they didn't want in there, or what?" "Perhaps one thing to do," said Janet, "is ask who couldn't have done it. It's a Saturday - does anyone have anything on that stopped them going?" "What about the fact that the perpetrator is a girl? Surely we should look there first of all," said Tom. "I know that someone could have paid someone else to kill Peter but the fact remains that it was a girl that carried it all out." "Did Peter actually see his killer, or just hear her? It could have been someone putting on a girl's voice," remarked Martin, recovering himself from his earlier outburst. "And where are we going to have the Revue? Dave's coming down from Jodrell Bank specially next week to host it. I'll have to email him and tell him what's happened." "What happened to the Quotes' Book anyway? I assume it was destroyed in the blast," said Ali. "Well, Chris and I have electronic copies of it," Martin beamed with muted pride at the achievement of months of long work. "Right, you need to get those away to somewhere else - if it's really the Quotes' Book the villain was after, then you may be at great risk." warned Eleanor. "And lots of people have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the book, like Steven Cooper or Chris," put in Janet. The conversation flowed on, with questions being put about the whereabouts of each female member of Methsoc at the time, when Rowan Williams, until then silent, stood up and raised his hands. "I'm surprised," he started, "that no- one has yet asked me why I am here. Don't you all find this a bit odd?" There was a nervous muttering in the room. "I shall make you hold that question longer. Now, what I am about to say you must tell no-one. I didn't mention it to the police, but if you are to be investigating this crime yourselves, you ought to know. Peter had access to several damaging papers about the Church of England. I got wind of this and I came to investigate, but I was too late. There is a faction within the Anglicans that would have killed to stop the revelations contained within the documents from coming out. Evidently, they did." Silence. "How come he had them -" "Anglicans at the root of this? Right who's C of E -" "Surely that can't be -" The questions arrived in one big barrage, but it was only when Chris shouted that people sat up and took notice. "WAIT! We can't afford to go on a big witchhunt for Anglicans - that's not the way. And besides, what about Steven Cooper? He's working for the C of E and Methodist churches - what does he have to say? We should have waited for him to get here, but he might also be at risk, if Peter had asked him for the documents." At this point Janet's phone started to ring and she dashed outside to answer it. When she came in slightly later she walked shakily and sat down, shivering. "That was Addenbrooke's. Steven asked them to ring us - he's been severely burnt. Someone was waiting for him when he got back home from work earlier on and firebombed his house."
INT. BRIAN BECK'S HALLWAY. DOORBELL RINGS. MARTIN ANSWERS. THE LORRY DRIVER IS REVEALED TO BE... ED: Have you heard about Steven? MARTIN: Yes, he's at Addies. What's with the pantechnicon? ED: I'm moving house this weekend and it was all they had left at the hire place. All I really needed was a short-wheelbase Transit - I haven't got that many guitars, you know. CHRIS ENTERS. CHRIS: Can we host Methsoc Reunion in the back of your truck? ED: No. But I can give you all a lift to Addies. ROWAN ENTERS. ROWAN: Can I come too? ED: Who are you? CHRIS: Can't you tell? It's Rowan Williams. ED: Never! Looks more like Rowan Atkinson to me. ED TEARS OFF ROWAN'S FALSE BEARD TO REVEAL ROWAN ATKINSON. ELEANOR: We've been duped! ROWAN: No, I can explain everything. I was looking for somewhere to film another Barclaycard advert. I'd decided on Wesley, but when I heard it had been bombed I thought it might have been someone who mistook me for a real secret agent. I pinched the DB7 from the set of 'Johnny English', you see... INT. LORRY CABIN, TIGHTLY PACKED WITH METHSOC. JANET: Couldn't we have gone in the back? ED: No, that would have been far too ept. Chris, gear change please. ELEANOR: I wish I'd gone in the Aston with Rowan. EXT. ADDENBROOKE'S. THE JUGGERNAUT PULLS INTO THE CAR PARK, FOLLOWED BY THE ASTON MARTIN. JANET: Let's go and see how Steven is. I hope he's OK. ED: I'll catch you up. I'm having a bit of trouble fitting into this parking space. INT. ADDENBROOKE'S. METHSOC RUNS IN EN MASSE. JANET: We're here to see Steven Cooper. RECEPTIONIST: He's in that room over there. CHRIS: The one with the sinister man in black just coming out of it with a bloody knife? INT. ADDENBROOKE'S. CORRIDOR. SINISTER MAN FLEES, HOTLY PURSUED BY METHSOC. EXT. ADDENBROOKE'S CAR PARK. ED STILL TRYING TO PARK LORRY. SINISTER MAN RUNS PAST. MARTIN: After him! ED: Who? Where? CHRIS: He's getting away! THE BACK OF THE LORRY OPENS AND OUT SHOOTS A BLACK TRANS-AM WITH A RED FLASHING LIGHT ON THE FRONT. DAVID HASSELHOFF: Leave him to me! You guys go and see how Steven is!
