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Authors: Philip Hemplow
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place?” No response. “Or of the people? Is it something to do with your friends’ suicides?” He grimaced involuntarily. “Is there a connection between their deaths and the church? Gary! Tell me, or we’re going back and I’m asking your mother.”
He rounded on her. “Jesus, fuck lady! Doctor! Whatever! Just drop it, OK? You’re doing my head in.”
“Answer the question then! Why the big problem with the church?”
“Because they’re fucking psychos, that’s why!”
“What do you mean, “psychos”?”
“I mean they’re fucking psycho assholes! And stop calling it a church. `S not even a proper church.”
Carla pushed home her advantage. “What is it then?”
“It’s a madhouse! It’s a – a ... it’s wrong, OK?”
“A cult?” Carla guessed, based on what she’d found online.
“Yeah, whatever. They fuck people up. They fucked this whole town up – or hadn’t you noticed?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, it doesn’t matter, just leave them alone. Now, can I get out of this fucking car, please ?”
Carla sighed and pulled over to the side of the road. “I can’t leave them alone, I have to find out what they’re doing.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that. Your funeral.” He opened the door but paused before getting out and half-turned back to her. “Don’t eat anything. Or drink anything. While you’re there.” Then he was gone, jogging back the way they’d come. Carla called after him - “Why not? While I’m where?” – but he didn’t look back.
*****
Carla tried to bury her misgivings as she buzzed the intercom by the front door of the E.O.D. for the third time. She was wishing that she’d tried asking Dr Khalil to accompany her, but it was too late for that now. It was silly anyway. It was just a church. Probably no kookier than any of the strange brotherhoods, sects and congregations that her mother had dragged her around when she was a child. Revivalists, evangelists, muscular Christians, Pentecostal snake-handlers, conmen, prophets and perverts, her mother had followed them all at one point or another.
Fed up, she pressed the buzzer again and held it, staring defiantly up at the security camera. Finally, after a full minute of electronic clanging, the speaker came to life with an angry, sibilant “Yes?” She introduced herself and was told to wait. She waited. Another few minutes passed and she was ready to resume her attack on the bell when locks began to turn and the door was slowly eased open. Just a few inches. A pungent stink of fish leaked from within.
“What do you want here, Doctor?” It was the same voice she had heard over the intercom, but she could not make out its owner in the interior gloom.
“I’m here on a public health matter. I want to talk to you. Or whoever is in charge here. Please can you open the door?”
“Come back tomorrow.”
Carla rolled her eyes. “No. Today. It won’t take long, I promise.”
There was a long, bubbling sigh from the darkness, but then the door began to open properly. Carla paused to savour a last lungful of relatively fresh air before crossing the threshold.
As she entered, fluorescent strip lights in the ceiling began flickering to life, filling the warehouse with pale, sterile light. The floor was bare, dusty concrete painted an aquatic shade of green. Crude representations of sea creatures were daubed all over it, like so many telephone doodles. Sharks, squids, starfish, crustaceans – Carla instantly recognised the imagery from the graffiti she’d seen a few corners from here.
A quote from the Bible had been stencilled around the wall in a blocky, Teutonic font. Carla recognised it from Ezekiel, verse something-or-other.
I
He rounded on her. “Jesus, fuck lady! Doctor! Whatever! Just drop it, OK? You’re doing my head in.”
“Answer the question then! Why the big problem with the church?”
“Because they’re fucking psychos, that’s why!”
“What do you mean, “psychos”?”
“I mean they’re fucking psycho assholes! And stop calling it a church. `S not even a proper church.”
Carla pushed home her advantage. “What is it then?”
“It’s a madhouse! It’s a – a ... it’s wrong, OK?”
“A cult?” Carla guessed, based on what she’d found online.
“Yeah, whatever. They fuck people up. They fucked this whole town up – or hadn’t you noticed?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, it doesn’t matter, just leave them alone. Now, can I get out of this fucking car, please ?”
Carla sighed and pulled over to the side of the road. “I can’t leave them alone, I have to find out what they’re doing.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that. Your funeral.” He opened the door but paused before getting out and half-turned back to her. “Don’t eat anything. Or drink anything. While you’re there.” Then he was gone, jogging back the way they’d come. Carla called after him - “Why not? While I’m where?” – but he didn’t look back.
*****
Carla tried to bury her misgivings as she buzzed the intercom by the front door of the E.O.D. for the third time. She was wishing that she’d tried asking Dr Khalil to accompany her, but it was too late for that now. It was silly anyway. It was just a church. Probably no kookier than any of the strange brotherhoods, sects and congregations that her mother had dragged her around when she was a child. Revivalists, evangelists, muscular Christians, Pentecostal snake-handlers, conmen, prophets and perverts, her mother had followed them all at one point or another.
Fed up, she pressed the buzzer again and held it, staring defiantly up at the security camera. Finally, after a full minute of electronic clanging, the speaker came to life with an angry, sibilant “Yes?” She introduced herself and was told to wait. She waited. Another few minutes passed and she was ready to resume her attack on the bell when locks began to turn and the door was slowly eased open. Just a few inches. A pungent stink of fish leaked from within.
“What do you want here, Doctor?” It was the same voice she had heard over the intercom, but she could not make out its owner in the interior gloom.
“I’m here on a public health matter. I want to talk to you. Or whoever is in charge here. Please can you open the door?”
“Come back tomorrow.”
Carla rolled her eyes. “No. Today. It won’t take long, I promise.”
There was a long, bubbling sigh from the darkness, but then the door began to open properly. Carla paused to savour a last lungful of relatively fresh air before crossing the threshold.
As she entered, fluorescent strip lights in the ceiling began flickering to life, filling the warehouse with pale, sterile light. The floor was bare, dusty concrete painted an aquatic shade of green. Crude representations of sea creatures were daubed all over it, like so many telephone doodles. Sharks, squids, starfish, crustaceans – Carla instantly recognised the imagery from the graffiti she’d seen a few corners from here.
A quote from the Bible had been stencilled around the wall in a blocky, Teutonic font. Carla recognised it from Ezekiel, verse something-or-other.
I
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