The Cold Road (Book 1)

Chapter Twenty Three

James watched in frozen horror and disbelief as the robed figure on the block pulled up their robe up, exposing their lower body to the night. They lay back, legs apart. The man who stood on the podium merged into the crowd as they shuffled around, one stepping forward and pulling up their own robe. James could hardly believe what he was seeing. Unable to take his eyes away he watched until he felt sick and forced himself to look away.

This was wrong. Legally there was nothing wrong. But, James looked back at the group as one by one they took their debauchery in turns, morally or ethically it was wrong. James' frozen fingers fumbled in his coat pocket for his phone. He gripped it and his fingers stumbled across the buttons, searching for Jeb's number. He pressed call and held the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring along the line.

The robed figures on the podium continued to thrust while the others watched. Low moans filled the air, followed by fierce grunting. The figure next in line paused in rising up onto the platform, his body stiffening in the act of taking over. Slowly, he stepped back, hooded face glancing into at the trees surrounding them.

'Come on,' whispered James into his phone. 'Pick up!' he said, watching as the rest of the robed members shuffled in confusion as the cult member stepped down from the platform, and looked around. The figure turned to the leader, leaning in and whispering. They split, now all looking off at the forest. A faceless hood stared at James and he froze. Jeb's number went to a recorded message and James hung up.

The cult was looking in his direction now. The female on the podium pulling down her robe hurried to join the others as they all stood frozen in the night. Ducking down, leaves crunching under his feet, James carefully moved backwards, eyes forward. Had they seen him? It was dark, how could they.

'Hey!' the distorted voice of the leader called out.

James ducked down lower into the shadows, more leaves crunching underfoot as he shuffled faster backwards. He turned, sprinting back towards the farmhouse. Behind him, he heard shouts and the crashing of bodies through skeleton trees.

The dark gloom of the farmhouse appeared before him and he rushed through the clearing, seconds before half a dozen black figures rushed through on either side of him. They converged, tackling him to the ground. A hand covered his mouth and nose, others grabbing him by the arms and pulling them behind his back. His body was pulled up onto his knees, and James stared wide eyed at the bodies milling around him. They parted. A lone robed figure walked through the circle, his face obscured by the dark and his thick hood. He knelt in front of James, and James peered into the black. Within he thought he saw the faintest outline of a wolfish grin.

'Hello, Detective,' the distorted voice grumbled out. He stood, and then, with a nod of his head, a heavy object smacked James against the back of his head. Stars flew, bright lights flashing before his eyes before fading suddenly and James's body slumped, his eyes fluttering shut.

It was still night time. The faint light of stars shone through creaks in the room, but bright enough for James to see them through his closed eyes. His head lolled. A drumbeat pounded inside, pressing against his eyeballs, which threatened to burst from his skull. Metallic tasting saliva dripped from the corner of his open mouth, down the front of his shirt.

Thick cord wrapped around his wrists, pulling his arms back and securing him to a chair. There was nothing against his legs and James weakly stretched, face contorting at the pins and needles that sprang up his leg as the blood flowed. James opened his eyes, the faint light blinding him with sparks. His stomach churned and he lurched forwards, dry retching. Screwing up his eyes, he settled back, panting as he wiped the corner of his mouth on his shoulder. It was blood he tasted.