All seems quiet and Chris and Ed lead the way into the room formerly known as Steven Cooper's, carefully shielding the view into the room from the girls (and Martin) following behind. They were all expecting a rather bloody scene of destruction, so they were more than a little shocked to find Rowan Atkinson (still looking rather sheepish) standing by an empty bed. "He's gone," he said. "So it seems," they replied. (Perhaps not all in the same words and all at the same time, but you get the idea...). A period of stunned silence followed.
But as it was rather boring I'll skip the rest of it and continue. As everyone else filed out of the hospital and into the back of Ed's lorry (which was furnished with lots of silver machines and flashing lights, and inhabited by a strange old man shouting in German down a phone line), Janet hung back a bit for a quick word with the receptionist. "Mr Cooper seems to have checked out, nurse," she started. "Mr Cooper? I'm afraid I have no idea who you are referring too. We haven't had any Coopers in here all day," came the reply. Janet was confused. "But... but... you told me where his room was just a few minutes ago. It was that one, over there." Janet pointed to the room from which Rowan Atkinson was emerging. "I'm sorry young lady, but I have never seen you before in my life, and that room has remained empty for as long as I can remember. Good day." Janet got the feeling that the receptionist was rather fed up of her and felt that Janet was wasting her time (which incidently was exactly the information that the receptionist was attempting to convey), so she grabbed her handbag and ran after the others, the furrows in her brow deepening all the while. "Well how strange," Eleanor replied after hearing Janet's story. "I think we need to all sit down and think about what's going on." "How about we invite everyone to Pizza Hut for dinner?" Suggested Chris. "Sounds ept," replied Martin, Ed muttering something that sounded like "Go in or...." in the front seat. Ed drove them back into town and everyone went their separate ways. Chris was going to email everyone and get them to come to Pizza Hut in about half an hour. About half an hour later they were all there. * * * "Hmm, yes please. More coke. Great. He's done it before you know? Pot-pourii, yeah, go on then. Done what? Oh, he's dressed up as a man in black with a knife. Yes, about six years ago at a fancy dress party in Newnham - I remember it well. He's a master of disguise I tell you. I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't the first receptionist you met as well, quickly putting on his black robes and scream mask and finding a back way to the room he later emerged from. It all makes sense." "Erm, yes Matthew, whatever you say," said Kim, voicing the disbelief most of them felt. Just that moment a black shadow fell across their table. A knife fell and stood trembling, stuck point first in the tabletop. They all looked up to find Steven Cooper staring wildly at them in torn black robes. A red smudge that looked worryingly like blood giving the only colour to his otherwise paperwhite face. "Gosh!"
