'Because we're still learning. We haven't yet grasped it. When it is used, it's done unconsciously. When we learned to walk, did we think about it first, or did the realization come after? Once we were aware that we could walk, that it was physically possible, we could learn to do other things. Run, then ride, use implements, make vehicles to carry us. It's a gradual process, Chris, and only our own awareness can speed up that process.'

Bishop wondered why he was resisting the argument, for it explained much of his own thoughts regarding the paranormal. Perhaps it was because it all seemed too simple, too obvious an answer; but then, who said the answer had to be complicated? Everything came from the individual, no outside force was involved; and when each personal source was discovered, then, united with others, that collected power became massive. It did seem that the Dark affected those people who were in some way mentally disturbed, whether they were criminals, insane, or his grip on the glass tightened or had evil in their minds. Many of the cases he had heard of over the past few weeks concerned individuals who held some grievance against others even mere dislike and it seemed the madness around them had triggered off their own violence. If the Dark could seek out this evil, invade their minds and draw out that force, uniting with it, reinforcing its own strength like some giant, rapacious organism, then where would it end? As it grew stronger, would it be capable of swamping any opposing force for good in the mind, finding the evil that lurked in every living soul and using it? Was the reason for that power not having been developed more fully in the past because of the conflicting oppositions within everybody, only those rare beings who were truly good or truly evil being capable of harnessing it in their own way? And when you died, did that entity die with you or was it released into . . . into what? Bishop realized that Jessica's answer had not been simple at all: it was as complex as man's own evolution.

'Chris, are you all right? You've gone deathly white.'

Jessica's hand was over his own, and he became aware of the crushing grip he had on the glass. He placed the Scotch back on the bar, but still she kept her hand on his.

He took in a deep breath. 'Maybe it's all catching up with me.'

Misunderstanding him, she said, 'You've been through so much. We all have, but you more than most.'

He shook his head. 'I don't mean that, Jessica. Lynn's death is something I'll never really get over, but it's something I know I'll learn to accept, just as I've accepted Lucy's. The hurt will always be there, but it'll become controllable. No, what's shaken me is your explanation for the Dark. I take it Jacob shares your view?'

'It is his view. I agree with him.'

'Then there's no way we can overcome it.'

She was silent for a moment, then replied. 'There has to be a way.'

Bishop turned his hand over so that the palm joined with Jessica's. His fingers curled around her hand and gently squeezed; but he said nothing.

He was still awake, sitting in the uncomfortable armchair in his hotel room, facing the large picture window and wondering what fresh atrocities were breaking out in London, when the light rapping on the door disturbed his thoughts. He glanced at his watch and saw it was ten-thirty. The rapping came again. Crushing his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray resting on the arm of the chair, he rose and walked over to the door. He hesitated before turning the twist-lock handle, apprehension having become a part of his life-pattern now. Jessica's voice dispelled his anxiety.

He opened the door and found himself looking into the sightless eyes of Jacob Kulek, Jessica standing just behind her father.

'May we come in, Chris?' Kulek said.

Bishop stood aside and Jessica guided her father into the room. He closed the door and turned to face them.

'I'm sorry I have not been able to speak with you during the day, Chris,' Kulek apologized. 'I'm afraid my time is governed by others nowadays.'

'It's all right, I understand. These people seem to expect a lot of you, Jacob.'

The blind man gave a small laugh, but Bishop noted there was a tiredness to it. 'The scientists and medical people on the one hand are sceptical, while most of the psychicists on the other are cautious they see this as an opportunity to prove everything they have preached over the last few decades. The irrational ones among them have, thank God, been largely ignored. The authorities are stuck somewhere in the middle of both groups, naturally leaning more towards the logical or, if you like, the scientific, point of view. I believe it is only because the scientists have not as yet provided any clues, let alone answers, that our opinions are being sought. May I sit, Chris? It's been a wearisome day.'

'Please.' Bishop turned round the armchair he had just vacated to face the room and Jessica guided her father into it. She smiled warmly at Bishop as she sat in the chair provided with the room's dressing-table. He settled on the edge of his bed and returned her smile.

'Can I order you both some coffee?' he asked.

'No, thank you. I think a large brandy might help to ease my ageing bones, though.' Kulek inclined his head towards his daughter.

'Coffee will be fine for me, Chris.'

Bishop picked up the phone and ordered two coffees and one large brandy. When he replaced the receiver he said, 'Is Edith okay?'

