Darkest Day

Toby was afraid, perhaps more afraid than he'd ever been in his entire life.

He had watched his mother die of cancer when he had been only nine, seeing her decay towards oblivion. Towards the end, he had supposed that she must look something like Death itself, or rather what he pictured Death to look like; a hideous monster without conscience. Her skin had gone gray and sagged in long dry drapes, as if she had once been grossly obese and had lost her blubber all of a sudden, leaving too much skin and not enough padding. Innocence and a lack of understanding had been his shield through that episode.

What, in that case, had been his armour during the time of his only brother's death? The answer to that was simple, he had had none. His brother had died suddenly and unexpectedly in a motor accident two days before Christmas, only three years previous. There had been no fear then, only agony and a sense of losing something that could never be regained in any sort of form. The unopened gifts, that sat beneath the tree for weeks afterwards, had been a torment the likes of which Toby had not endured before or since.

He had lost everybody, one at a time. First his father, when he was still very young, and then his mother and brother and uncle and even his baby niece. His family was cursed, and now only he remained.

But right now, while stood staring in the mirror and sweating, wearing a black suit that gave him the appearance of an undertaker, he was more afraid than any other time in his life. Why should that be? It wasn't as if he was adding to his extensive collection of funeral appearances.

He was simply getting married.

***********************************************

Sixty miles north, driving up the M6 motorway at a speed that even God himself might frown upon, vicar John Bishop leaned closer to the windscreen. The embattled wiper blades fought tirelessly to throw the assailing rain from the glass, like sentinels defending a besieged parapet.

He had thought that he might still get to the church on time, despite having to change the blown tire that had conspired to slow him down. But with the rain this heavy he would soon have to concede and slow his speed to a safer pace. He didn't know why God was putting so many obstacles in his way, but he supposed the top brass had his reasons. Perhaps, the couple he was to marry today weren't faithful to one another. In all his years as a vicar, he had never known anyone to pipe up when it came to the part of, "Do any persons here know of any reason why these two people should not be locked in holy matrimony?" He supposed it was only a matter of time before someone did. He just had never expected it to be Him.

In the distance, swimming amongst the undulation of his rain-molested windscreen, vicar Bishop spied a figure. The stranger walked bow-backed, huddled inside a black gabardine made shiny by the deluge, his head bowed and his strides long and purposeful.

"I'm in a rush," the vicar told himself, or perhaps he was telling his ever-expectant God. "I've got no time for picking up hitchhikers."

"You're a man of the cloth, Jonathan," said the voice of God in his head. "You're supposed to be a Good Samaritan."

"This is just another one of your obstacles, isn't it Lord? I don't quite know why you don't want me to reach that church on time, but I'm determined to make it, nevertheless."

Vicar Bishop always found it peculiar how he forever imagined his guilt to be the voice of God. He supposed that's how he kept himself an honest man.

He glanced in his mirrors to check that there was no traffic behind him before applying the break. The Rover Metro slewed a little before it came to a halt, spraying up water in the sort of dramatic way that had no correspondence with vicar Bishop's actual nature. He leaned over the passenger side and opened the door for the stranger.

"Need a lift? I'm heading towards Warwick if you're interested?"

The stranger turned his head to regard him. "You're a priest?"

"A vicar, actually. Vicar John Bishop; and spare me the jokes, I've heard them all. Hop in, my friend."

Stooping, the man eased himself into the cramped Metro and slammed shut the door behind him, banishing the hideous rain. The Metro pulled off once more.

"Where you heading?" asked Bishop, leaning over the wheel once more and straining to see through the precipitation.

"Nowhere in particular," said the man. "Just drifting. Thought I'd head south and see if I could find me a good time."

"Sounds audacious. What sort of a good time?"

Next to him, the hitchhiker smiled and said, "The sort that you priest types don't much approve of. Drinking, fighting, fucking. Yeah, that's all I'm interested in now-a-days. Gonna' find me a pretty little strawberry-blond, and fuck the tits right off her. You ever fucked a strawberry-blond, preacher boy?"

"I...I...can't say that I have," stammered vicar Bishop, a little appalled by the man's brazen disposition.

"You don't know what you're missing. There's nothing better than pulling on a fist full of strawberry-blond hair while you're ramming it up her wrong-un', I'll tell you that." The man offered a brawny hand. "Name's Asmodi."