"Ow! Who put that there?" The aggrieved cry tore through the stillness like a nasty sharp tearing thing, destroying every last frisson of menace. The silence descended again quickly, as though embarrassed, sinking into the shadows in pools of soundlessness, but however desperately it tried, it could not revive the sinister atmosphere. Giving up, it slunk away miserably to sulk in one cobwebbed corner, and the night rang with the echoing cadence of slow, deliberate footsteps. The foreboding ambience returned, uncertain of what it forebode, but relieved to be able to get out there and go on foreboding. Even the man who was known as Dalet felt a twinge of anticipation, and he was not one to be impressed by meaningless ceremony. Something rustled quietly at the head of the table, then a dim, flickering radiance leaped into life. A single candle burned, its wavering light mostly obscured by a black figure, silhouetted against the shimmering red-gold aura of the flame. Taking his chair in silence, Dalet sighed. Aleph was always one for showmanship. "I call to order the third meeting of the Illuminated Brethren." The voice was dry and muffled, and as always Dalet strained to catch the whispered words. "Illuminated Brethren?" The candlelight was barely enough to see by, but Dalet could just distinguish the angular shape of a long table, at which sat seven figures, their faces lost in the miasma of shadow, all colour leached from their clothing by the stygian gloom. "I thought we were the Mysterious Order of the Obsidian Midnight Darkness," the second voice went on, bemusedly. "I thought we were the Brotherhood of the Scorpion," another chipped in, helpfully. "We are the Illuminated Brethren," Aleph snapped, coldly. "But we’re not exactly... well, illuminated," the second voice answered, a little nervously now. "I thought the Mysterious..." "Silence." Aleph’s muffled order emerged in a sibilant hiss. Dalet’s wry smile was hidden by the darkness. "Gimmel. Make your report." There was a long silence, before Aleph spoke again. "Gimmel." "Oh, that’s me." A high, pleasant voice emerged from the shadows on Dalet’s right. "I thought I was Bet. I always get confused." "Report," Aleph growled. Gimmel swallowed audibly. "Our Cambridge cell carried out its mission," she informed the flame-haloed silhouette. "Mostly." "Mostly?" Aleph sounded like a man torn between sinister, brooding anger and an overwhelming desire to just scream and strangle someone. "Yes, Aleph. Agent Zayin planted the device and eliminated the primary objective, but several secondary targets are still at large. We are still unable to locate Steven Cooper, or..." "You are telling me you have failed?" Aleph’s words were barely audible over the sound of grating teeth. "You are all incompetent! If any of you were even slightly ept..." Dalet grinned suddenly. Aleph had made a fatal slip; the others were far less careful, but this was the first time the ringleader of the Illuminated Brethren had ever betrayed a hint as to his identity. As the meeting ended, and the conspirators filed out in silence, Dalet was still smiling to himself. Only one group of people used the word "ept". Aleph had some connection with MethSoc, and Dalet was going to find out what it was if it killed him. No, he corrected himself – before it killed him. Or, more importantly, before Aleph did the job himself.
The general background noise of Pizza Hut with all its screaming children seemed inaudible to those sat round the table. Eventually, Chris dared to speak. "Where have you been, Steven What happened to you?" Steven did not reply. He just stood there looking as blank and white as when he had first arrived. "But Steven..." said Janet, "We really need to know where you've been today. Do you even know what's happened?" Still Steven did not reply. Everyone sat round the table looked at each other, confused, trying to work out what was going on. After a few moments, the figure of Steven mysteriously disappeared, in much the same way as it had arrived. Kim was confused, as was everyone else. She spoke tentatively and asked, "was that actually Steven? Was he really there? Or was it some kind of ghost thing? I mean... it's not like Steven to not have anything to say for himself, is it?!" "I suppose," said Martin, "that Steven could actually be dead as well, couldn't he? If they - whoever they is - firebombed his house then he could quite easily be dead." "But then why would Janet have got that phone call from Addenbrooke's this morning if Steven had never been taken there?" asked Matthew. "It could all be some big conspiracy," suggested Janet. "Something bigger than we realised we were dealing with. Isn't it possible that whoever killed Peter also killed Steven? After all, with Steven working for the Church of England, and being a local preacher and having all his contacts, he's a much bigger threat to the murder's identity than any of the rest of us." There were mutterings of "well, I suppose..." and, "surely... no... it can't be..." and, "hmm..." and, "doom..." and so on from various people sitting round the table. Then Eleanor thought they'd better do something decisive. Decisiveness is, after all allowed even amongst Cambridge MethSoccers on rare and serious occasions such as this. "Come on guys, hadn't we better get out of this place?" Martin asked for the bill, which promptly arrived along with a plate of mints. After the usual faffing about how much people were paying and no-one having the right change, the group left Pizza Hut and headed for Chris' room. Once suitably sustained with tea and coffee, they decided to get down to business, even though it was now getting rather late. "OK," said Chris, "so we've got to work out the significance of these documents. I don't care whether Rowan really is the Archbishop of Canterbury or merely some actor who starred in those TV programs that I spent a whole day reading the scripts for last Easter when I was supposed to be revising. We've still got to assume that what he told us about those documents could well be true." "What on earth might have been in them? I mean, what have the Anglicans been up to?! Is there something they're hiding from us because we wouldn't be signing the Covenant anymore if we knew what they were up to?" suggested Martin. "We're going to have to find Steven. If he has something to do with these documents and if Peter's killer finds out, or indeed already knows, then Steven will be at serious risk himself. Really, he's our only hope at the moment," asserted Janet. "Or he could already be dead. I'm really not convinced that what came to see us in Pizza Hut was real," put in Kim. "Oh, what happened to the knife that fell onto the table when Steven came?" asked Mikie. "Yes, I've got it," said Matthew. "I'm a bit scared of carrying it round really, but I guess we'll have to." "It could be vital later on once we work out what's going on with Steven. We'll have to keep it," replied Martin. "Hadn't we better get on with finding Steven then?" asked Tim. Janet's phone started to ring again. "Oh, it's not your Mum is it?" moaned Mikie. "No," said Janet, "it's Steven..."