'Tired, frightened, like all of us. Our smaller, more intimate meeting in which she was included, broke up only twenty minutes ago. The select committee had to discuss all the points raised at the conference today the valid points, that is.'

'Who decided which were and which were not?'

'I suppose you could say moderation did. Our Home Secretary is not one for extremes, you know.'

'From what I hear, he's not one for actions, either.'

'Then his decision may surprise you.'

'Oh?'

'I'm not sure he's convinced, but he has agreed to what shall I say? to an experiment.'

Bishop leaned forward, arms resting across his knees, interested.

Kulek pinched the sides of his nose and squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a few seconds to ease the ache in his head. His face looked drained when he raised his eyes again. 'We are going back to Beechwood. That is, what's left of Beechwood.'

Bishop was stunned. 'Why? What good could that possibly do? As you said, the place is in ruins anyway.'

Kulek patiently nodded and rested his long, thin fingers over the top of his walking-cane. 'It was, and still is, a focal point in this whole affair. Every night, more and more unfortunate victims of this thing we call the Dark gather there. Some die, others are found the following morning either standing or lying helpless in the rubble. There has to be a reason for them to go there, something that draws them to it.'

'How could it help for you to go there? We tried it before, remember?'

'And something happened, Chris,' Jessica broke in.

'Jacob nearly got killed.'

'And you had a vision,' the blind man said quietly.

'You saw what went on in that house,' Jessica added. 'You saw how Pryszlak and his followers died.'

'Don't you see, Chris, there are strong vibrations around that area? Even though it is only a ruin, there will be those same energies.' Kulek fixed Bishop with his sightless gaze.

'But the danger. You . . .'

'This time we will have protection. The area will be guarded by troops, we will have powerful lighting . . .'

'You're not thinking of going back there at night?'

'Yes, that would be the only time for what we have in mind.'

'You're crazy. Jessica, you can't let him do this. The Army won't be able to protect him.'

Jessica looked at Bishop steadily. 'Chris,' she said, 'we want you to come with us.'

He shook his head. 'This is wrong, Jessica. There's no point to it. What can we do there, anyway?'

Kulek replied. 'The only thing that is left to us. We are going to make contact with the Dark. We will try to talk with Boris Pryszlak.'

The discreet knock on the door announced the arrival of the coffees and brandy.

26.

It could have been daytime, the lights were so dazzling. Every house in Willow Road had been cleared of its occupants; not that there were many of them left the road had attracted the attention of too many victims of the Dark for any residents to feel safe. Army vehicles were parked along the kerbside, all pointed in the same direction, and heavily guarded barriers had been placed across both ends of the road. Two powerful, wide-beam searchlights mounted on trucks and powered by their own generators, were directed into the open space that had once been Beechwood. Most of the rubble had been cleared to allow for an array of equipment to be set up, instruments ranging from sound and video recording machinery, to Geiger counters and other sophisticated gadgetry that Bishop had never seen before, let alone put a name to. Arc lamps, hooked into the main electricity system of the area, were placed at strategic points around the grounds. The whole scene had an unreal look and Bishop could not help feeling he had wandered on to a film set, the various cameras operated by army personnel adding to the illusion. Nearby, Jacob Kulek was having angry words with the Principal Private Secretary to the Home Office over the amount of machinery and reinforcements that were in evidence, all of which, Kulek claimed, might interfere with the energy patterns in the atmosphere and impede any mental contact that might be made with the Dark. The Private Secretary, a thin, waspish little man named Sicklemore, testily replied that they were conducting a scientific operation rather than a parlour seance and his instructions had been to gather and record all necessary data from the experiment while providing every protection possible to civilian life. He added that for decades parapsychologists had urged scientists to work hand in hand with them, so Kulek should not complain now that this was happening. The blind man had to concede the point, realizing the crisis was too grave for petty bickering. Jessica, standing by her father's side, looked relieved that the minor flare-up between the two men was over.

Bishop eased his way through the throng of technicians, police and army personnel, all of whom seemed to have some specific task to perform, and saw Edith Metlock sitting alone among the confusion in a canvas-backed chair. He went over to her and sat in the empty seat next to her.

'How do you feel?' he asked.

Her smile was faint. 'A little nervous,' she replied. 'I'm not sure this is the right way.'

'Jacob seems to think this might be the only way.'

'He's probably right.' Her mood was one of resignation.

