Kidnapped and Bound for Hell

Kidnapped and Bound for Hell

A Story By

Philip R Benge

Smashwords Edition

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Published by

Philip R Benge on Smashwords

Kidnapped and Bound for Hell

Copyright Philip R Benge 2013

Cover Art Copyright Philip R Benge 2013

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Kidnapped and Bound for Hell

Contents

Chapter One: A Very Dangerous Occupation

Chapter Two: A Call for Help

Chapter Three: Murder

Chapter Four: France and a Chance to Escape

Chapter Five: Fighting Demons

Chapter Six: Finally in France

Chapter Seven: The Final Reckoning

Chapter Eight: The Epilogue

Other Books by the Author

Chapter One

A Very Dangerous Occupation

A storm was raging that morning and a blast of thunder almost deafened John Ryman as he entered the office of the editor of News International. He had been summoned while preparing his breakfast of tea and toast. The thunder rumbled angrily above his head and he hoped that the storm wasn`t a portent of things to come.

Good morning, Mr Thompson, how are you today? he asked his editor who was sitting behind a large oak desk that somehow seemed almost small in the spacious office. Ryman sat down in the chair positioned opposite him and waited for him to speak. Thompson looked up at him and smiled.

Morning John, I would like you to write some articles for me, I`ve got one of the Sunday tabloids interested in it so it should be profitable for the both of us. The editor said pausing for a moment but Ryman stayed quiet and let his boss tell him more of this supposed gold mine.

The articles are to be about the growth of Satanism in our community, and I want you to compare it with the subsequent decline in Christianity, are you interested John? Thompson asked looking across at his journalist and waiting for his reply.

Of course, I am sir, but surely Satanism is just a fringe activity for the more perverted of the community? Ryman replied sceptically.

It may well be John, but what I want you to do is to find something that will really grip our readers’ interest, and make them want to read the next instalment, without resorting to actual lies you understand. I want your article to show that Satanism is a new danger that society must face, and how it is unacceptable that the Church is not doing more to stamp it out. You know, a few choice adjectives, an embellishment here, an awkward fact deleted there, something for the readers to tut tut about over their breakfast. Thompson said.

Fine sir, when do you want the first instalment? Ryman asked.

I want it ready for Sunday next. Your first article can start with the evil that lies just a click way on the internet, expand this with a few of the well-known Satanists of the past, you know, that Crowley fellow. For your next article though, I expect to read about the covens that are about today. Get a few interviews and of course we will need a lot of photographs to accompany your article. Thompson ordered.

Yes, sir, I shouldn`t have too many problems in writing that sort of article, one that makes our readers wonder what is really going on behind the closed doors of suburbia. Even if it isn`t, mused Ryman.

Okay well that`s fine then John, I`ll leave you to it. Thompson said and then turned away and began to read one of the many papers that lay on his desk, Ryman knew that he had been dismissed so he left Thompson to his work.

The first article almost wrote itself, Ryman found enough on the internet to write a dozen opening articles, and after sifting through it all, he had no trouble trimming it down to just the most shocking parts. That gave him ten days to come up with the second article.

While Ryman had been surfing through the filth that was so easy to find on the internet, he did come across one piece of news that stood out. It concerned a certain catholic priest who had been termed the witch finder general by the local press. Bishop Carstairs, who was the priest`s superior, hadn`t been amused by his activities, for Father Pritchard had looked into areas that were normally frowned upon by the Church. A parishioner had complained to Father Pritchard about a haunting, it seemed that the previous tenant of his house didn`t realise that he was now dead, and he kept waking the new tenant up at around two in the morning and try to evict him. It said in the article that Father David Pritchard had refused to listen to his Bishop, and had continued to assist his parishioner in ridding his house of the troublesome spirit. Because of this, and other earlier events, the priest had been sent on a sabbatical for an undisclosed period of time. Ryman went to his computer and Googled, Father Pritchard, and soon had his address and telephone number. Ryman was sure that had he persevered he would even have had the father`s inside leg measurement. Telephoning the priest wouldn`t get him anywhere, of that Ryman was positive, the priest would probably just put the phone down on him. No, he would have to drive down to Salisbury unannounced and just knock on the priest`s door. He decided to leave it until the next day and he left before the sun was up, it was still only nine o`clock when he pulled into the road and parked just feet away from Father Pritchard`s front door. He had been a full-time journalist for only six years, and during this time he had come to accept the fact that the people you really needed to talk to, didn`t always want to speak to you. Ryman walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. A tall man aged about fifty opened the door and smiled at the journalist.

