Demons and Darkness

By James Rimmington

There will be hell to pay... Literally.

John Reeves is a loner, alcoholic of a cop, unable to hold down a relationship his work is the only thing going for him. That is all about to change as he is thrown into a race against time to catch a group of sadistic killers.

Lost in a quickly evolving world of murder and mythology John is about to wage his very soul against the supernatural. He is the only hope to stop the darkness, to save the souls of humanity and maybe break the curse that has long plagued.

The world John thought he knew is just a visage and he is about to find out that some demons are very real.

A fast paced novel which challenges the very reality of existence. The story twists and turns its way as the dark truth is discovered. Taking the reader through a rollercoaster of blood, violence and demons. Trust nobody, and prepare to pay the price... for there is hell to pay.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Rimmington
• Release date: Nov 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370799862

James Rimmington

James enjoys most outdoor pursuits but favours climbing and kayaking. James has a love for all things occult and the escapism that fantasy fiction provides.He lives in Nottingham with his wife and Eska, the families much beloved Northern Inuit dog. He is also about to become a father for the first time... On the 24th of December.James graduated from Nottingham University with degrees in chemistry and mathematics.After a serious break to his knee and emergency surgery for a blood clot complication James revisited his passion for fiction. Whilst laid up after surgery the first book in the Demons and Darkness series was born.

Book preview

DEMONS AND DARKNESS

James Rimmington

DEMONS AND DARKNESS

SECOND EDITION AUGUST 2016

FIRST PUBLISHED – MAY 2016

James. Rimmington.

©

CHAPTER ONE – BEGINNINGS

CHAPTER TWO – CRIMINAL INTENT

CHAPTER THREE – GODS HOUSE

CHAPTER FOUR – DARK BELIEFS

CHAPTER FIVE – ECHOS IN THE NIGHT

CHAPTER SIX - SECLUSION

CHAPTER SEVEN – LOST FRIENDS

CHAPTER EIGHT – SUSPEND THE TRUTH

CHAPTER NINE - SOLITUDE

CHAPTER TEN – WHISPERS IN THE SMOKE

CHAPTER ELEVEN – GHOSTS

CHAPTER TWELEVE – NEW LIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – NIGHTMARES AND DEMONS

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - LOST

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – BLACK MASS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – A WANTED MAN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – BRAVE NEW WORLD

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – TO CATCH A WOLF

CHAPTER NINETEEN – THE CRUELEST CUT

CHAPTER TWENTY - DETECTIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – DEMONS REALM

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - POISON

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – HONOUR AMONG THEIVES

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – FOOLS GOLD

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – HUNTER

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - WISDOM

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - WAR

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - APOCALYPSE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE – GODS AND DEMONS

CHAPTER THIRTY – BALANCE RESTORED

CHAPTER ONE – BEGINNINGS

The road was still wet from the earlier rain. It was only November but the Christmas lights were already illuminating the night. They splashed their colours through the hanging fog. John strode on, his hands in his jacket pocket pulling it tight around his body in an attempt to overcome the biting chill. Even the few beers failed to take the edge off the frosty night. The walk from the pub was only a few minutes away from home, the beer numbed Johns mind, made him think less. Thinking less was always a positive.

Fumbling with cold fingers John eventually managed to unlock his door and stepped out of the night. The house was dark, empty, it had been this way for six months since she moved out. It was his own fault, how could it not be, he had never really been particularly successful when it came to relationships. He always managed to do something to really screw things up, in fact this was the pattern of his life. Tomorrow would be work but at least tonight a few nightcaps would help bring him some sleep. Removing his jacket John ran a hand through his damp brown hair. It flopped wetly into a quiff, his fringe sticking to his forehead. Without turning a light on he stepped into the kitchen, switching the kettle on. John took out his mobile phone and checked it.  No messages, no nothing. He idly read from the news articles on the feed whilst waiting to make a cup of tea.

