Interlude

The image beckoned to him, its eyes wide and dark and supremely evil, its face twisted, no longer the gentle, youthful countenance which he had warmed to barely twelve hours before. Smiling, although not a smile but a hideous parody of one, the man extended his hand once more, finger crooked, gaze burning into his head. Ah....had she been right, after all? Were those tales true, despite the charm, despite the warmth, despite the explanations and alternatives? Shuddering in anticipation of who could determine what, he slower moved closer to the church. A shadow followed him, but as he glanced behind, slipped away into the black, fluttering like a ghost across the churchyard to its master. For it was true, and that was he, the master of shadows.

The priest beckoned once again.

II

Sunday 1st. This morning I spent in the church, until about eleven, when Father Rycliffe took me aside and asked if anything was wrong. I didn't know what to say; how can I give voice to what I'm feeling, when I can't even be sure of it in my own heart? So I said that everything was fine, that I was just tired....he didn't believe me, I know. But then, who would? There is no way to conceal now the torment that I am feeling, the chaos that reigns within me. I cannot fight it, I cannot control it, and worst of all, I cannot express it. God help me!

Tuesday 3rd. It's grown worse. I can hide my pain no longer; I have to find some way to tell someone. Anyone. They can't help me; I am beyond help, I think. But the confusion....the confusion, the fear, is so great that it has to manifest itself in some way, or else I'll go insane.

Perhaps I am already insane. That would explain everything! It would be so much easier, too, so much less pain. Simply to slip away into some other, less demanding, world. Here they ask of me, always they ask of me, "How can we help? Let us help." Worse, they say "let God help you, pray to Him, He is there for all of us." Ah, they know not what they do. They can't realise the anguish which those few well-meaning words have caused me. I have asked for guidance, for forgiveness; but not for months now, not for months. If only they knew. But how can I explain? Must go; Father Rycliffe is calling me.

Friday 6th? I've been here for what feels like days, although it can only be twenty four hours at the most, I think. Oh, I wish they'd lock me here ad throw away the key. But they won't; they tell me to leave, to join them, to find solace in their company and their prayer. Dear God! Don't they know what they're asking! There is no solace anymore, no sanctity, no peace, for me. It does not exist within me and I cannot find it in this world, and I cannot help but hate it in others, how can they be so fulfilled, so calm, so happy, so contented? Why are they not in chaos as I am? Why me? Why only me? God! Answer! Oh sweet Jesus, why don't you answer?

The night....is dark. I can't see outside any more. Have they gone to bed? Yes, no sounds. They sleep, I think; I do not. Like Macbeth, I sleep no more. The storm is growing, I feel it. There is no way to deny it anymore, no other possible explanation; I can no longer pass it off as exhaustion, stress, grief. If only I were mad!

The chaos grows with the storm, it consumes me. I can't fight it, not alone. I do not have the strength, and I am not sure that I ever did. Help me! Please! I can't go on any longer. I have to find peace. I have to find peace. I have to find peace. I have to find peace. I haveto find peace IhavetofindpeaceIhavetofind

Our Father who art in Heaven hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come thy will done on Earth as it is in Heaven give us this day....give us this....give...

III

Rachel Corrigan was sipping hot cocoa in the lounge when Derek entered. His expression was grim. She looked up.

"How is he?"

"Have you read this?" She put down her cup and leaned forward to take the slim book from Derek's hand.

"What is it?"

"Philip's journal." She gazed at him expectantly, but he offered no further elucidation. After a long moment, she shrugged, and opened the book to its first page. Rayne simply sat and stared at her as she read, his eyes troubled. As she turned the pages, her hand went slowly to her mouth, and stayed there. Finally she put the book down.

"Oh my God. Have you spoken to him about this?"

"He's still sleeping. I don't want to disturb him unless it's absolutely necessary; I don't think he's rested for some days."

"I agree." Rachel nodded. "But still, we have to find out what is going on inside of him that would cause....this." She paused, nibbling her lip, and when Derek didn't reply, she went on: "That journal....is the inner thoughts of someone suffering greatly, and entirely unable to explain his condition even to himself. This is the part that worries me most," she gestured to the page, "he writes the same sentence repeatedly, running the words together; and here, the Lord's Prayer, very disjointed, incoherent. These phrases could be an attempt by Philip's subconscious to express the chaos he claims to be feeling....and that he's trapped, and feels that no- one can help."

"That concerns me. I want your opinion as a psychiatrist, Rachel....could this be some kind of psychological disorder?"

"You mean, abnormal psychology? An illness? Maybe we're overreacting here; perhaps he's just stressed out, lonely, confused. He may be having a crisis of faith, that's happened before. I think we should rule out that before we jump to any conclusions." Derek closed his eyes briefly, then nodded.

"I'll talk to him if you want me to." Corrigan suggested gently, noting his drained appearance. "You should go to bed, you've been sitting up with him all night."

"I'm fine." He brushed off her concern. "I'm going to find out where Philip was staying, maybe talk to some of the people there. He mentioned a Father Rycliffe....that's where we'll start, I think."

"Derek....are you sure that this is necessary? It's not a case we're working on here."

