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It was an effort to climb the stairs； dragging himself up a step at a time； his sweaty hands slipping on the polished oak rail。 A stiff whisky and a couple of aspirins； he would be OK in the morning。
He shivered uncontrollably as his naked flesh came into contact with the sheets； cooling his body temperature fast and making him curl himself up into a ball in an attempt to generate heat。 The whisky had burned his throat； he'd had difficulty getting those aspirin tablets down。 He felt as though he might vomit and wondered if he was capable of making it across to the bathroom。
He closed his eyes； saw Louis Nevillon's face again； smirking。 A voice somewhere； he couldn't make out the words but he knew it was Quentin's。 Nobody was bothering much about the murderer's missing decapitated body except a few red…faced prison officials whose security system was being criticised。 They didn't realise； they couldn't be expected to。 Somebody had to 。。。
What the hell's it got to do with you； Sabat？ Nothing。 It's none of my business。 Trying to find a reason not to do anything about it。 I'm not well enough to go to Paris。 I don't have the time anyway。 Jumbled thoughts which emanated from that open clearing in the wooded mountains and travelled incoherently。 A beautiful SAS colonel's wife who liked to whip men until they cringed and pleaded for mercy。 Lilith； Goddess of Darkness； reborn； using that same colonel to do her bidding； indoctrinating him into believing that he was a reincarnation of Adolf Hitler and that； between them； the world was theirs for the taking with their pseudo vampire army。 And a clergyman who also thought he could bring the world to its knees； a takeover by the dark forces。
And so it would have been were it not for your meddling； Sabat！
Vicious female tones； a cry of hate and anguish from beyond the grave。 Laughter。 Sabat wasn't sure whether it was his brother's soul or the insane cacklings of Royston Spode； from the depths of that crumbling crypt where the evil churchman's dreams had finally been buried。 They were all trying to get at him from beyond the final barrier。
Sabat's body burned。 With every ounce of strength he could muster he threw the bedclothes back； kicked them clear of his overheated flesh； basked in the cooling sensations brought on by a chill night atmosphere； one that was falling rapidly。
It was dark。 He tried to work out how long he had been in bed。 It had been fully daylight when he had e upstairs and that seemed only a matter of minutes ago。 He attempted to identify the puterised illuminated digits on the radio alarm clock； but the fingers swam and merged into meaningless hieroglyphics。 He raised himself up on to an elbow but fell back on to the pillow； heard the wheezings of his own breaths。 Christ； he'd never been so weak before！
You're weak now； Sabat。 Helpless。 You can't fight anymore！
He tensed； recognised the husky dominant tones of Catriona Lealan。 But that was impossible； he had destroyed her utterly； body and soul！ Somebody was mimicking her； but it had the same effect。 Just thinking about her as she used to be in those far…off days was doing things to him 。。。
Sabat tried to check the feeling； tried to think of other things； but it was futile。 His pulses raced and his fevered body demanded satisfaction； ordered him to pay homage to the memory of one who had once loved him with a sadistic viciousness。
Somehow his sweaty fingers found the strength to do what his erection was screaming out for。 He tensed； shuddered； cast off the feeling of guilt and felt it replaced by one of unbelievable euphoria。 To hell with everybody！ Watch me if you want to； you bastards； because I like you watching me。
His nakedness was bathed in sweat； every nerve afive and responding。 He wasn't ill after all； just experiencing pent…up frustration because he hadn't had a woman for a long time now。 And in the darkened room they were willing him to do the next best thing； urging him to confess his past secret pleasures。
Sabat's voice seemed to echo in the darkness to the acpaniment of hollow whispered laughter which might have been Catriona's。 Or Vince Lealan's。 Or Royston Spode's。
Or Quentin's！
