Demon Days

A dark fantasy, by Anthony Harrington

De: Anthony Harrington

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

When Detective Inspector Greelie is called in to investigate what should have been an open and shut case, involving the rape of Kathryn O'Neal and the near-fatal stabbing of her sister by a local man from the village where the sisters are on holiday, he is presented with a problem that swiftly spirals out of control. With an old-fashioned Scottish preacher quoting the Book of Revelations, evidence of Satanic Circles and a murderous villain called McKenzie out to harm Kathryn, Greelie soon finds that normal police procedures are of very limited use when confronted with the age-old battle of good against evil.

Kathryn O’Neal’s breath came in uncomfortable rattles and wheezes, the effect of a chest infection stemming, the doctors had told DI Greelie, from her inhaling the icy waters of the loch.
“The bastard evidently tried to drown her either during or immediately after the rape,” Doctor Sarah Hemmings, the senior physician in charge of Miss O’Neal’s case, had told him.
“She had water in her lungs, her ear canals, everywhere. That, together with the finger marks on the back and sides of her neck, suggests that he held her head underwater while bending her across his left arm. She has livid bruising to her right side which also shows clear finger marks. See?”
To demonstrate her point, Dr Hemmings had drawn aside the sheet, making it possible for Greelie to view the affected area. What he had seen had made him still more certain that McDougal had richly deserved his fate. His only regret was that the man’s demise had not been brought about in a more explicable, straightforward fashion.
If only Miss O’Neal would wake up! He had asked the doctors, the nurses, anyone he could find, for their opinion as to when she might be expected to regain consciousness. The reply was always the same.
“It could happen at any time. We just have to wait.”
On impulse he went to the bedside and leaned a little over the slight figure on the bed, studying her through half-closed eyes. She was a pretty lady, no question. Her shoulder-length red hair lay spread out on either side across the white pillows in a mass of tangled curls. Her face was unmarked, despite her ordeal. Her eyes moved to and fro underneath her eyelids.
“Come on Kathryn,” he murmured, not for the first time, “be a brave girl. Make an effort now. Open your eyes.”
The figure on the bed moaned and stirred.
“Kathryn!” he called, his excitement growing. “Kathryn O’Neal. Come! Wake up now!”
Her eyes opened and for a long moment she stared uncomprehendingly at his face. Greelie smiled encouragement.
“You are in the hospital here in Edinburgh. You’re all right, lassie, just a few cuts and bruises.”
Kathryn swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry as dust. She went to push herself up on one elbow and discovered that she had a drip-feed going into her left arm. She ached in every limb. She looked around her in bewilderment. There was some kind of tent contraption over her feet and more tubes were attached to other parts of her anatomy.
What on Earth was she doing here? And what did the fellow mean by Edinburgh? They weren’t anywhere near Edinburgh. Alice. Alice was hurt. That much she remembered. She moistened her lips with her tongue.
“Where’s Alice,” she croaked, the anxiety plain in her voice. She stared at the stranger alongside her bed, fearing the answer he might give her...