"Philip asked for my help." Rayne told her stiffly. "And he's going to get it."

Interlude

Quietly, filled with fear now, the man headed for the door. It slid open without a sound. He slipped inside, knowing that somewhere within the priest was waiting. Moving swiftly he stepped through the vestry; now, before him, he saw the altar. The priest was standing there, his white cassock stained with blood at the sleeves, a remnant of the ritual he had performed barely yesterday. In his hands he held the chalice, and on the altar lay the dagger....it was time. The priest beckoned. He ignored it, and moved beyond, to the aisle, where he turned to face the crucifix at the head of the altar. He gazed up at it, and the face of Christ wad filled with anguish. Oh sweet Jesus....and the priest, his hands clasped before him, looked to the sky and laughed.

"Are you ready for Communion, Paul?"

IV

"Philip?" Gently, softly, Alex wiped the feverish sweat from his forehead with a cool damp cloth. "Can you hear me?"

"Alex....?" Slowly his eyes opened, and he gazed up at her. His eyes were wide, frightened, confused. She smiled at him reassuringly.

"Everything's okay now. You're at the house."

"Yes....the House." He murmured, his lilting accent making the words into music. She put her hand on his arm.

"Philip....do you remember coming here? When you arrived?"

"I came here....myself?" More alert now, he tried to sit up. She pushed him back firmly.

"Don't worry, just take it easy. You arrived here at about three in the morning, soaking wet from the storm. Derek let you in. Then you collapsed."

"I don't remember." His troubled gaze wandered around the room, as though somehow surveying his surroundings would help him recall. "I'm sorry."

"It's not important. We were just concerned....the weather was so bad last night, it seemed a hell of time to choose for a visit." She waited for Callaghan to reply, to mention the telephone call he had made....if he remembered that, of course. Seemingly he had not; he simply nodded, and leaned back. "Can't help you there."

"Hey!" A grinning face appeared at the door, moments later followed by the figure of Nick Boyle. "How you doin', Philip?"

"Not so bad, thanks. Seem to be suffering from selective amnesia, though."

"Want me to bash you over the head? That's what they do in the movies."

"I'll just leave you boys to your male bonding rituals, shall I?" Alex flashed Nick a quick glance which said as plainly as though she'd spoken: "Talk to him!" and left. Nick dropped comfortably into the beside chair she had vacated.

"You know, there must be something about us. You just can't stay away, can you?"

"I guess I just can't bring myself to tell you it's over, Nick." Suddenly serious, he sat up slightly and frowned. "I honestly can't remember what happened last night."

"What's the last thing you do remember?"

"I....I think....the church, yeah. I was in the church and something happened, I don't recall what....Father Rycliffe! I talked to him but I couldn't tell him what was going on, I tried to explain but I didn't know myself...."

"Wait, wait! Slow down! What are you talking about?"

"I felt....anchorless, out of control. Crazy, almost. Everything just seemed so confused. I didn't know who to turn to. Then last night I was just sitting in my room and....something came over me....it was so strange....I just can't understand it! I can't remember!" Frustrated, Philip slammed his fist down on the counterpane, his eyes glittering with anger. Startled but trying not to show it, Nick paced a soothing hand on his arm. "Relax, pal, okay? We'll get to the bottom of it." Philip nodded, still looking inflamed. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and Nick realised that his friend was suffering from extreme exhaustion, at the least. Attempting to lighten the mood a little, he remarked casually.

"You know, Derek's really freaked out about this."

"Hmm?"

"Well, turning up so early, and that call you made...." He waited to see if his gamble would pay off. It did.

"Telephone call? Here?"

"Yeah, you know. A little while ago. We've been trying to figure out where you were calling from."

"Right." He muttered distractedly. "I think....I think I remember that. What did I say?"

"That you needed help." Serious now, Boyle leaned forward. "And we will help you, you know that. But we need to know what the problem is first."

"Nick....It's difficult. I can hardly describe what I've been feeling; I don't even understand it myself. But I do know this: only the Legacy can help me. There is no other choice."

"Well, I found something."

"From Rycliffe?" Alex grinned at Kat, who had been helping her to locate information about a selection of artefacts from a huge stack of reference books. "Kat, why don't you go see what Rachel is doing? We can finish this later." The girl glanced from Alex to Derek, saw the expression on his face, and frowned.

"Is this about Philip?"

"Yes it is, Katherine. I need to talk to Alex." His tone was pleasant but firm. She sighed, and made for the door. Then she paused, turned.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Of course, honey." Alex soothed. "I know, why don't you and your mom go see him now? I bet he'd love to talk to you." Cheered, Kat bounced from the room. Derek watched her go with faint, grim amusement, then turned back to the expectant Alex.

"So, what did he say?"

"According to Rycliffe, Philip hasn't been himself for the past few weeks."

"In what way?" A worried look ruffled the smooth skin of her forehead. "Is he sick? Having a breakdown? What?"

"He couldn't say for sure. All he knows is that...."

"Derek!" The yell came from above, urgent, demanding, unmistakably Nick Boyle's.

"Oh, my God." Quickly the two rose and made for the stairs, Alex turning frightened eyes to her companion as they climbed together. They were running by the time they reached Philip's room.

