Sarah’s Gift

In Sarah’s Gift, Inspector Penny Chakyar is on holiday in India when, back on the Isle of Man, Hjalmar, her long-time partner, is murdered. Detective Inspector Sarah Flemons, is tasked with finding the person or people responsible and bringing them to justice. But, on her return, Penny has other ideas and calls in a hired killer known only as The Vicar. She doesn’t want to see her partner’s killers in court – she wants to see them dead.

Since Penny is also a police inspector, The Vicar realises that such a contract would place Penny on the wrong side of the law and, long-term, probably destroy her self-esteem and her career. So, he enlists Sarah’s help to resolve the issue. Unfortunately, of course, that also makes Sarah complicit – so, will she be able to live with the consequences, or is there a way out?

The bodies keep mounting up as the killers are unveiled. But it’s not only The Vicar who’s responsible. Finally, it becomes a fight of good over evil. But who will be crowned the winner?

SARAH’S GIFT

When they turned, and advanced into the big drawing room, it was no longer the drawing room of a quiet country house. It trembled with a storm that was not of weather but of evil spirits. Shadows writhed along the walls, stretching and contracting as though the stones themselves recoiled. Flames seemingly leapt towards the ceiling. Black, faceless figures snarled at them from each side of the room. It seemed to the two priests that thick, pungent smoke leaked from the floor.

With an ear-shattering boom, the door they had just come through slammed shut behind them. The Vicar and Marmaduke wheeled round to see that they no longer had a way out. Turning again, they focused their eyes on a figure in a long red robe. A robe as red as dripping blood. He had thrown back his cowl to reveal himself as Lucien Thorne, and he was standing with his back to an altar covered in black cloth. His body was rigid, his eyes had become gateways to his soul, blazing with an unholy light that was not his own. His arms were outstretched as he sought to exercise demonic power over the intruders. When it erupted, his voice was layered – a chorus of rage, mockery, and contempt that shook the air with the single word, “Die!”

The air around him bent, charged with unseen patterns, as though the universe itself leaned closer to witness his awakening. His gaze had become a horizon, vast and unending, where death and darkness broke into eternity. In the sulphurous room, candles flared – the scent of burning wax mingling with something acrid. The walls bowed inwards as though the house itself was caught between two worlds – one of salvation, one of damnation.