“Why is it taking so long?” Jessa whined from the back seat as Hugo Fletcher’s car sat in traffic despite the green light.

“Nobody’s paying attention to the rules anymore,” Flynn muttered, watching another driver trying to make a U-turn right in front of a no-U-turns sign. “It’s madness.”

The pavements milled with pedestrians. Front doors lay open as occupants spilled out from their homes to converge, discuss, and speculate.

Suddenly, the buzz turned to a veritable hubbub, as people ran out from houses, urging those outside to come in to watch something on the television. Any traffic that was moving, stopped. Car doors opened, and radios turned up. Some passengers gathered around the cars of others to listen to the update.

“There, quick,” Hugo said, indicating the house closest to them, whose owner had pushed their television up toward the open window so people outside could watch. They ran over as quickly as possible, and Jessa pushed through the small crowd to get a better view.

Silas Lynch spoke directly to the camera. Soft, calculated, ominous.

“It’s not the time to be afraid. It’s time to embrace change. Let us begin the era of the parapsych. Let us be a people that honours and praises those among us who transcend human possibility. I survived death, and I became powerful. Let me show you the almighty energy that lies within you. Let me save you like I saved myself.”

The video ended. Back to the studio, where stunned news anchors awaited their next words from their earpieces.

“What did we miss, what did he say first?” Hugo asked the onlookers who were there for the whole thing.

“Something about a symbol.”

“What?”

“Oh man, he had this cut in the palm of his hand. Like an arrow or something. Or a triangle, sort of. I don’t know. What a fuckin’ psycho.”

The phones in Jessa and Hugo’s pockets buzzed as a message from Mrs Baxter arrived.

Did you see the video?

Watching now, Hugo wrote back.

“Look, they’re playing it again,” someone in the crowd hushed the group and they watched the video play from the beginning.

It began with Silas holding his right hand up to the camera. A fresh red incision lay in his flesh. His bony white fingers radiated outward like rays from a weird sunrise.

“This is to show you I am real. This symbol shows you that I am willing to bleed for my cause. For my people. It is not the time to be afraid…”

Jessa pulled out from the crowd, motioning for the others to join her. “I’ve seen that symbol before. It was written all over a book in that display at the museum.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“That’s the one that Francis Jackson ordered back, he was the original owner,” said Hugo.

“Wait,” said Jessa. “There’s a second copy at Francis Jackson’s house. And… hold on, let me think,” she wracked her brain. “I saw it… He said something about a book…”

“What did he say?” asked Audrey.

“If I could remember that, I would have just said it!” Jessa snapped back.

“You don’t have to yell at me. I was just asking.”

“Well don’t!”

“Chill out, please,” said Hugo. “Let’s not lose our tempers.”

Jessa closed her eyes tightly and pushed her brain to recall her visit to Woburn Vale. She clenched her fists atop one another in front of her chest and found herself rubbing the pendant of her necklace between her thumb and forefinger. She focused on the hissing of breath in her throat as the air came in and out.

“It still has all your scribbles on it. Why did you want it back?”

“For the same reason I have the other copy in this room. It’s much easier for me to transport when I use the book. Takes a lot less energy. Now I can keep this one with me.”

She recalled the book from the museum, its pages lewdly splayed, showing off all its secrets. All its symbols and memories. All Silas’ symbols and memories.

Her eyes flickered open and her ears suddenly tuned back into the madness around her.

“It’s his anchor,” she said.

#

Any chance of driving back into the centre of London had gone from little to none since Silas’s video had aired. It had also come to light that the internet had been hacked and every web page had been replaced with a link to the same video. There was no escaping it. No escaping him.

Under the darkened sky, the streets became more animated and more agitated. Jessa, Flynn, Rachel, Hugo, Audrey, and Dr Mortlock did their best to walk through the crowd that meandered frustratingly slowly, constantly distracted by conversation and consternation.

“Flynn, my mum just texted me,” Jessa held out her phone. “She heard from your mum. She’s safe but stuck in Battersea. The Underground is a mess, apparently.”

“I believe that,” he replied. “Tell her thanks for letting me know.”

“She’ll be all right,” Jessa assured him, linking her arm with his.

“I know,” he said faintly.

“I keep thinking about what he said in that video,” said Audrey.

“What about it?” Dr Mortlock replied.

“He was using very specific language, saying things like ‘almighty’ and ‘saved,’ it’s very reminiscent of old world religions.”

“Yeah, we heard about some of that when we learned about Christianity in school this year,” said Jessa. “So what, you think he’s religious?”

“I think he’s effectively trying to start a religion.”

“How do you just start a religion?” asked Flynn.

“Well, presumably you just devote yourself to your belief and then preach it to other people. That’s exactly what he seems to be doing, doesn’t it?”

“He’s rather brazen to think he can win people over by starting with the sacrifice of a hundred children,” said Hugo.

“Speaking from experience,” said Dr Mortlock, “if people are convinced enough by an argument, they’ll go along with anything.”

“Exactly,” Audrey said gravely. “He said he’s going to somehow absorb their energy, right? And make himself stronger in doing so? He’s basically turning himself into some kind of all-powerful deity. And those kids, his “chosen ones” will go down in history as becoming part of a… you know, a god.”

“You think people will be persuaded by that?” Flynn frowned.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of psychology studies, it’s that many people, deep down, are afraid. They’re afraid of dying unfulfilled, and they’re afraid of never finding their true purpose. Throughout history, religious fanatics have gained followers by promising salvation. And that’s kind of what he’s doing.”

“Many people are still going to fight against it,” said Rachel.

“Maybe the majority will fight against it. But my guess is that if he succeeds, he’ll manage to get a few people on his side.”

“Then we can’t let him succeed,” Rachel replied. “What’s the time?”

“Eleven,” said Hugo.

“We need to figure out where he is,” Audrey said plainly.

“Well let’s hope it’s in this direction,” he said as they inched their way through the crowded street. “Because otherwise we have no chance.”