The Edward King Series Books 1-3 Read online

  “Kelly?” she heard. That’s when her eyes opened. She glanced at the clock in front of her. It read 5.38 a.m. Why on earth was she awake?

  “Kelly?” came the whisper beside her.

  “What?” she whispered, leaning her head around to peer at Doug. He was now facing the other way, and all she could see was the back of his head.

  “Kelly?” she heard him whisper again.

  She leant up, peering over at him. She still couldn’t see his face, so she leant herself around him a bit more. Finally, she could see him. He was fast asleep. His breathing was heavy and his eyes welded shut, evidently in a deep, deep sleep.

  She frowned and peered around the rest of the room. Had she heard correctly? It was a light whisper, but she was sure she heard her name.

  It could have been anything, she told herself. The wind, maybe. Except there wasn’t any wind. A glance beneath the curtains behind the head of the bed showed her that the window was shut and the leaves of a nearby tree were motionless.

  “Kelly?”

  She turned her head around in a rapid motion, staring wide-eyed at Doug.

  Fast asleep. Not a movement. Breathing heavily.

  She lay herself back down. She was imagining things, that’s what it was. It was nothing. No one was whispering her name, no one was talking to her.

  This is what happened before. You thought you heard something and they locked you away…

  Except this time, she knew it was all in her head. She knew it wasn’t real. She had probably just thought she had heard something. She was barely awake; she was probably not completely aware of her surroundings and it could be anything making that noise and her mind is simply interpreting it as her name.

  With that reassurance, she closed her eyes, drifting off into a silent, dreamless sleep.

  6

  15 October 2001

  Jason sat back in his chair with his coat neatly folded over his lap, stroking his beard. He felt old. He hadn’t considered fifty-four to be ‘old age,’ but sat in this lecture theatre with numerous students more than half his age, he felt it. They were all so optimistic, bright-eyed and, unfortunately for them, gullible. Young people were always the most perceptible to fraudulent paranormal exploits, and he felt it was his duty to do them the service of saving them from being duped.

  He flipped over the flyer in his hand.

  ‘Derek Lansdale, Professor of Parapsychology and Paranormal Science and author of ‘The Truth about Exorcisms’ performs a guest lecture at our university on Thursday morning.’

  How could he resist?

  The lights dimmed slightly and the room hushed into silence. A man, possibly around ten years younger than him, made his way to the front with a spring in his step and a happy smile. He was immaculately dressed, with a waistcoat underneath a grey suit, his black tie done up and his goatee neatly groomed. He gave the image of someone wise, someone people would listen to. It was all part of the con, as far as Jason was concerned. To be successfully deceptive, you need to look the part.

  With a gadget in his hand, he pressed a button and a PowerPoint was projected upon a large screen in front of him, showing a picture of him and two younger men.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen and thank you so much for being here,” he began, confidently making eye contact with people around the room with a genuine smile. “It is a pleasure to be here. Now, I imagine you could be divided into two sets of people. The first, believers; you know in your heart of hearts that the paranormal is true. Maybe you’ve witnessed it. Maybe you’ve been hurt by it. Or maybe you just can’t deny the possibility. Then there are the rest of you. Sceptics. People who have come here to entertain the idea. To see what crazy nonsense I was going to come out with.”

  Jason glanced at the faces around him. Some people nodded, smiling to the person next to them in acknowledgement, already transfixed on the man in front of them.

  “As you can see on the screen, this is my team. Eddie and Levi. And yes, those are their genuine names.”

  A few chuckles.

  “Between us, we have attended upwards of sixty exorcisms. Each of them a tragic case of a demon inhabiting the body of its victim. These victims are typically young women, teenagers, or children, though we have come across numerous adult cases as well.”

  He removed his coat and placed it on the back of a chair. He rolled up his sleeves, allowing a few moments of silence; a sign of authority, as Jason interpreted it. Command an audience by letting them know you are not scared to cease talking to gather your thoughts, not to be rushed.

  “First thing we need to do when we attend a potential case is identify whether the victim needs spiritual or mental help. Not every case we attend requires an exorcism. In fact, I’d say less than two percent of people who believe themselves to be possessed are actually possessed. Quite often it will result in us saying to the parents, or family, that this person needs to go to a doctor, not to an exorcist. So how do we identify who needs our help and who doesn’t?”

  Derek clicked his gadget and the projection moved along a slide, with the title ‘Unlearnt Skills.’

  “There are numerous things we look out for, particularly things they could do that they couldn’t do before. Firstly, is the ability to speak in tongues. Latin in particular, as it is not a language spoken or used in modern age, is one to look out for – it is unlikely in this day and age a child would have picked up Latin from their friends at school. And with any other language, say French or Italian, we must look at that victim’s past and ensure there is no-where else they could have attained that language from, directly or indirectly.

  “Likewise, do they have any skillsets that seems unnatural for them? A six-year-old girl lifting a bed, perhaps. Speaking in more than one voice at a time.”

  He clicked onto the next slide. Jason took his reading glasses out of his pocket and put them on. The title of the slide read ‘Mental and Emotional Torment.’