"Pleased to meet you," said John hesitantly, before shaking his hand. "Asmodi, is that Greek or something?"

"Yeah, something like that. So what's your story preacher, what's in Warwick?"

"I'm conducting a service, a wedding."

"A little out of your jurisdiction, isn't it sheriff?"

"The resident minister is off his feet with the flu. Apparently, I came recommended. The groom's best man came to my house only yesterday and asked if I could step in. I agreed, but now I'm starting to wish I hadn't."

"And why's that?"

"There's something not right. I've always been a bit of a superstitious old so-and-so, comes with being a vicar I suppose, but it seems to me that God doesn't want me to get to this wedding. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's trying to slow me down."

"You are superstitious," agreed Asmodi. "I think you need to calm down and stop over-thinking things. Weddings are blissful occasions. I couldn't imagine anything terrible happening. Nothing at all."

*************************************************

"What do you mean you haven't got the ring? Are you fucking joking? This shit doesn't happen in real life. You don't 'forget' the god damn ring; this isn't a cheesy soap opera, Raph." Toby punctuated his discord with erratic arm gestures like a man gone mad.

"Toby, you've got no idea how sorry I am, how stupid I feel. But I can fix this. I know where the ring is. It's in my bedside drawer at home. I can go fetch it. I'll break every speed limit between here and there if I have to."

"I'm getting married in..." Toby consulted his watch, "...an hour and forty minutes, Raph. How do you expect to make it there and back in time?"

Raphael, Toby's closest friend and best man, whirled and marched over to where his coat rested on the back of a chair. Snatching it up, he fished inside the pockets for his car keys. "I'll go now," he said. "I'll make it, I promise. I'll cut through Harrowberry Lane, that should save me some time. I'll get the ring and have it back here before the service. I'm sorry about this Toby, I've really fucked up."

Raph marched from the hotel room and hurried down the corridor. Toby went with him, keeping pace at his side.

"Have the flowers arrived?" fretted the groom.

"Yeah, they came an hour ago. Sarah's mom's laying them out in the dinning hall now."

"And what about the seat covers, and the table overlays? Have they been sorted?"

"The hotel's dealt with that. I've given them the seating arrangement and I printed the name tags out myself this morning. They have those too. And I ordered another nine bottles of champagne because I didn't think there would be enough."

"Good." Toby flustered, trying to go through the itinerary that lay disarrayed in his head. "And the vicar? Is he here yet?"

"I don't think so Tobe, but I'm sure he will be. I met with him yesterday and he seems a genuine fella'."

Raph had been magnificent as up to now. He knew just how much this marriage meant to Toby and Sarah, and was aware of how nervous Toby was that something might go wrong, but you could hardly wonder why. Toby was cursed, it seemed. Misfortune and misery had hounded him like bad smell his entire life. Now was his chance to be happy, and Raphael would make certain nothing would impede his opportunity.

Raph had taken charge of the wedding arrangements, and why not? It was a little unorthodox for the best man to also operate as the wedding coordinator, but as his title suggested - he was simply the best man for the job. He had worked for four years as an event coordinator at the National Indoor Arena in Birmingham. He was good at this sort of thing so had volunteered to take the helm. At least, he had thought himself good until he had forgotten that damn ring.

Together, they exited the hotel and moved out across the expansive hotel grounds.

"Don't worry about a thing," soothed Raph, though the anxiety in his voice betrayed his composed facade. "I'll be in that church with the ring before one o'clock, and so will vicar Bishop." They were out in the car park now, standing before Raph's Nissan Pathfinder. He put a strong hand on his friend's shoulder and imparted a reassuring smile. "This is your time to be happy, Tobe. Relax and enjoy it. Leave all the worrying to me."

"Thanks for this, Raph. You're the closest thing I have to a family. Make sure you drive safely, okay." Toby pointed away towards the north, where bloated thunderheads loomed in the distance. "You'll be driving into that, so make sure you check you're speed, okay?"

"Don't worry about me. You just worry about remembering those vows you wrote." Raph slapped him on the back and ducked into his silver 4x4. Honking the horn, he rode out the car park and set off down the road, hurtling towards the invading storm clouds like a single shining champion.

*************************************************

Gordon Raguel was a stoic man, known for his patience and endurance and for keeping his emotions on a short chain. He proved this now as he sat unmoving in the premier suit of the hotel, while a bedlam of frantic bridesmaids and busy-bodies whirled about him like a storm-raped sea around a rock. Unruffled, the retired police lieutenant waited for his only daughter to emerge from the bathroom.