"Nick!" Derek burst through the door, and immediately stopped dead. Philip Callaghan stood before him, eyes wild, hands clasped desperately in his hair, his expression torn between terror and bewilderment. Behind him, sprawled on the bed, lay Nick's motionless body. Reacting quickly, Alex ran to the figures on the bed while Derek attempted to subdue the priest. It wasn't difficult; the moment the Precept took Callaghan's arm, Philip slumped against him with a whimper of almost childlike helplessness. Derek picked him up easily and carried him through to his own peaceful room, laying him on the bed. At that instant Rachel, alarmed by the chaos, came along the corridor with Katherine; the little girl ran forward the moment she saw Philip's limp form, and Rachel caught her arm to pull her back; ferociously she tugged herself away from her mother and flung herself on the prostrate Callaghan.

"Rachel!" Derek snapped. "Nick's in Philip's room, he's hurt."

"Oh....what happened....?"

"Later; make sure Nick's okay, I'll deal with Philip, take Kat with you, tell Alex to go downstairs and fetch a damp cloth and a sedative." The commands came crisp, fast and clear; shaking off her confusion Rachel headed for Nick's room, brooking no argument from Katherine. Derek leaned over Philip. The priest was mumbling incoherently, his forehead dripping with perspiration. Derek caught the words, "God", "Help" and something which sounded like "stop" but little else. He sank down in a chair with a weary sigh. Without warning....

He was in a corridor, a long dark corridor. Before him lay Callaghan, his eyes open, his head lolling limply to one side. Then, oh then, his eyes blinked and he stood and he was now on his feet in the flashing of the fire and the dagger gleamed, thrusting through the air, ah, such speed, such silence, see the flame see the light, see the darkness closing in and now all around you is black....

He was sitting near the rear of the church ands the young girl was kneeling before the priest, her dark eyes full of adoration as she gazed up at him. She was six, seven, maybe....he reached behind him, took a chalice from the altar, the chalice which held the blood of Christ the Saviour - and he held it aloft, and it glittered in the pale light of the church, and he laughed....dashing the chalice to the floor, the priest whispered; "This, the blood of Christ...." the wine ran red along the aisle, soaking into the wood. The priest raised a dagger slowly in his hand; his face alight with love as he spoke to the child.

"Maria Kroftenstein, are you ready to become one with our Lord?" Ecstatically, she whispered: "Yes...." Taking the gleaming dagger from the altar, he raised it above his head, higher and higher, and it glittered, and it shone, and without hesitation he plunged it into the heart of the child who knelt before him, her chest rising to receive it, her eyes glazed and full of rapturous elation as the blade penetrated and her sweet blood began to flow....

"You are now truly one of His children." The priest whispered. At the rear of the church, a single man looked on in horror, a single soul screamed in anger at the violation which has just been committed....

"Derek!" Startled, Rayne glanced up quickly. Alex stood above him, her face concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"What....yes, of course. Fine." Distracted, his gaze wandered slowly to the limp figure on the bed. Alex followed his look and frowned.

"What happened?"

"You were there. You tell me."

"No....what happened to you? You've been sitting here for five minutes, Derek."

"I don't....remember, exactly....images....so many images...." Alex stared hard at him, and her expression softened.

"Nick's going to be fine, according to Rachel."

"What happened?" Alex swallowed. It was hard to believe.

"Philip....well, he went crazy."

"Crazy? Exactly what do you mean?" His tone had sharpened, Alex winced, and gazed at him apologetically.

"I don't know, that's what Nick told me. You'd better talk to him."

"I intend to." Without further ado Derek rose and headed for Philip's room, leaving Alex in charge of Callaghan.

"Look, he's not himself, okay? He didn't know what he was doing."

"I still need to find out what happened, Nick." Perched on the edge of the bed where Nick lay, Derek reached out to place a hand lightly on the younger man's shoulder.

"I know this is worrying to you; we're all concerned about Philip. You realise that the best way for us to help him is to know precisely what's going on in his mind. We can't understand what's going on, Nick, if you won't tell us what just occurred between the two of you." Boyle heaved a sigh. It was clear that he wasn't going to be able to spare Philip; the priest would have to explain himself sooner or later. Knowing Derek as well as he did, Nick also knew that the Precept would do everything he could to help Callaghan get over whatever it was that was affecting him so profoundly.

"He just....lost it, I don't know how to explain better."

"Philip attacked you?"

"Yeah....yeah. he attacked me, but he didn't know what he was doing, Derek. It was almost as of....as if it weren't really him, you know?" Quietly, Derek nodded. "He was yelling, and then he got up and swung a punch at me. I didn't fight back because I was worried about hurting him. And he was so damn angry, I don't understand it."

"Did you say anything to him that may have provoked that kind of response?"

"No, of course I didn't! Look....it's probably stress or something, right?" Rayne sighed, and massaged his temples with the balls of his fingers. "I don't know, Nick. But I don't think so." Rayne was not about to lie to his young companion; in this situation, that could be dangerous.

"Then what is it?"

"Do you feel up to coming downstairs? I think that the answer to your questions is something everyone should hear."