Sabat told them everything they wanted to hear。 They knew it already； so it didn't matter。 They just wanted to listen to it ing from his own lips。 He told them of that occasion in his adolescence when he had let another of his own sex do what he'd wanted to do。 How he had enjoyed it。 He'd felt guilty afterwards because convention had dominated； driven him in a fit of cowardice to seek refuge in priesthood。 Sabat cringed at the memory； blasphemed。 The SAS had been his salvation； taught him the real pleasures of life 。。。 taught him how to kill amongst other things。
Have you ever taken human life； Sabat？
You know fucking well I have。 That terrorist。。。 Sabat winced； heard the deafening reports of his own pistol in the confined space； the screams of his victim as he writhed like a helpless landed fish； arms and legs shattered； pleading for death and being denied it。 Laughter again 。。。 Sabat's。
Women。 Jealous naked bodies materialising out of the past； fighting amongst themselves； clamouring for him； displaying themselves lewdly。 Fuck me； Sabat； the way you used to。 Fingers that were not his own taking over； speeding up； a million sensations blending into one mind…blowing explosion of mind and body。
Sabat was convulsing； floating in a void； but they wouldn't let up on him； a forest of frenzied arms and legs that grabbed and pulled and squeezed him until he was crying out for them to stop。 The laughter was louder now； hurting his throbbing head。 He tore his hands free； pressed them to his ears but he could not shut out the noise。 You're too weak to resist； Sabat。
He was back on the bed in a splayed heap； shivering uncontrollably； groping blindly for the bedclothes but they were gone。 So cold； so frightening Cringing。 There's nothing to be afraid of。 You're not Mark Sabat…you 're Quentin。 One of us！
The dreaded reversal； one soul overing another after weeks and months of awaiting its opportunity。 Sabat was still trying to fight； an autumnal leaf attempting to resist a gale； being swept away。 Sobbing； something he had not done since 。。。 since when1* He couldn't remember crying； not even in childhood； his frustrations had always built up into something more vicious； revenge at any cost。 Oh God； he'd have his revenge on them； make them pay dearly for this。 He had to fight！
Crawling； slumping down； fingers that trembled with cold and terror searching the darkness； touching something that toppled and fell； the handset of the bedside trimphone。 He groped for it again。 It was like a wriggling serpent trying to escape him； but in the end he caught it； dragged it back。 Invisible fingers tried to tear it from his grasp but he managed to hold on。
Trying to dial； the spring so strong that he could hardly move the digits。 Any number； it didn't matter。 Got to tell them。。。 warn them。。； about Louis Nevillonl
Sabat almost fainted； felt his chilled slippery fingers losing their hold on the handset。 It fell； swung to and fro below the bed like some taunting pendulum； evil to good and back to evil。 He couldn't muster the strength to try and catch it again。 He moaned aloud。
A pause； then a sound apart from the rasping of his laboured lungs。 Metallic； so divorced from this atmosphere of enshrouding evil。 It took Sabat some seconds to work out what it was； and then he knew。 The phone was ringing out at the other end； some anonymous number。
A voice。 It wasn't Quentin's nor any of the others； a jumble of meaningless words that did not register in his numbed brain； being angry； impatient。 Shouting。
Sabat tried to speak； tried to warn them about Louis Nevillon but all he managed were animal…like gasps and grunts。 They were trying to shout him down； a whispering noise like the hissing of angry demons。 Weakening still further； feeling his senses slipping from him； knowing that they had beaten him in the end。
The phone went silent at approximately the same time as Sabat lost consciousness and rolled off the bed on to the floor。
CHAPTER THREE
LIGHTS so bright that they seared Sabat's eyeballs even though his eyes were still closed； a sickly sour…sweat smell that almost had him vomiting。
He lay motionless； tried to work out where he was； what had happened。 The darkness that had hidden so many evil entities was gone and in its place was harsh blinding light。 He knew that he was in a bed but it did not seem as fortable as his own； like wooden boards beneath him。
After a lengthy mental struggle he came to the conclusion that he was in a hospital。 Somehow he had been saved； his SOS call had got through in spite of their efforts。
He opened his eyes a fraction； squinted。 It was a hospital ward all right and there were screens around his bed； people beyond them talking in low muttered tones。 He tried to make out what the