A few minutes later John was wrapping his bulky six foot frame into the duvet of his bed. The crisp sheets relaxing his tense muscles and soon he began to drift.

CHAPTER TWO – CRIMINAL INTENT

The stark buzzer shook John violently from sleep. His head was thick with last nights beer. It was a little after five am. John slid out of bed and staggered numbly towards the shower, the hot water waking him but doing little to curb the thumping in his head.

John donned the crumpled black suit which had been left in the corner of the bedroom, filled his travel mug with tea before rushing out of the front door. The morning had cleared the fog, however this had brought a slight frost, cursing John used a credit card to scrape the light ice from the windscreen. Work was five miles from home, however at this time of the morning with no traffic and driving like you’re a stock car racer makes it an eight minute ride. Despite this John was never really punctual, skidding into the car park last minute.

Swiping his warrant card John entered the police station heading down the bleak corridor of magnolia he turned right into the nearby office. The room was a bright box office with half a dozen computers, phones, printers. However all of these were outnumbered by the sheer number of ring-binder folders. Each was clearly labelled with an officer’s number and a name of the case. John slumped into his chair, his head still banging. As usual a mug of steaming coffee was on the desk already, he cupped it gratefully before breathing deep the strong aromatics. Logging on to his computer the screen flashed his details – Detective Sergeant John Reeves.

John had never really wanted to be a cop, John had actually never really wanted to be anything. Life doesn’t really listen however and as John liked some of the nicer things in life he needed a job that would pay. He was not really qualified for anything so this seemed like the best choice. His job paid ridiculously well compared to his friends, he got to do lots of stuff he liked, after all not everybody gets to kick doors in and shout at the bad guys. There however was monotony in this place, sifting through the endless reams paperwork, listening to the same people telling you the same shit. I mean how many times can someone have their benefits stolen??? Ultimately John couldn’t escape the feeling that his job was to help those who either couldn’t or couldn’t be arsed to manage their own life.  John had his own life to manage and he wasn’t particularly good at that either. The true victims were few and far between, the nice decent people in life who just got on with earning a living and keeping themselves to themselves until some waste of life would break into their homes, hurt their kids or steal their car. John was thirty and had been in this job ever since he was eighteen. He initially was a fresh faced officer, chasing the criminals, out to change the world. Unfortunately the world is a big place and it was harder to change than simply feeling a few collars. The reality had jaded him, bittered him to the world around him. This was only compounded by Lucy leaving. She wasn’t the first and probably wouldn’t be the last. He was just one of those people who it was a nightmare to be around.

The phone rocked John out of his trance, taking a glug of scorching hot coffee he lifted the handset.

Hello. He croaked, the coffee burning on its way down.

Reeves, you sound like shit. You been hitting the bottle again? This voice was sharp and intrusive but nothing more than you would expect from the detective chief inspector. DCI Andrews was a harsh but fair son of a bitch. His reputation for tearing somebody a new one if they showed incompetence was legendary, something that John intended to stay away from, especially with a hangover.

No! Fuck sake no! the lie was so well rehearsed, not that it mattered as nobody actually cared.

hmph, I need your team we’ve got a job and it’s a bit juicy so I could really do with you putting some time in.

John lifted his head staring around the room, it was wall to wall folder stuffed with statements and reports. The work load was immense, cases just came in faster than they could be dished out and finding the time to put those touches of finesse that would be expected of a CID enquiry was nothing more than a pipe dream.

Boss, I hear you but we are swamped, absolutely drowning. We need another couple of... John was quickly cut off.

That’s your job to make it work! This is command teams new baby and if we don’t deal with it now there’s one stinky nappy gonna need changing and I ain’t doing it. The sigh from John must have been audible down the phone.  This was always the way running from one goal to another, it was the nature of the work, it had to be this way as each day would bring a new catch of jobs and each day would still have the back log of enquiries.