A voice, thin, spindley and malignant whispered back, malice hanging on every word... "Ten Little Indians going out to dine, Janet's eyes opened wide and she threw the phone away from her ear with a gasp. The raspy voice continued to laugh sadistically until Tim terminated the call. 'Steven's dead...' she whispered. *** It was the day after, and they were sitting round in Chris's room, quiet as before. Chris was the first to speak. "When did the police reckon Steven was murdered?" "About the same time as he appeared to us," said Martin. "Apparently when someone dies, sometimes their form is seen by the people they are closest to." "Suffocated in his hospital bed.. it's awful..." said Janet quietly. "How come when we went to the hospital he wasn't there?" asked Kim. "How indeed... That receptionist seemed to be very quick to get rid of Janet," said Mikie. "That doesn't explain the knife though," put in Eleanor. "Have you still got it, Matthew?" "Yes, I put it in my coat pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief. It's just..." He put his hand into the pocket, then with a look of bewilderment slapped his coat. Then he brought out the handkerchief slowly and fearfully. "I haven't left this anywhere or taken anything out of it since yesterday, but the knife is gone and there's no blood on it whatsoever. It's as if it was never there..." "Perhaps it was just an illusion, like the vision of Steven." "There's more to this than we first thought, and it sounds like there's some sort of serial killer out there as well... Did anyone look up the poem last night?" asked Martin. "I think it's safe to say that we all did," replied Tim. "It doesn't look too good for us, anyway... Unless we can find out who's doing this and stop them." Chris handed round sheets of paper with the poem on it. It read: 'Ten little Indians going out to dine; "And who was at Pizza Hut last night? Janet, Martin, me, Kim, Matthew, Eleanor, Mikie, Tim, Will and Steven, who's now dead," counted Chris, "but that makes... erm... ten." He looked up anxiously.. "We need a plan," said Will. "Why don't we split up and meet back here this evening. It's only four o' clock now; we can spend a few hours making enquiries and meet back here for nine." "Enquiries? What sort of enquiries?" asked Janet. "Well, how Steven was killed. Exactly how he was killed. Whether there's any CCTV footage of people leaving the hospital room, anything like that. Also we still need to work out who killed Peter Graves, and who this psychopathic killer is who's rewriting Agatha Christie!" *** Five hours later, the nine were once again assembled in Chris's room. "No joy from the police; Peter's body was so badly burnt that they needed dental records to identify him." "We had some success at the hospital though," said Janet. "There is CCTV in the rooms, but someone had rerouted the cameras so that what was recorded was the guard sitting at his station watching the CCTV. Our killer is obviously someone very clever. No traces were left in the room, but the postmortem has shown that Steven's throat contained so many dolly mixtures that he couldn't breathe." "Poison?" asked Will. "No, he was suffocated. No traces of poison were found." "Why don't we get some tea and coffee and settle down for the night? We need to be on the lookout for each other just in case this serial killer comes for one of us," said Kim, a note of fear in her voice. Martin screwed up his face at the mention of caffeine, and asked, "Can I have some orange squash or something please?"' Chris got up, glad to be able to take his mind off the murders for a few minutes. He poured out some squash into a glass, grabbed the kettle and went to the kitchen to fill them up. *** Next morning, Chris's alarm clock brought the methsoccers out of the depths of their slumber. They got up in fits and starts, first one going for a shower, then another. Chris was mumbling something about tea and special relativity as Janet commented, "Oh Martin of faff... Why isn't he awake yet?" Kim went over to the still form on the sofa. "Martin? We're all awake and we're having breakfast." No response. Matthew went over. "Martin? Wake up!" He rolled the body over and the cold form flopped off the settee. The face was marbled and peaceful, but betrayed the fact that he had been murdered. A small note was attached to the bottle of squash saying, 'Nine little Indians sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were eight...'