'We've got plenty of armed protection,' he said to reassure her.

'You don't understand, Chris. I have to let this . . . this darkness enter my mind. It will be like allowing an evil spirit to invade my body, only in this case there will be several hundred demons.'

He pointed towards two men a few yards away who were talking in low tones. 'They'll be with you.'

'They're both sensitives of high repute and it's a privilege to be working with them. But our combined strength is nothing compared to the evil influences that have accumulated. I can feel their presence already and it frightens me.'

'Maybe nothing will happen.'

'In some ways, I hope you're right. It has to be stopped, though, before it's too late.'

Bishop was silent for a few moments, his head bowed as if studying the dirt at his feet. 'Edith,' he said finally, 'back in Jacob's house, when we were being held hostage by those two crazy women. Before you arrived, one of them said that Lynn, my wife, was still "active". Can you tell me what she meant?'

The medium patted his arm sympathetically. 'She probably meant that your wife's spirit was tied to those others controlled by the Dark.'

'She's still part of it?'

'I can't say. She may be. Is that why you're here tonight?'

Bishop straightened his body. 'There's a lot I've had to accept recently. I admit I'm still confused by many things, but just the thought of how they murdered Lynn . . .' With effort, he controlled his anger. 'If there's anything I can do to help smash this thing, I will. Jacob said he was unsure of what caused the manifestations in Beechwood before you, or me, or a combination of both of us. I suppose I'm just an ingredient he wants handy to throw into the pot.'

A shadow fell over them and they looked up to see Jessica. 'Everything's nearly ready, Edith. Jacob would like you and the others to take up your positions.'

Bishop helped the medium to her feet and could not help noticing how the robustness had left her demeanour. They walked towards Jacob Kulek who was talking to a group of people which included the Police Commissioner, a youngish-looking army major, and several men and women whom Bishop knew to be scientists and metaphysicists. It's like a bloody circus, he thought grimly.

Kulek broke off his conversation when Jessica tugged at his sleeve and said something to him. He nodded, then spoke to the group around him. 'Anyone who is not necessary to this operation must leave the site. Will you please see to that, Commissioner? The very minimum of guards, the very minimum of technicians. Conditions for what we are about to attempt are poor enough without making them worse. The searchlights will have to be switched off, Major.'

'Good Lord, you're not serious?' came the immediate response.

'I'm afraid I am. The arc lamps, too, will have to be dimmed considerably. Edith?'

'I'm here, Jacob.'

'I'm sorry about these conditions, my dear, I hope they will not be too much of a distraction for you. Mr Enwright and Mr Schenkel, you are both ready?'

The two mediums whom Jessica had also brought over answered that they were.

'Is Chris there? Chris, I want you seated next to Edith. Could everyone please take their positions?'

Bishop was surprised: he had thought that he would be somewhere on the sidelines. Suddenly, he was even more afraid.

Six chairs forming a rough semi-circle had been placed in a flattened area of the site. To his further discomfort, Bishop realized they were in a spot close to where the main room of Beechwood would have been. Rough boards beneath his feet covered any gaps leading to the cellar below. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was just after ten. The medium called Schenkel sat in the end seat, Enwright next to him. Then came Edith Metlock, himself, Jacob Kulek, with Jessica sitting slightly back from the group just behind her father.

'Please, we must have complete silence.' Kulek's voice was barely raised, but everyone on the site heard. 'The lights, Major. Could we have them down now?'

The searchlights blinked off and the specially fitted dimmer switches of the arc lamps were turned down. The scene that had been brightly lit became gloomy and immediately sinister.

Kulek turned to Bishop. 'Think back to that first day, Chris. That first time you came to Beechwood. Remember what you saw.'

But Bishop already had.

He knew what he had to do. They had told him.

The inside of the power station was like a huge cavern, a giant's lair that roared and throbbed with the sound of the massive furnaces and turbines. He passed between them, monster steel-plated turbines on one side, furnaces and boilers that stretched up from the basement thirty feet below, almost touching the ceiling over a hundred feet above, on the other. The turbines were painted a bright yellow, each one equipped with an instrument console that kept a watchful eye on their activity. The furnaces and boilers were deceptively cool grey in colour, though the effort of burning a ton of oil per minute made them dangerously hot to touch. Heavily insulated pipes ran from them combining with the boiler pipes in the basement to carry the steam at a pressure of fifteen hundred pounds per square inch to drive the turbine blades.