The room froze as the bathroom door opened, women cutting short whatever it was they were doing or saying. Into the room stepped an angel from the very highest tiers of heaven.

Her auburn hair, crowned with a glittering tiara, cascaded down her shoulders like a fiery waterfall frozen in time. Long dark lashes encircled her wide fervent eyes, and her complexion was that of snow. Her veil fanned out behind her, giving her the appearance of ethereal goddess, and her virginal white dress flowed out around her in ripples and waves.

"My god," gasped Mr Raguel. "How could anything so pristine have come from me?"

"Oh Daddy," said Sarah, beaming. "You're not such a bad looking old stick yourself."

"I can't believe my little girl has grown into a woman." Mr Raguel approached his daughter and gently stroked her rich hair. "I've been both dreaming and dreading this day for such a long time."

"Dreading? And why's that?"

"Because you've always been daddy's little girl, haven't you. It's going to break my heart to pass you over to another man. He'd better be worthy of the honour. I hope you've chosen wisely."

"I have, and he is. And I'll always be your little Puddleduck, daddy." She leaned in close and kissed his leathery old cheek. "Where's mother?"

"Arranging flowers in the dinning hall. The barmy old girl has already burst in to tears three times today."

"How's Toby, have you seen him this morning?"

Mr Raguel shrugged. "Toby's been in his room all morning trembling like a frightened Shih Tzu." There was a note of disapproval in his tone. "If that boy gets cold feet then I'm going to..."

"He won't, Daddy." Sarah's voice was lyrical, the type to soothe the most fearsome of beasts. "He loves me more than anything on this earth. He's not had an easy life. If he's afraid then it's most likely that he's afraid for me."

"For you? Why would he be afraid for you?"

"He's superstitious. He thinks that his family is cursed, and that if I take his name something terrible will happen to me."

"That's ridiculous," huffed her father, locking on to her eyes with a firm and indomitable stare of his own. "You know I'll never let anything bad happen to you, Puddleduck. Daddy will always watch over you and protect you, whether you are married or not."

Sarah giggled in delight. "I know Daddy, I'm lucky to have you. And Toby's just being silly, I'm sure. Today is a day for love, not doom and gloom."

*************************************************

"Where is that hopeless idiot?" cursed Mr Raguel, rubbing his balding head as if to knead inspiration from his very brain. The service was supposed to begin in half an hour, but Toby was nowhere to be found. Mr Raguel had searched the entire hotel grounds for him but to no avail. He had come finally to the church, realising that it was the only stone not yet to be overturned.

The church had been here for nigh on a century, and the plush five-star hotel had been constructed next to it for the sole purpose of providing wedding receptions. Toby was in that church, Mr Raguel knew, and set off towards it. When he entered the church through the high arched door, he spotted Toby immediately, knelt at the far end before a hanging crucifix.

"Are you a coward, Malloy?"

Toby jumped as if poked with a cattle prod. "Whoa! Oh, Mr Raguel. I didn't hear you come in."

"Of course you didn't, how could you with your head tucked so far between your thighs? Looks as if you're kissing your arse good-bye."

"I was praying."

"I guessed that. That is why I want to know, are you a coward?"

"I'm scared," Toby admitted. "If that makes me a coward, then yes, I suppose you could say I am."

Mr Raguel huffed. "Being afraid and being are coward are two different things, Malloy. What makes you a coward is that you can't face up to your fear. Instead, you're in here on your knees, in front of a lump of stone shaped in the likeness of a bloke I don't think ever really existed, begging him to come and solve all your problems and settle all of your insecurities." He cuffed Toby round the back of the head. "Get on your feet."

Toby didn't move. "Well I believe in him, sir. You're a lucky man, Mr Raguel. You have a secure family and ample wealth. The worst thing that's ever happened to you is Manchester United not winning the double. Try having your every loved one stripped from you in some unspeakable way. Try being alone, and afraid that an unspeakable curse will hound you forever, taking away anyone who might be brave enough to get close to you. When you've been beaten down like I have, you learn to have faith."

"Don't be afraid for her," said Mr Raguel. "Sarah happens to be my daughter, and that's lucky for the both of you. If your god is real, Catholic boy, then he surely put men like me on the earth to watch out for you weaker ones. I'll let nothing horrid befall my daughter, and by her choice - after today - you'll have stepped beneath that umbrella."