Janet's eyes opened wide in a flash. "Oh no... but that's where the murderer'll strike next! If Will goes back home..." "...he'll have to pass through Devon! We've got to stop him!" finished Mikie. Tim sprang up. "Right, here's what we do. Matthew, follow him and make sure he doesn't get on the train. Janet, try and phone him and stop him. Chris, Kim, you help me with Martin; we'll need to phone the police and get things sorted. Eleanor and Mikie, see if you can phone the station to find out who's travelling today down to Cornwall. Someone on that train has to be the murderer!" As soon as he finished speaking, the group dispersed with speed and anxiety. *** "No! You can't make me go back!" He'd been like this since Cambridge station. Now as they moved through the tube from King's Cross to Paddington, Matthew was feeling like he should give up but knew that he shouldn't. "But surely you can see that this is exactly how the muderer's planned this? You remember the rhyme - 'Eight little Indians going down to Devon, One got left behind and then there were seven.'?" "Then that's fine," snarled Will. "It only says 'left behind'! I'll go back home and stay there. Besides, there aren't eight of us, just two. And you're not coming with me!" Will ran off into the crowd of lunchtime commuters. Matthew groaned and ran after him. *** "Certainly sir, you need the Penzance train which is on platform 2. You have been booked a seat on the train in coach C, seat 39F." The clerk handed over the ticket and seat reference and Will turned away from the counter and Matthew bounded up to him. "You can't get on that train. I won't let you!" Matthew's face was set, his purpose clear. "You can't make me do anything. I have a ticket and a train to catch. Get out of my way." Matthew sighed. "Then I'm coming with you. At least with two of us, we can look after each other." "If you must..." *** They found coach C and climbed in. Will, exhausted after the morning fell into his seat and went to sleep. Matthew, ever alert, kept watch over everything. About two hours into the journey Will was fast asleep, the carriage was deserted and Matthew needed to visit the toilet. He got up and walked to the other end of the carriage slowly, making sure that there was no-one else in the carriage. Before he reached the sliding door at the end though, he heard from behind him a scuffle, a murmur and a high-pitched beeping sound which made him turn around and run back, train lurching as it went. Odd... Will was sleeping just as soundly as before. Matthew prodded him. "Will?" The body flopped forward to reveal a fine needle sticking out of the fabric which must have penetrated the top of the spinal cord the moment he sat down. On it, curiously, was the reservation confirmation ticket over which was scrawled 'Eight little Indians going down to Devon, One got left behind and then there were seven...' *** "...but I don't see how it could have got there! I only turned my back for ten seconds and there was no-one else in the carriage!" Janet had put her phone on loud so that everyone could hear what Matthew was saying. "Alright, just get back here.. and be careful." Janet pushed the red button and terminated Matthew's call. "Did anyone have any luck?" "The police were useless," sighed Tim. "We tried all afternoon to get some answers but they just wouldn't say anything." ***** "Ah, here's Will. And I'm expecting to go for Matthew in a moment." "So that's how you've been doing it," said Martin in amazement. "I had no idea!" A wry smile. "Yes, but first to let them know the news..." The speaker pulled out a phone, attached a small box to it and typed in a number. As it rung, the speaker then attached something to his throat and spoke in a lilting female Irish voice. "Good afternoon, Miss Cottrell? My name is DCI Jardine of the Metropolitan Police. I'm afraid to say that the body of Matthew Dyer was found a few minutes ago at Paddington tube station sliced clean in two by a train... Well, the reason we phoned you was that on the top half of the body was a sheet of paper giving your phone number and instructions to phone you. The strange thing is that in his hands were lots of sticks and what seems to be a verse of a rhyme on the paper... You don't want me to read it?... I'm sorry to have to give you the news... If there's anything I can do... Alright, thanks... Goodbye, Miss Cottrell." The speaker pulled off the throat attachments and the voice changed back to normal. "Now to go and fetch him. You three'll be OK here?" They nodded and smiled. *** Janet looked at the five others and burst into tears.
