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had no place in the natural world, incidents
that could never be attributed to the will or actions   of any human being. He couldn’t explain them because they
were inexplicable, and so he’d simply accepted them: Maybe they were all just part of one of his
nightmares ? Maybe he ’ d
never met anybody called Kristin ? Maybe there was no threat of nuclear war ? Maybe he was
steadily descending into a state of madness from which he would never recover ?
    The barrage of sirens tore
him from his contemplation. He stumbled into the lounge, raised the blind and
wiped condensation from the window. A pall   of dense, black smoke was rising into the steely, early
morning sky.
    ‘ ... The church burns,’
breathed a repelling voice.
    He knew she hadn’t followed
him to the window. From the bedroom he heard her groan, and he turned … she was
standing behind him. He stared at her half-lit face.
    ‘The worshipers are nothing
but deluded fools,’ she rasped, her black eyes glinting malignantly.
    He shuddered as the hideous
voice left her lips.
    ‘Will prayer prevent the
armageddon thou hast spoken of? It will not. Devotion to this son of God is
misplaced. There will be change soon, great change.’
    She moved forwards and
looked out at the church. ‘ This burning was meant to be .’
    He went to the back of the
room and stood silently in the enveloping darkness: Kristin was no longer
anyone, or anything he recognized. She’d become much more than the cold-blooded
woman who chilled him to the bone, the enigmatic stranger to him. Now she
represented something from another dimension, a terrible, alternative reality.
    ‘Thou shalt all receive
what thee deserve,’ the voice croaked, as she swayed from side to side. ‘Thou
shalt all receive what thee deserve ... thou shalt all receive ... ’
    He backed against the wall,
‘ ... I found marks ... on the bedroom door.’
    She caught her breath.
    ‘ ... And a fingernail.’
    Her head turned slightly,
her eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. ‘So now she stands accused of
scratching at the door like an animal?’
    ‘ ... I haven’t lost a
nail.’
    ‘Neither has this bitch!’
it yowled, making her splay her fingers.
    ‘ ... Where did it come
from ... ?’
    ‘I DON’T KNOW!’ Kristin
shrieked, regaining control, her bones cracking. ‘ ... Fucking Shannon ’ s ?’
    ‘ ... Shannon didn’t use
nail varnish.’
    ‘Shannon! Shannon! Fuck
Shannon, I tire of that name!’ it rattled, vitriolicly. ‘What about me ... her
... what about this whore, Kristin?’
    He picked up a heavy book
and hurled it at her, catching her in the chest and she sprang forwards, her
teeth coruscating in the dawning light.
    ‘PAIN! FUCK YOU ... LEAVE
HER ALONE!’ She slumped into the sofa and dug her nails into a cushion.
    ‘ ... I’m going ... to see
if there’s anything I can do.’ He dressed quickly, threw on a coat, and left
her.

 
    St Mary’s Catholic Church was built in 1573.
Thom’s parents had married there on a bright, spring morning thirty-six years
earlier. Both Thom and   his
brother, Nicholas, had been christened at its font and Nick’s funeral service,
attended by more than a hundred, had been conducted at its altar. Now it was
gone.
    Within half an hour the
fire crews had brought the blaze under control. When the smoke and steam
cleared he saw that the great walls of flint and mortar were largely intact.
But the beautiful stained glass windows were no more, blown out by the intense
heat that had built up inside the church,    and through the chasmal holes the devastation inside
was evident.
    ‘Two people,’ an old man
said.
    Thom stared at him.
    ‘Two people died in there.
The vicar, and his daughter. Just a little girl. I saw it go up. No explosion,
just burst into flames.’
    An urgent message came
through on the two-way radio and the chief firefighter bellowed instructions to
his men.
    ‘What’s going on?’ Thom
asked, approaching him.
    ‘St Magdalene’s