Just then, with an icy gust of wind and rain, the doors to the church once more came open, this time with a clatter. A man came rushing into the room, dripping wet.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, coming to where Toby and Mr Raguel were positioned at the head of the church. "I'm afraid I've brought some bad weather with me. I've been travelling for more than an hour with that storm hot on my heels, and now its here I don't think its going to budge." The man removed his sodden coat and drooped it over one arm, revealing his vicar's attire beneath.

"Vicar Bishop?" said Toby hopefully.

"Yes, vicar John Bishop. I'm here for the wedding."

"Wonderful!" Toby came to his feet and shook the man's hand gratefully. "I'm Toby Malloy, the groom. I'm so glad you made it."

Mr Raguel regarded him with a stern gaze. "Cutting it a bit close aren't we vicar? My daughter is getting married in just thirty minutes."

"Oh, I am ever so sorry to have alarmed you. I had a terrible journey here. First the rain and then my tire blew. And to top it all off I somehow ended up with a hitchhiker in my car. Ever such a rude man he was, absolutely insisted I drop him off in Leamington Spa before I came here. For a moment I thought that God perhaps didn't want me to make it here on time." Noticing the alarm register on Toby's face, he added hurriedly, "However that does not seem to be the case. I'm here now."

"You should have told that hitchhiker to walk to Leamington Spa himself," huffed Mr Raguel. "That's what I would have done. You think he would have gone out of his way to help you, vicar?"

"I suppose not," conceded vicar Bishop with a shrug. "A friend of a friend won't tend or fend for you. That's what I always say."

Seeming pleased with the philosophy, Mr Raguel cracked a wide smile. "That's just about the most sensible mantra I've ever heard. I wish my future son-in-law here had such a steady head on him." He wrapped a warm arm around vicar Bishop's shoulders and said to him, "Toby here feels he leads a blighted life. He's afraid that he might pass this on to my daughter if they get married. What do you say to that, vicar?"

Vicar Bishop put his hand on Toby's shoulder and said softly, "Toby, marriage is good for those who are afraid to sleep alone at night. May the lord turn all your sunsets into sunrises."

Mr Raguel nodded approvingly. "See Malloy, even a representative of your god has told you to stop blathering. Now can we drop all this horse shit and get down to the business of getting the two of you married?" He regarded vicar Bishop. "I tell you vicar, all this wiping people's noses is really beginning to wear me thin. It's a good job I'm here to keep things ticking over."

"Indeed," agreed Bishop. "Every family needs a strong core; a well from which to draw its strength." At this, Mr Raguel beamed openly.

"You're an enlightened man, vicar. I'm an excellent judge of character and I can sense your integrity. You are just the man to announce my daughter married."


************************************************

"My dear, I'd like you to meet someone," Said Mr Raguel. "This is vicar John Bishop, he'll be marrying you."

"Pleased to meet you, vicar," said Sarah, gliding across the hotel room. She offered him her paw in the elegant fashion of a lady.

"My my," gasped vicar Bishop, before taking her hand and bowing his head. When his eyes came back up again to meet hers they were wide and full of wonder. "Now aren't you just the most beautiful flower. There are angels who would risk the flames of hell to ascertain beauty such as yours."

"Thank you, vicar." Sarah turned to her father. "Have you spoken to Toby yet?" Mr Raguel smiled reassuringly at his daughter, while vicar Bishop moved away towards the door.

"Toby's fine. I found him practicing his vows."

"He's doing okay? He's not panicking at all?"

"Don't be absurd. Excited is what he is." He lightly kissed her amber hair. "You need to finish preparing yourself, honey. We'll be going to the church shortly."

"Yes, Daddy." Sarah spun away, reaching over to where her posy of flowers lay in wait on the dresser table. As she scooped them up she happened to glance over towards the door. There still stood vicar Bishop, skulking in the doorway. For a split moment their eyes locked, giving Sarah the impression that he had perhaps been staring at her for the last moment or two. Seemingly embarrassed, vicar Bishop cast his eyes away, and scuttled out the room, closing the door behind him. Sarah giggled, regarding the gesture as a rather comic complement.

************************************************

Toby squirmed as the finger of his watch mercilessly sliced away the seconds with ruthless efficiency.