Can I help you? Father Pritchard enquired politely.

Yes, Father, I`m writing an article about the dangers of Satanism, and when I heard that you were the accepted expert on the matter, I hoped that you might be able to tell me the facts, as lately Hollywood has been over glamourizing the subject. Ryman said bending the truth about his article to breaking point.

The dangers of Satanism, well I suppose I could speak to you about that, but I must insist on my identity remaining a secret, otherwise I will have to refer you to my Bishop. Father Pritchard knew that Bishop Carstairs wouldn`t answer any questions on the subject, and he would also forbid any of his priests even acknowledging the subject of Satanism.

No, that is fine, I had heard somewhere that the leaders of the Church didn`t like to talk to the press about the subject.

Ryman followed Father Pritchard through to the front room, looking about him as he entered, he saw that the room was mostly filled with books, books that looked to be older than the priest, and making the room smell a little musty. The furniture was mostly past its sell by date, but even so, Ryman found that he liked the room, for it was a room that seemed to welcome you.

They sat themselves down in two comfortable armchairs and Ryman took out a small digital tape recorder from his brief case.

You don`t mind if I tape our conversation, I find that it helps me later, when I`m actually writing the article. He asked innocently.

As a matter of fact, I do mind, please do not turn that device on, if you want my help then you will have to take notes the old-fashioned way. Father Pritchard said eyeing the device almost with distaste, his eyes followed the recorder back into the brief case as if to ensure that Ryman didn`t try to turn it on surreptitiously.

I understand completely, Father Pritchard. Ryman said and smiled, for he saw that the good father had seen through his ruse, for if had been able to record the priest`s voice then he could use his name in the article, and have the recording to verify all he had said.

I have got a lot from the internet already Father. What I was hoping for was if you could provide me with a few modern case studies as it were, to bring some life into the article. This will let our readers see that evil is still there waiting for the unwary even though we are now in the twenty first century. I want to impress on them that they shouldn`t play with the satanic forces of modern-day Britain, these forces that are still as dangerous as ever they were when most people actually believed in a devil.

Ryman smiled once again, waiting for Father Pritchard to respond.

If you have looked up the subject on the internet Mr Ryman, then you will know that many of today`s covens are in it only for the riotous and perverted sex that they can enjoy, hidden safely away from their strait-laced neighbours. However, even then they feign an interest in worshipping Satan. This makes it all the easier for the more serious minded amongst them to take it a step further, and take his followers down a road that they never knew existed. Thankfully the majority of them have no real idea where to take it to, as it were, but some of them have actually carried out human sacrifices in Satan`s name. This leads them into great danger, for Satan might even notice them, and believe me no sane man would want that. Father Pritchard changed the subject momentarily by offering Ryman a cup of coffee, which he accepted.

While Father Pritchard was in the kitchen, Ryman wandered around the front room, until he came to a sliding door that he found opened into the father`s study. Ryman slipped quietly inside and his eyes were drawn to a partly open drawer in the father`s desk. Within it Ryman could see a folder, and on the front was the name Bourbon, he pulled the folder out and opened it to find that he was looking at a dossier on a powerful Satanist, one that even Father Pritchard feared. There was also a photograph of the man who seemed vaguely familiar. He pulled out his mobile phone and quickly photographed the front page of the dossier. Unfortunately, that was all he had time to do for he heard the priest returning from the kitchen and he had to quickly slip the folder back into the drawer and then vacate the room.