This year, however, seems to have started with a very large and very destructive bang. A strange, if slightly confused, group planted a large bomb seemingly to destroy Peter Graves. The agent they used to carry out this mission was ostensibly female, and quoted a large amount of Shakespeare whilst trying to get the quotes book off the aforementioned minister, something she failed to do. It is after this that a link is found between Peter Graves, Steven Cooper and the Archbishop of Canterbury, putting Anglicans in the light of suspicion and Steven Cooper in great danger. After a lot of strange occurences, the Methsoccers find that Steven has been killed, and an Agatha Christie-esque murder sequence is about to whittle their numbers down from ten to none. Martin is the first to fall, supposedly poisoned by not drinking tea. After this Will and Matthew also die in separate incidents on the trains. Nevertheless, Steven, Martin and Will are not dead. Someone is using some sort of voice modification device to phone the Methsoccers and tell them their friends are dead, leaving fake bodies in place of real ones. Who can be doing this, and how have they ensured that no-one sees a 'murder' take place? Who wants to put the Methsoccers through such an ordeal? Read on...
Matthew sat forward. "Why are you doing it though? I don't know about anyone else but I was really upset when I heard that Steven and Martin had died; why are you putting us through this?" The speaker smiled. "That I cannot answer until it's all finished. Still, I do agree that we could give them some consolation... Tell you what, let's send them a clue. I'm sure that they won't mind that." *** Janet, Chris, Kim, Eleanor, Mikie and Tim were sitting next day on the banks of the Cam. They sat in silence, no-one saying a word, no matter how much needed to be said. Each one involuntarily kept scanning the air for bees, as each one knew that these were the harbingers of the next death. Tim was the first to speak. "Why don't we get outside help?" "Like whom?" asked Chris. "Dave? He had some strange gadgets to do with time. Perhaps we could ask him to use them and show us what's going on." "It's worth a try, I suppose... Have you texted him recently, Janet?" Janet looked up. "No, I haven't since this whole thing began. He's busy working on his MSc up at Jodrell and I haven't had the heart to tell him what's been going on." "Didn't Martin email him to let him know that the revue was off?" put in Kim. "Yes, but I doubt he would have been specific. I'll text him to see if he can come down." They sat in anxious silence as Janet tapped on the keypad, then finally put the phone down with a sigh. "Now we wait." Almost instantly her phone lit up and beeped. Looking confused, she read the message out. "'I have nothing to do with what's happening, and I'm sure you'll work it out. Watch and keep looking.'" "What's that supposed to mean?" asked Tim, who was looking slightly annoyed. "Typical Dave, enigmatic and telling us nothing." "Wait!" cried Janet. "I have an idea!" They all turned in what seemed to be genuine surprise at this revelation. "Hey, I'm not that stupid," she said indignantly. "Dave just said 'keep looking'. Well, so far no-one has actually seen a murder take place, have they?" They shrugged. "I think that if we are all looking at each other, then nothing can happen. Just watch!" She got up and marched over to a bush on the bank. "Don't go near that! There are bees there!" shouted Kim in alarm. "It's OK, they won't harm me... Now, everybody look away..." "Are you sure that's wise?" asked Eleanor with genuine fear in her voice. "Yes, yes.. If this works, then we'll know for certain... Now turn away!" They all turned round and a couple of seconds later there was a gasp and a thud from behind them. All of them whipped round again to see Janet's body face-down in the mud with a large red wheal upon her neck. Beside the body was a small thermometer.