He was stood in the vestibule of the church, his palms sweaty and his shirt collar feeling like a noose. Behind him the last of the guests were shuffling into the hall and down the smooth umbilical aisle. Ahead, through the open doorway of the churches entrance, he watched fretfully as Mr Raguel's 1966 Jaguar MK X channelled relentlessly down the road towards him. Sarah was in that car, looking lovely and full of hope and expectation.

And still, there was no sign of Raph.

"Why so troubled my son, did I not succeed in alleviating your disquiet earlier?" came a voice from behind Toby. It was vicar John Bishop.

"It's not that, vicar," said Toby, not for a second taking his eyes from the approaching vehicle and his looming fate. "It's my best man; you know, the man you met yesterday at your home; Raphael. He isn't here yet, and Sarah is right out there." He pointed to where the Jaguar jogged along the snaking road through the hotel grounds. It passed over an arching stone bridge that spanned a swollen stream, and embarked upon the last hundred metres of road.

"Then why don't you appoint an usher as best man in his stead?" offered the vicar.

"I couldn't. It has to be Raph. He is the only thing I have left that resembles family. His nephew simply won't do."

"Quite right," conceded the vicar. "Like I said to you earlier; a friend of a friend won't tend or fend for you. That's what I always say anyway."

"And besides," Toby cast him a sideways glance, the type of glance a reluctant doctor might pass when delivering the news to a person that their loved one might die. "He has the ring."

Just at that moment, overthrowing the hissing choir of the falling rain, a long and loud car horn screamed in defiant triumph. Toby saw Raph's Nissan Pathfinder arrow over the bridge, over-take Mr Raguel's Jaguar clumsily, and spur onward towards the church. The sound of Mr Raguel's own irritated horn chased the Pathfinder, as the silver god-send came to a slewing halt before the church door.

"It seems your prayers have been answered," said vicar Bishop. "Your guardian angel has arrived. Now excuse me, I must prepare myself for the ceremony."

Vicar Bishop moved away into the church hall as Raph abandoned his car and came bounding through the doorway, clutching the precious ring in one gloved fist.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down," said Toby, seizing Raph in an uninhibited embrace.

"No time for cuddles, old pal," panted Raph. "Sarah's right behind me."

Taking Toby by the elbow, Raph ushered his friend from the vestibule, into the hall and down the aisle to the head of the church. The attendance was terribly one-sided, with droves of Sarah's family assembled amongst the right-hand pews, and only a scant strewning of friends (most of which were actually associated with Raph rather than Toby) to represent the groom's guests upon the left.

Toby heard the engine of the Jaguar roar and cease, and then the sound of the church doors slam shut in the vestibule. He closed his eyes and held his breath a moment. 'This is it. I'm going to be married. I'm going to have a family once more. Brace yourself Tobe'.

Vicar Bishop appeared from behind a curtain, to stand - dressed from head to toe in a white gown - upon the dais. Toby's usher, Timothy, rushed to the rear of the church to receive the bride and her maids.

"Toby," whispered Raph, gripping his friend's wrist fiercely. "There's something I've got to tell you, something you have to know."

"Right now? Can't it wait?" Toby pulled free his wrist, but Raph snatched it again immediately.

"I don't think it can. I don't want to alarm you, but there is something here that..."

"Don't Raph," Toby stopped him. "I was on my very knees less than an hour ago, asking God for peace and sanctuary. It's only now, while I'm stood here waiting for Sarah, that I actually feel at ease. She is my true Goddess, and we are about to get married. I can't allow anything to hassle it now. Not when we are so close. I'm sorry Raph, whatever it is; it's going to have to wait until after the ceremony."

Reluctantly, Raphael closed his mouth. All about them the deep hum of organs thrummed.

*************************************************

Swallowing hard against the golf ball in his throat, Toby searched inside his mind for the vows that were filed there someplace. Sarah was stood with him at the head of the church, looking like an AWOL angel. Love radiated from her wide innocent eyes. Between them stood vicar Bishop.

"Sarah," Toby began. "Before I met you I lived my life trapped inside a dark room. The candles that had lit that room - my family - had in time failed, one by one. I was cold, blind and afraid for so long. Until, that is, you came along, and with an effortless stroke of your beautiful hand turned on the light switch, filling my life with more light than ever before. You are my saviour, my soul-mate, my..."