I’ll come and see you sir. The receiver went down.  Another couple of sips of the strong coffee would hopefully hide any alcohol on his breath, John meandered slowly out of the office and down the corridor to go up the stairs to where the bosses sit. Their world was different than downstairs. They had windows for a start. The walls the same greying magnolia as down stairs but in the sunlight through the numerous windows it was much less oppressive. John walked down the corridor stopping to knock on the frosted glass door of Andrews’ office.

Come in Andrews stated.

Sir. Announced John as he entered the room.  DCI Andrews remained fixed on his computer, he didn’t speak and just carried on watching the screen. God for all John knew he was probably watching a cat video on YouTube. Not in the mood for any of this, John walked to the desk and sat himself down opposite the Chief Inspector. The sudden familiarity by John caused Andrews to lift his head. He slid a manila folder over towards John. Why has everything in the police got to be manila or magnolia John wondered as he lifted the file.

Flicking quickly through the pages it contained google maps, pictures of churches, theft and damage reports.

What’s this got to do with me? We don’t do poxy thefts that’s uniforms job. Why has command got this marked up as important, did someone steal the chiefs favourite priest or something? John quipped, Andrews was not amused and made no attempt to humour him. The pressure was clearly showing on his face and for the first time in a long time John remembered that his boss had his bosses and they would probably be just as vicious when it came to taking their pound of flesh.

The point of the folder, John, is that you read it… That might explain why I give a shit about people braking into churches. The words were deliberately slow, this was serious. Andrews continued

This is the fifth church broken into across the county, two months ago the same thing happened in Cambridge. They had a number of churches broken into.

What are they stealing, lead? Trinkets? John queried.

Nothing. Replied the DCI.

What, they break in and do nothing? Why? John’s face screwed up with confusion.

They search it, damage everything, even break the seats in the church. They are looking for something but clearly can’t find it. The reason however that we are interested in who is doing these jobs is the fact that we have two dead in Cambridge. A priest who went to investigate a noise and homeless guy taking refuge in the church grounds. We know it’s the same people as the method of entry is exactly the same, forensics pulled the same tool marks from the doors. The search is always the same, they look for hidden entrances, concealments in the alter.

John nodded starting to understand that although he was looking at a broken into church this was actually a response to a murder enquiry.

Why do we think that they have moved to us? It’s a bit of a jump from Cambridge to Derby

Yes but we have the same forensics on the tool marks, also between you and I there is a finger print left on some of the scenes. Ours matches theirs. Andrews stated, his eyes staring directly into Johns.

Any ID from the print? It was the obvious next question.

No, we haven’t got a match on file, but whoever it is has no interest in trying to evade capture or prosecution. They haven’t changed the tool used and have made no effort to avoid forensic transfer.

What’s the murder weapon? Any vehicles moving from Cambridge to Derbyshire? John enquired further.

The weapon appears to be the crow bar, the priest was beaten around the head until there was very little left of a head. There however were some marks on his body where he appeared to have a few stray hits, these match sufficiently the entry tool, or that’s the theory. The tramp… He was knocked to the floor, his arm broken from the first blow. The second blow took a couple of ribs and punctured a lung. Then the crowbar was turned end on and plunged into his body, enough force to pierce the lung, some more ribs were broken but this might have been when the item was pulled free by the attacker. Ultimately the guy was dead but it wasn’t quick, it wasn’t easy. He drowned in his own blood, in agony. If they are up here I do not want any murders so we catch them quick before anything happens. The DCI emphasised his words making the fact that he didn’t care if John could find these guys by using investigation or the Jedi force but he really better get a move on with it.

The cars Sir? John asked the second part of his question again.

The sigh was slow but clear – That is your job John, try detecting something! The DCI’s attention moved back to his computer the conversation was clearly over. John swept the papers in to the folder and proceeded to tuck it under his arm as he made his way out of the office.