"What did it mean then, 'Made in Cambridge by Ray Cench'? What sort of thing is that to write on a thermometer anyway?" He looked at Kim sitting beside him, her face stained with tears. "I'm sorry Kim, but we've got to make some headway on this... This is the only clue we have!" Kim made no sound. Chris continued, "The only way round this that I can see is going to the public records office. I'm sure there'll be something in the UL... I know it's probably suicide but I think that if Janet was ready to do what she did on a hunch, then we don't have too much to fear." Kim still made no sound, but nodded slightly. *** Two hours later Mikie and Eleanor arrived at Tim's room. "I was just called by DCI Jardine. Apparently Chris and Kim were found earlier today looking in the periodicals section in the West Room of the UL. Chris was found bludgeoned to death with a copy of the Methodist Law, open at the page on chaplains, and Kim was found suffocated to death in the Social Sciences section by a book about fishing. On them were the lines from the poem that we all know and love, although Kim's had been changed to read 'Six little indians going out to C' - that's how she managed to die in a relatively landlocked county..." "What do we do now?" *** Meanwhile, in that well-furnished room, they had finished getting Kim and Chris up to speed. After dinner they sat down again with tea and coffee and the man in charge got out what looked like a slide projector. "Well done though," he said, "for working out where to go next. The thermometer was an obvious clue to let you know you would be getting warmer, I suppose..." "So it's just Mikie, Eleanor and Tim left now - what's going to happen?" asked Janet, clearly relieved to be back with her best friend again. She and Kim had not been out of each other's arms or not crying since she and Chris arrived. "Well, this is where it gets interesting. This device here that will allow us to see what Eleanor is dreaming about. Let's see..." He switched it on, and a strange sea of colours lit the far wall. Slowly, hazily, blurred faces came into view, and pained voices filled the room. Steven's face floated onto the wall. 'Why didn't you see what's been going on? Save us Eleanor...' Martin was next: 'I was president, but that obviously didn't mean anything to you... Save us Eleanor...' Will was next: 'I was a first year, why didn't you try and save me? Save us Eleanor...' He switched off the projector. "That's quite enough of that, I think. Now we have to see what she does..."
*** "Is there any chance we could get this over with please?" moaned Kim. "I'd like to go back home and it's so cruel putting everyone through this..." They were sitting around watching what was happening on a screen in the well- furnished room. There was a murmur of agreement. The man in charge sat back and smiled in response. "You don't understand quite what's going on, and I don't blame you for thinking how you do. But trust me; I know that we just have to wait a little longer... although I don't see any harm in hurrying things along. Whom would you like here next - Tim, or Michael?" There was a hushed silence around the room. "No preference? Never mind, I'll get one of them myself. I shall return presently." The man looked down at his wrist, pushed a few buttons on his watch and disappeared. *** Eleanor stood with the coffee jar shaking in sympathy with her hand. This was the third mugful she was making, not that she could hold the finished brew still long enough for her to do much more than spill it over the counter. She sighed a sigh of fear and remorse; she knew that soon this strange death would come near and strike her down as it had done eight of the people in her care; eight of her friends. Why was this happening? And why did she get the feeling that she was going to be the last? With a loud crash, the front door to her rooms went flying in pieces through the hall. She swung round to see a figure silhouetted against the morning light. The dread that had been playing on her mind now grew to fill her very soul. "Mikie was found dead this morning, suffocated by his teddy bear. Did you know?" Eleanor nodded. Tim marched forward, a deranged glint in his eye. "Well," he shouted, "I thought we could hurry it up. Which do you want -" here he produced a handgun and a rope -" the gun or the noose? Come on!" She stepped away in fear. "Tim, let's not do this. We don't have to bend to it at all, just put it down." It was hard for her to get the words out; her mouth was dry and her voice shaking. "Look! I'll even put it up for you!" He stepped to some shelving and tied the rope up. "Now, do you want to go first or shall I?" "P-please Tim, don't do this. You mustn't do this, you mustn't give in!" He picked up the gun and marched over to the cowering figure in the corner. "Then prepare yourself!" The seconds slowed to a crawl. With her eyes shut, the sound of the safety catch being released took ages and made its own blast in her mind. In those last few moments a burst of energy came through her. "NO!" she cried. "You - can't - do - this!" She grabbed the gun. Tim resisted, his finger continually on the trigger, the metal biting into his skin. They fell to the floor and struggled until a loud explosion rocked through the room.