Sarah felt her eyes moisten as Toby confessed his love before all those gathered. Her heart galloped inside her chest, and she lowered her head a moment, trying to catch her thrilled breath.

It was when she lifted her head once more that she caught a glimpse of vicar Bishop from the corner of her eye. Like before, he was staring at her, but this time not in the clumsy and enchanted manner as earlier. She levelled her gaze at him and found that his stare was not fixed on her porcelain face, but instead where her strapless corset had slid down a fraction, exposing a slender line of cleavage. His leering eyes were full of hunger, and his mouth - fixed half way between a grin and a sneer - glistened with drool. Sensing that he was being observed, vicar Bishop's eyes jumped up to meet hers, and instead of looking away embarrassed or apologetically, he granted an agonisingly slow wink-of-the-eye, all the time grinning intently. Appalled and alarmed, Sarah looked away, but still she could feel his gluttonous eyes boring into her head and bosom.

When it came to her vows, she said them in a shaky, uncomfortable voice.

The ceremony lasted forty minutes, and after vicar Bishop - without a further trace of the lewdness he had only moments before publicized - had pronounced them man and wife, the happy couple signed the register book and exited the church, followed by the guests.

Toby and Sarah, bowed beneath an umbrella, were making their way across towards the hotel where the reception was to be held, when Sarah stopped short.

"I've forgotten my posy," she gasped.

"Never mind. You don't need it now," Toby urged above the din of the downpour.

"I have to have it for the photographs. You carry on inside," she said. "I'll be right over."

Taking the umbrella from him, Sarah kissed his lips and turned, heading back towards the empty church.

Inside the church, strangled light filtered from the high windows to fall upon the vacant pews, highlighting just how alone Sarah was as she moved down the aisle for a second time. She could see her posy of flowers sitting upon the table where they had earlier signed the register, vivid and lonesome, like a child accidently left behind by her mother.

Sarah climbed the dais and reclaimed her flowers. Turning, she made to leave, but instead stopped dead in her tracks.

Stood at the entrance to the church hall, arms clasped behind his back, was vicar Bishop.

"Hello, my dear," he said in a conversational tone. "Back so soon? You've only been wedded ten minutes and already you're back for more. Having second thoughts about your choice of husband? Are you looking to get married once more?"

"Vicar," Sarah gasped, shakily building an uncertain smile. "You scared me."

"Scared you?" Bishop seemed amused by this. "And why would you be scared of a man of God?" John Bishop moved slowly, purposefully, inevitably, down the aisle towards Sarah.

"No reason, I just didn't see you come in, that's all." She looked around to see if there was anyone else in the hall; a witness to loan her security, though she knew full well there was not. Vicar Bishop, an indomitable air of confidence exuding from him, came to the dais, and mounted it.

"I sincerely hope that you are not having second thoughts about Toby. He is a good man, one who appreciates what he has." Bishop came to a halt inches before her, enjoying the proximity usually reserved only for family and lovers. "You are a beautiful woman, Sarah. I know what angels look like, I have seen them. And it is no fictitious compliment to say that you are the very likeness of them."

He reached out and stroked her trembling cheek. His flattery tasted like bile and all Sarah could say to rebuke it was, "I think you're wrong. I'm no angel, Mr Bishop. For one, angels have blond hair. My hair is auburn."

"Auburn, you say?" said vicar Bishop. He moved in so close that his body was pressed against hers. His mouth moved near to her ear, so his glistening lips and stale breath could be felt upon her neck. "I'd say your hair was closer to strawberry-blond, actually."

With a long and sticky tongue, vicar Bishop licked her neck from shoulder to chin, while his hand violently kneaded the lumpy protrusion between his legs.

Screaming, Sarah jerked away from him, tripping on the hem of her gown. She tumbled backward from the dais to land heavily in a heap in the aisle. In an instant vicar Bishop followed, bearing down on her with maddening lust-filled eyes. She kicked up, catching him in the midriff as he leapt from the dais, and knocking him away from her. Then she was on her feet again, racing towards the church hall door. She dared not look back to see if he was following, lest she trip or even simply slow in her flight, granting the crazed vicar the opportunity to seize her. She reached the door and threw it closed behind her as she stumbled out into the church vestibule.

There, stood Sarah's father, Mr Raguel.

"Daddy!" Sarah exclaimed. "Oh Daddy, please get me out of here. It's vicar Bishop. He's...he's...he's a foul man."