  “Fear, depression, voices, hearing voices no one else does, anger, rejection of other people, emotional breakdowns. Again, one needs to ensure these are not just mental health issues, so these symptoms would need to be alongside stronger symptoms also.”

  He clicked onto the next slide, reading ‘Abilities of the Unnatural and the Occult.’

  “Does their skin burn and smoke on crosses and holy water? Sexual attraction toward animals – I was once confronted with a twelve-year-old girl who had sex with a pig on her family’s farm.” A few people groaned and flinched away. “Fighting ability, martial arts perhaps. Obsessions with pain, harsh words, rejecting the Bible.”

  He clicked onto another slide that read ‘Paranormal Ability.’

  “And perhaps the most important, and definitive, identification of a demon being present. Do they have abilities that are beyond that of a human? Levitation in the air, telekinesis, throwing objects around the room that they are nowhere near, knowing things about complete strangers they couldn’t have known before.”

  Derek acknowledged a young man with his hand up and pointed toward him.

  “Yes?”

  “So have you actually seen, like, some chick floating in the air?”

  Derek chuckled to himself. “Well yes, as you have put it, we have seen a ‘chick floating in the air.’ Almost all the victims we have helped have levitated. It is a sure sign that their problems are not psychologically based. How many mental health victims, after all, do you know who have risen ten feet off the ground?”

  Jason sighed with exasperation. He was getting agitated. It was almost time. Enough of this man conning these young, impressionable people. They needed to be told the truth.

  “In fact,” Derek continued. “My colleague, Edward, has himself been risen off the ground. He has even been taken to the other side to confront the demon in hell itself.”

  “Enough!” Jason bellowed, his declaration echoing against the walls. Every face abruptly turned and gawped at him. Derek’s face transformed into a frown as he inst
antly glared in Jason’s direction. “Have you any videos of this? Any evidence of what you are claiming?”

  “I do not have video evidence, I am afraid,” Derek replied, his voice smeared with agitation. “We have tried a few times, but the video camera either lost its power or was destroyed by being thrown across the room.”

  “That’s convenient, isn’t it?” Jason boomed out in his loud, deep voice. “You’re telling me, in this day and age, with the equipment you have available, the demons have somehow destroyed it?”

  “I’m not sure what it is you are accusing me of, Mr…?”

  “Aslan. Jason Aslan.”

  “… Mr Aslan. But I assure you, I do not lie.”

  “Then you don’t lie and you’re part of some self-induced group hallucination, that’s fine. Maybe it’s you that needs the mental help then, huh?”

  Derek clicked his knuckles together, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Half the room was staring at Jason, half at Derek. No one could move. The tension was unbearable. Derek contemplated his answer, taking his time, not being rushed by anyone, attempting to retain authority in the situation.

  “Mr Aslan, if you have any questions, I will be more than willing to answer them at the end. If you would like to have a conversation afterwards even, I would more than happily oblige.”

  Jason rose, standing with his face in a snarl, jabbing his finger toward the man stood before him.

  “I will not be engaging you in any sort of question and answer session, thank you very much. I have spent my life debunking frauds like you, and not once have I come across someone who could provide me with the damndest bit of evidence. And you, sir, are no different.”

  “On the contrary, I assure you that if you came along to one of these exorcisms, you would be shown otherwise.”

  Jason laughed loudly. This man was persistent. Most would have run off stage bawling by now, with no counter-argument, guilty at being found out. Not this guy. This guy was stubborn.

  “How can someone fund what you do? Have you subjected yourself to tests? A laboratory setting? Somewhere where all the extraneous variables can be controlled? Where we can ensure you aren’t fooling us?”

  “I’m not here for an argument about the integrity of –”

  “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, Professor. And as far as I can see, all we have is your word.”

  “Mr Aslan, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Jason had no intention of staying, but he was not about to be removed on anybody else’s terms. He gathered up his coat and made his way to the front of the auditorium, placing his belongings by the door. He strolled slowly to the front, alongside Derek, who stood scowling at him. Ignoring Derek, he turned to the eyes of the packed room that were already transfixed on him.

  “Don’t be fools, ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the congregation before him. “Don’t let this man make you believe something because you want to believe it.”

  “Mr Aslan, I asked you to leave –”

  “You are young, so you are a good group of people to con,” Jason continued, completely ignoring the instructions to leave. “Don’t let him.”

  With a beam at the audience and a blanking of Derek standing next to him with his hands on his hip, he made his way to the door.

  He made a point of stopping and taking his time in putting his coat on. Through one sleeve, then the other, then straightening up his collar and his sleeves. After ensuring that he had thoroughly aggravated the so-called paranormal expert, he made his way through the door and left.

  7

  18 October 2001

  “So, what are we doing here?” enquired Jenny, inquisitive yet hesitant. She was intrigued to see what Eddie could do, but at the same time cautious about meddling in what she didn’t fully understand.