Father Pritchard found Ryman looking at the photographs that lined the wall of the front room; and over coffee Ryman took the conversation to these before casually asking Father Pritchard the question that he had been burning to ask.

Father did you ever come across a Satanist named Bourbon; his name cropped up during my earlier researches? Ryman asked in his most innocent of voices.

Bourbon, where on earth did you hear his name mentioned? For a moment Father Pritchard was looking at Ryman, but then his head turned to the door that led into his study. His face hardened as he turned to Ryman.

Take my advice Ryman, forget that name, bury it deep and never mention it to anyone. Now I believe it is time for you to go, goodbye and please do not return. Ryman was quickly shown the door and seconds later was outside sitting in his car.

Well, I`ve certainly got a name to chase down now, Bourbon where have I heard that name before? Ryman said to himself and decided that he needed Wi-Fi so he headed into town and parked in a car park near to the cathedral. From here, he walked into the town centre until he found a cafe that offered free Wi-Fi; and over another coffee and a sandwich, he powered up his laptop, and soon he knew everything there was to know about Ulysses Bourbon, city financier and multi-millionaire.

**********

It was already getting dark as Ulysses Bourbon drove back to his new house; it was just outside of the small village of Lower Boulding, which is set deep in the English countryside. He was using this house more and more as his financial base, and his plush office in the City of London was now just an expensive accessory.

He didn`t notice the silver Ford Focus following his every turn as he wound his way back to his new home, a home which used to be the local manor house of the district. Unfortunately, a new and very different sort of squire of the county lived there now, one that a wise man would steer very clear of; if he wished to avoid harm coming to him and his family.

He had phoned ahead to ensure that the main gate would be open when he arrived at the estate, and so now he was able to drive straight through the open gate and along a long track to finally park his expensive Mercedes in front of the Georgian building that was home to him and his young daughter Moira. His wife had met a mysterious death soon after the birth of his daughter, and he had employed a nanny to look after the day-to-day needs of his child. Parked beside his luxury car were three other top of the range vehicles, his houseguests had already begun to arrive. Bourbon was met by his servant, a giant of a man, Guy Rochelle.

Everything has been made ready for the Autumn Equinox celebrations, sir, and all as per your instructions. Your guests are already beginning to arrive, Sinjan Smythe is in his room, Josef Steiner is enjoying your library and Bernard Peron is sitting in the back garden. Rochelle said as soon as his master had got out of his car.

Thank you, Guy, our final guests should be here within the hour, when everyone is assembled, we shall have dinner and then move to the glade and begin our celebrations, hopefully, they will prove a success. He said to Rochelle with a satisfied smile upon his handsome, almost classical face.

**********

John Ryman drove on by the gate and parked some half a mile further on. Funny he mused, to be back in Lower Boulding, he wondered how his family were, but he knew better than to call on them, his mother would only go on at him about his chosen profession and then they would argue, loudly, which would upset his sisters. He would finally get so fed up with her nagging that he would swear at her and leave. That was how his last home visit had gone, no it would be far easier to stay away from home and just get on with his job.

He had realised that his investigation into Bourbon and his disgusting activities might take more than a night, so he had brought a suitcase, which contained a change of clothes and other essential supplies, such as his razor. He decided to check into the Vista Hotel, a small but clean hotel that wasn`t over expensive, and which was also within walking distance of Bourbon`s new home. Leaving his suitcase in the room, he decided to walk over to a small but expensive restaurant that he remembered from his last visit home, and he dined there. The church clock was just striking ten o`clock and he had finished eating and was now walking slowly back along a familiar side road until he came to Fairbrother road. This road started at the far end of the village and went back towards the motorway from which Ryman had driven down.