"What?" said Mr Raguel, confused. "What's all this nonsense?"

"Vicar Bishop. He is perverted. I came back here to get my posy and he was waiting for me. He is a horrid letch, Daddy!"

"Now, now, you must be mistaken." Mr Raguel wrapped a long arm around his panting daughter's shoulder. "I know vicar Bishop. He is a good man. I'm sure this is a misunderstanding, my dear. You are very excitable at the minute. Let's go in there and see him, and sort all this out." Mr Raguel led her back toward the door leading into the church hall.

"Daddy no! There's something very wrong with him. Don't make me go back in there, please I'm begging you, Daddy."

"Whatever he might have said to you has obviously been misinterpreted. He is an honourable man, Puddleduck. Let daddy sort out all this mess." Mr Raguel led his reluctant daughter back into church hall.

Where the demon waited.

************************************************

"Toby, I've got to speak with you right away. This can't wait any longer." Raph snatched the vodka and lemonade from Toby's hand.

"What's wrong with you, Raph? Why you so spooked? I'm supposed to be the nervous one, remember?"

"Listen to me will you." Raph stressed. "Yesterday, after minister Adams cancelled, I went to the home of vicar Bishop to ask if he would stand in and take the service at short notice. We spoke for a full hour in his living room."

"So?"

"So I'm saying I have seen him, I know what he looks like."

"What are you trying to tell me, Raph?"

"I'm trying to tell you that the man who married the two of you today was not vicar John Bishop."

"What?" Toby felt a chill sprint up and down his spine.

"That man is not vicar Bishop. I didn't see him until the service was about to get underway. By that time it was too late to tell you. John Bishop is old, sixty at least."

"Then who was that guy? And why did he pass himself off as vicar Bishop?"

"I don't know Tobe, but I have a bad feeling in my gut. Where's Sarah, she ought to know about this?"

Toby felt his blood freeze. "She went back to the church. She went back to get her posy."

"Where's the man pretending to be your vicar?"

Toby went weak at the knees. "With her."

************************************************
Together, Toby and Raph dashed across the hotel grounds towards the open doors of the church. The rain conspired to slow them but they fought on regardless, and at length plunged into the vestibule.

"Sarah!" cried Toby, his hair and suit soaked. "Sarah, you here?"

They dashed to the door leading into church hall and threw it back. Together they charged inside, Raph scooping up a long ornamental sceptre in the process.

In tangent, they came to a skidding halt not two metres inside, shock and disgust twisting their features into grotesque contortions of their usual selves. In front and above them, strung upon the hanging wooden crucifix, was Mr Raguel. His belly had been torn open like paper, and slippery intestines hung in long veins between his dangling legs. The skin of his face had been half-ripped from his skull, leaving it flapping from his bowed head like a rubber mask, and only partly covering the bleeding, screaming skull beneath. Mr Raguel gagged and choked, his teeth gnashing together, biting down on the pulped tongue that lolled between them. He released one long final wheeze, and then died.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" shrieked Raph, almost dropping his make-shift weapon.

"Sarah! Oh God, Sarah where are you?"

Toby raced down the aisle, checking between the pews as he went. Leaping upon the dais he looked around fitfully for signs of his bride. It was then that he noticed a door at the rear of the church, leading back out into the stormy afternoon.

The man disguised as vicar Bishop had fled that way, and Toby knew he had taken Sarah with him.

*************************************************

The demon loped through the driving rain, dragging Sarah behind him by her hair. He had to take her someplace where he could enjoy her, away from gathered people inside the hotel. He had been compromised, he knew. Earlier at the service, he had detected the best man's alarm. Raphael had met with John Bishop, knew what the man looked like, and it wouldn't be long before he came looking for answers.

Asmodi, king of the nine hells, admitted to himself that perhaps he had made a mistake. After killing vicar Bishop on the road, the demon should have taken his body and used it as his vehicle. He could do that; possess the bodies of the recently vanquished to use as his device. But John Bishop was old, and could not offer Asmodi the bullish strength that this present vehicle could provide. It had been his plan to kill the best man first and hide his body, thus extinguishing the only threat that might compromise his disguise. But the best man had not turned up at the church until the last minute, and Asmodi had been forced to improvise.