Once her mind had recovered from the shock, many voices within started to shout at her. She was a murderess - but she'd done it in self-defence! - She has no option... - The noose is just there... It was true, the noose was just there. Nine of her friends were now dead, and she had killed one of them in cold blood. What else was there to do but conform to the hateful rhyme. One little Indian, left all alone. She picked herself up and crossed to the shelving. In the confusion of her mind it seemed like the best thing to do. She stepped on a footstool and began to put the noose around her neck. From her vantage point, she could see the blood creeping along the floor, the face drained and white. What else was she to do? Might as well get it over and done with. Why wait? "No!" she cried, throwing the rope to the floor. "I can't do this! Whatever is happening stops here, and I will not let some silly rhyme dictate my actions! I have a job to do here to minister to people and my faith will not let me throw my life away, no matter how hard it gets!" And with this, she fell to the floor crying. With this, the walls of the room started to shake and blur. Eleanor looked up through bleary eyes and sobbed. As the figures of eight Methsoccers began to materialise and then rush over to help her, that was all she could stand, and felt unconsciousness sweep over her. *** "Do you think she's going to be alright?" These were the first words that filtered through to Eleanor's brain. They sounded like Janet's, but that wasn't possible - she'd seen her dead body by the Cam. "Well, she's made a pretty neat hole in Tim. Lucky we won't have to fix that..." That voice was even more familiar. But no, he couldn't be alive. "P-peter?" she mumbled. The smiling, hirsute face beamed avuncularly over her. "Ah, you're awake. Welcome back - and congratulations!" "Congratulations? What- what do you mean?" she asked dreamily, more faces coming into view and, more importantly, focus. "You've passed, Reverend Eleanor Jackson." "Reverend?" she said, in pausing chorus with the others. "Yes. I can now give you the full story, and put everyone at ease. Even Tim" - he cast a glance over at the corpse on the floor - "can get a bit of rest soon." "I had an idea last year when Dave showed me this watch." He pointed down at it and the display, which was familiar to a few Methsoccers from the previous retreat, read 'Earth - Human era, 2003, November, 3rd, Local time: 11:15'. "I had the idea then to use it as a test for new ministers, to see how they would handle circumstances of extreme stress. With a few more useful gadgets from Dave, I was able to create this whole scenario. The dummies I used for some of you I thought were exceptionally good, and it was just a case of popping in at the right time and swapping them over. "Of course, I had to get rid of myself first, in order not to raise suspicion. I rigged the vestry with explosives and made Kate believe that someone was after the Quotes Book, then zapped out before the blast happened." "But why? Why go through all that?" "Because I wanted actual data. I wanted to see how well you performed in the field under such stress. It pained me to do it to you, but I think the results show that you will be an outstanding chaplain and minister. Besides, once I set the temporal coordinates on this gadget here, we'll go back to before this all happened and none of you will remember this at all. I have the entire thing on video, and I shall use this as evidence for your immediate promotion. Now, who wants to go home?" A chorus of bemused cheering met his ears as he reached down and pushed the button on the handset, and everything went black. *** Blackness. Complete disorientation. A frenzied whirr of multicoloured specks amidst the darkness. A dull roaring in the back of the mind. Whole self adrift. Body numb. No world now. No dreams here. Falling beyond oblivion. From somewhere in the nothingness, gradually the dull roaring gets louder. The whirring blackness closes in, tighter, and tighter and becomes a flickering red hue. Things are changing. A stench of burning. A raw breeze on the face. Eyes open. Involuntary gasping for air. The grey sky. Body still numb. "Will." "Will." Just a confused, grey sky. Deep, somnolent cloud. "Will!" Still, deadening lostness. "WILL!" And suddenly, with a violent start, Will came to his senses. He was lying on the floor in the Upper Room. "The custard wasn't that bad!" said Dave. "Janet may have burnt it a bit, but really..." "I think it was because he tripped on that balloon and hit his head on the trolley. Are you alright, Will?" Janet leant over him and checked a lump on his head. "I-I think so... it's just... I've got the strangest feeling that that had happened before..." ****** The End of Phase 4!
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