Detective Sergeant John Reeves strolled back into his own office, none of the others in the room lifted their heads. It’s the police officer’s death stare, if I stare at my computer and don’t make eye contact someone else might get this job. It isn’t laziness it is purely the fact that the team already was loaded with work and they really did not appreciate more. John sat at his desk before looking up.

Right. He announced loudly so as to attract the attention of those around him. The team looked up at him. We have a new case, this one is a priority so everything else is on hold, for now at least. He continued. John explained what he knew from the folder. Which, in all honesty was little more than he had found from the short chat with the DCI.

John looked directly at Steve Colman, Steve was in his fifties and grossly overweight, he was going to save the tax payer money by the fact that he would never claim his pension, his future was a massive gripping heart attack and a rather heavy casket. His favourite pastimes were overtime and takeaway. His hair was now more grey then the dark black it once was, it was kept quite short. Steve peered over his glasses at John, his eyes hidden in the dark bags that surrounded them, these things would come with an excess luggage charge at the airport.

Steve, I want you to trace any vehicles that have moved from Cambridgeshire to Derbyshire in the last few weeks from ANPR. Steve nodded and immediately went to taping at his computer where he logged into the automatic number plate recognition system.

Next in his view was Julia, Julia Hender had been an officer for only five years but had a natural gift for the job, she thought systematically and questioned everything and this had led her to CID much earlier than most. She was 26 years old, petit, five foot seven, her hair was blonde and long, since her arriving in the office the uniform cops suddenly seemed to spend much more time in the office than before, some coming in with no good reason what-so-ever. She had a hoard of admirers it seemed, still none of these male suitors seemed to realise that they wouldn’t quite be Julia’s type, much to the amusement of John seeing their blatant efforts.

Julia, I need you to run the case papers for the Cambridge jobs to try and get us up to speed on everything they know. Can we start to look at if there is a pattern and what the motive is for breaking in and taking nothing? We could do with a bit of open research as well to determine if there was anything we’ve overlooked

Claire can you assist please. John asked. Claire Johanson was mid-thirties, she wore her light brown hair in a bun. She had been married for eight years and had returned to the team six months ago after the birth of her first son. She was keen and capable, the type of person who never moans or shirks from a job. It was a bit of a breath of fresh air having her return to the office.

Vik, you get to the scene and look at any CCTV take Stu with you I want to know everything, get a statement from the vicar and lots of pictures of the scene please.

Vikram Chyanna was a high flier, or at least he could be, he however had chosen not to get promoted yet. He had been with the force eight years and has been qualified to the rank of sergeant for six of those. He however still loved what he did and had no intention as yet to move up the slippery ladder of promotion and politics. He was the same age as John but looked younger, John had always joked that it was the weight of responsibility that had aged him. Vikram’s desk was scattered with pictures of his wife and two children. Despite the similar age this was pretty much where things differed from John, Vikram was so devoted to his perfect two point four children life. John pretty much just drifted in the wind.

Stuart Richards was 53 and had only 2 more years before it was his time to retire. It was uncertain if he would go after his thirty years of service. He had made plans to move to France with his wife and live out his days on a little farm with some animals and maybe a mini vineyard. This was going to be financed by some savvy investments and the immense lump sum he would get for his pension. The dream he painted was so beautiful of the rolling hills with patisserie and coffee breakfasts sat in the sun. These dreams were distant now. His wife had been driving home with their twelve year old son, it was late and the roads wet with the fresh down pour. As she proceeded to cross a blind junction, her traffic lights on green a drunk driver blasted through from her side. The big four by four hit her tiny Ford Fiesta, spinning it. The impact killed Jacob, their little boy outright. He was sat in the front passenger seat and the side of the car was flattened by the heavy Landover. It hit with such speed that it rose on the side of the car, crumpling it. The head injuries to Jacob were so severe that Stuart had been told that he would have not suffered.  The same could not be said for his beloved wife Melissa.

The vehicle spun skidding on the wet surface. As the vehicle left the carriage way at speed it hit a tree head on.