Sarah, her shoeless heels dragging and bleeding upon the ground, wailed. Her cries only served to arouse the demon further, and he pushed on, hungry now to corrupt her angelic soul.

Upon the bridge, Sarah screamed long and loud, and Asmodi felt the ecstasy of her torment course through him; almost overwhelm him. He had to take her, right now. He could wait no longer.

Clutching her ruined hair, he hauled her up before him, holding her like a puppet by wet strawberry-blond strings.
She was limp and weak, drained by the sight of her father's rent and blighted body. Grinning, Asmodi curled his fingers over the lip of her corset and tore away the upper dress, sending her pale breasts tumbling free. He gorged himself on the left of the two, sucking, gobbling and biting. Finding a small measure of strength, Sarah lashed out with her long fingernails, raking away the flesh of his face in jagged lines. In retaliation, the demon drove his forehead into her face, causing her button-nose to erupt in an orgy of blood and sending her sprawling backwards from the bridge.

She landed heavily on the muddy bank of the inflamed stream, sludge splashing over her spoiled white wedding dress. Asmodi, erection-in-hand, dived down into the roiling waters after her.

With the last of her fading strength, Sarah rolled onto her front and began dragging herself up the bank and away from the water. Her knees and bare breasts scrapped in the mud, and her labouring hands and feet constantly slipped and slid as she fought for purchase.

Behind her, the demon rose from the tumultuous torrent.

He was upon her in a heartbeat, seizing her by the shoulders and driving her down into the mire. Hitching up her skirt, he ripped away her white panties and took hold of his instrument of rape. In one long, agonising thrust, he impaled her from behind. She tried to scream but her face was pressed into the mud and instead she swallowed great mouthfuls of muck. He pierced her again and again mercilessly, until blood oozed from her sticky, sickly cunt. She sobbed helplessly, and the demon howled towards the dreary sky.

Toby, being a much faster sprinter than Raph, came upon the bridge first and bore witness to the horror below. Unbelieving, desperately enraged, Toby dived down to where his beleaguered wife lay sprawled in the mud. He came down hard on Asmodi's back, and wrenched the demon backwards into the tumbling water. They fought there, grappling and clawing as the excitable surf leapt upon their heads. But Asmodi was a creature of the purest hate and of the most unfettered malevolence, and it was he who won the physical battle. Wrapping his long fingers around Toby's throat, the demon drove him beneath the water, and there choked the life from him.

Raph came upon the bridge in time to see his friend go under, and watched in horror as Toby's fraught body ceased to struggle as death seized him.

Screaming, sceptre in hand, Raph leapt from the bridge. As he landed upon the demons back he brought the spear-like weapon down, driving it through Asmodi's skull with a crack. Howling a hideous unearthly scream, the king of the nine hells collapsed, falling forward into the water dead.

Wasting no time, Raph plunged below the torrid waterline and came back up clutching Toby by the collar. He hauled him to the bank next to where Sarah still wailed, and applied CPR. Raph thrust down on Toby's chest time and again, and just when he thought that there was no chance of reviving his friend, Toby spat out a lungful of water, and took a long ragged breath.

************************************************

Half an hour later the scene was awash with blue flashing lights. Guests were kept at bay by lengths of yellow tape, while police and paramedics jostled about the incident. Raph was sat inside a police car, giving a stunned statement, while Sarah - who was bound to a stretcher - was loaded into the back of an ambulance. Toby, who had seemed to have recovered remarkably from being resuscitated from the dead, opted to travel in the back of the ambulance with his wife.

"Who was he?" said Sarah in a faint and haunted voice, once they had pulled away from the scene. Toby didn't answer. "He wasn't human, couldn't have been human. He killed my father, oh Daddy! He was a monster, Toby."

Still no answer.

"Toby, talk to me," she sobbed. "Who was he? Who did Raph ask to our wedding?"

Toby stood over her, and looked down with greedy eyes. "Perhaps you shouldn't have trusted Raph's judgement. A friend of a friend won't tend or fend for you, Sarah." He gave her a slow wink-of-the-eye.

"That's what I always say."

*************************************AUTHOR'S NOTE*******************************************

This story was inspired by scripture from The Book of Tobit (Catholic testament).
It tells of how the angel, Raphael (patron Saint of healing and match-making) was sent to cure Tobit of his 'blindness', and deliver the bride Sarah, daughter of Raguel, from the carnal intent of the demon, Asmodi, king of the nine hells.