  “Well,” Eddie began, poised on the edge of her garden bench. He remembered when he was still grieving over his sister’s death, when he was a loser, an alcoholic, with no direction; before he had even conceived of the gift he supposedly had. He lived on the sofa in that living room adjacent to this garden. He was exorcised on that sofa. He’d confronted many demons in there, both literally and metaphorically.

  And now here he was. Sat with his best friend, his childhood confidant, his lifetime friend. Showing her what he could do. He felt a little proud that she was now in awe of him, having come so far.

  “I have this gift,” he continued. “Or so Derek tells me. I don’t know.”

  “But you told me about that exorcism where you freed that girl, right? You closed your eyes and saw the demon in her room from the car outside. How can you not think you have a gift?”

  He smiled. He couldn’t help feeling a little smug. With the years of hurt he had endured throughout her companionship, this was the first time she was avidly reinforcing that he could do something. For the first time without that look in her eye where she was obviously making stuff up to make him feel better.

  “Yeah, but I mean. I don’t understand why. Or how. It’s just so… confusing.”

  Jenny smiled sympathetically, nodding to show her understanding. And he wasn’t lying. There was so much overwhelming pressure on him now to make something of these inherent powers.

  “I need to find out what these powers are, what I can do. I need your help.”

  “And how can I help?” she answered, bemused.

  “I need to try stuff on you. And I promise you won’t get hurt.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “I mean, I promise you won’t get badly hurt.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. She was so great. “What is it?”

  He withdrew a screwed-up piece of paper with numerous scribbles on it.

  “This is a spell, where I supposedly chant the incantation, whilst putting my hand on your chest, and if I am worthy – by that it means, like, if I have powers – then, supposedly, it will, I mean, probably, it will expel the demon.”

  “Okay.”

  “But, I mean, obviously, you don’t have the demon. So it will just retrieve some of your energy, it will give me some kind of vision that shows you are clean.”

  “Clean?”

  “Free of demons.”

  She took a deep, inward breath as she deliberated. Eddie could see she was still wary, but at the same time, eager to help him. He was always able to rely on her, and he wouldn’t have imagined asking anyone else in the world.

  “Right, okay. What do I need to do?”

  “Just, like, twist this way, lie down…”

  He twisted his body in a circular motion to indicate that she needed to lay down on the bench. Gathering herself, mentally preparing, she turned and lay down.

  “Okay, what now?”

  “Just close your eyes.”

  She closed her eyes. She waited.

  He psyched himself up; clenched his fists, shook his arms, nodded to himself, and began whispering, “Come on, come on, come on.”

  He knew not to put everything on this, not to invest all his belief in what he could do in this tiny moment, this first attempt. But, he was excited. He was sceptical. He wanted so much for it to be perfect.

  He placed his hand over her heart and pressed, pushing down upon her. She gripped the side of the bench.

  “Relax,” he told her. She did.

  He recalled the words in his mind. Latin. Always bloody Latin.

  “De medio tollere, tolle de medio,” he spoke at a slow pace and deep pitch, allowing each syllable to sound itself out. “Manum tuam et peccator.”

  Nothing.

  He tried again.

  “De medio tollere, toll de medio. Manum tuam et peccator.”

  His arm vibrated. He had a slight convulsion. She shook.

  “De medio tollere, toll de medio. Manum tuam et peccator.”

  And just as it felt like the energy was flowing through his arm, was surging out of him, shaking her – it ceased.

  All movements stopped.
r />   The wind brushed against his face. He felt rain in the air.

  Jenny’s eyes stayed closed and her body stayed still. His body did nothing.

  His face scrunched up in anguish.

  “De medio tollere, toll de medio! Manum tuam et peccator!”

  His screams echoed around the garden.

  Nothing. Not a movement. Not a twitch.

  Whatever had started happening was not happening. It hadn’t worked.

  With a sigh, he slumped down on the floor beside the bench.

  “You can get up now, it hasn’t worked.”

  Jenny open her eyes. Readjusting to the light, she sat up, watching him, feeling his disappointment, recognising that familiar pout, the irritated sulk he would put on when things didn’t go his way.

  “We can try it again.”

  “No. I read it properly. It didn’t…”

  He bowed his head.

  Maybe Derek’s wrong. Maybe he’s getting carried away. Maybe I’m getting carried away.

  “You know this doesn’t mean anything, Eddie.”

  He shook his head, bit his tongue, and looked away from her. He felt her hands stroking his hair and, before he knew it, she had slumped down next to him and taken his hand in hers.

  “I know you had a lot pegged on this.”

  “Nah, it’s fine, I mean –”

  “Eddie. You don’t pretend with me.”

  He closed his eyes. Wiped away tears even though there weren’t any there. He looked at Jenny, who was looking at him with that soothing smile.

  “We’ll try again. Keep going.”

  He nodded and said nothing.

  8

  23 October 2001

  Kelly spread out on the sofa, completely knackered. She had spent the last few weeks with Doug and had spent very little time away from her bed. The only real break she’d had from her bed was when they went to his bed. She was also aware of how cheap the bed was and, in all honesty, was becoming worried they were eventually going to break it.