He passed a technician checking the rows of dials which monitored one of the furnaces and he gave no acknowledgement to the waved hand. The technician frowned, puzzled by his colleague's unkempt appearance, but his thoughts quickly returned to the instruments before him; the loads were heavy these nights because of the government edict that every possible light in the city should be turned on.

The man headed for the stairs leading to the administration floors. And the main switching room.

For two days and nights he had hidden in his basement flat, the curtains drawn, the two rooms he occupied kept in a shadowy gloom during the day, a total darkness during the night.

He was a squat man of twenty-eight, his face still riddled with acne that should have disappeared years before, his hair already leaving his scalp in disloyal batches. He lived alone, not by choice, but because no others, male or female, had any inclination to live with him. His contempt for the human race in general was only thinly disguised and it was a feeling he had nurtured ever since he had realized the world was contemptuous of him. He had thought that leaving school would mean the end of being treated like some loathsome object by immature minds, only to find that the minds at the college he had gone on to, although older, were still as immature. By the time he had become a chemical engineer, the damage was entrenched within him. His parents were still alive, but hardly seen by him. They had never offered him real comfort. Their finding him spying on his rapidly-developing sister on several occasions had earned their early disenchantment with him. They had let him know that the thick lenses he had to wear which made his eyes look like black buttons swimming in silvery pools were a punishment from God. So did He also give him the spots because he couldn't stop abusing himself? And did He make his body smell more than others because he hated his sister, even though he spied on her? And now was He making his hair fall out because he never stopped having dirty thoughts? Did He do all that? Well forget Him, there were other gods to worship.

He climbed the stairs to the offices, passing no one else on the way; the generating station needed little more than a complement of thirty staff and technicians to keep it functioning, a small group of people who controlled the power used by millions. Being in charge of the energy used by so many was what had attracted him to the job in the first place. There were three ways of depriving people of their light and power in the area supervised by his particular station: one was to blow the whole plant up; two was to systematically shut down the generators and turbines, and cut the fuel supply; three was to turn off everything, apart from the furnaces, by the remote controls in the main switching room. He had no access to explosives, so blowing up the plant was out of the question. Shutting everything down and cutting the fuel supply manually would take too long and the other technicians would stop him before he'd managed one turbine. So the answer was in the control room. Cut the switches and everything would be black. Black as the night. A look of pleasure came into his eyes.

The main switching room was a large glass-fronted box projecting out into the generating hall, crammed with consoles containing dials, and a row of television screens that kept an eye on every part of the power station. The supervisors had been even more alert than usual over the past few weeks, for the danger of allowing a power failure in any area covered by their plant had been carefully explained to them. The danger within their own ranks, however, had been unforeseen.

The duty supervisor looked up in surprise as the man entered the room and was about to ask where he'd been the last couple of days when the bullet from the Beretta punctured his forehead. The other supervisors were too stunned to react quickly and he carefully shot them, each bullet finding its mark with precisioned nonchalance. He was amazed at his own accuracy considering he had never handled a gun before, but not amazed at his own calmness. The stranger, the tall lady, had shown him how to use it when she had come to his basement flat earlier that day, but it was not she who had instilled the calmness in him. The Dark had done that.

He sniggered as the bodies of his colleagues tumbled to the floor and he took time to watch their twitching limbs for a few moments. His lips glistening, made wet by the tongue that constantly flicked across them, he stepped over the bodies towards the control panels. His hand was trembling as he reached for the first switch.

Bishop blinked his eyes rapidly. Was it his imagination or was it becoming even darker? He felt the tightness in his throat as he tried to swallow. It seemed as though there were four walls around him, transparent walls through which he could see the hazy figures of the others on the site. The walls grew more solid. A window to his left, curtains closed. Another window to his right, further down. Shadows moving like wispy smoke.

He resisted.

Edith's eyes were closed, muted sounds coming from her. Her head slowly sagged forward until her chin rested on her chest. The other two mediums were watching and Bishop saw their alarm. The one on the end, Schenkel, began to shiver. His eyelids fluttered and his pupils rose upwards into his head before his eyes closed completely. Enwright had not noticed what was happening to his colleague, for he was still watching Edith Metlock. Strong fingers curled around Bishop's arm and he snapped his head around to find Kulek's sightless eyes peering intently at him.

'Chris, can you see them again?' Kulek whispered. 'I can feel there is something malevolent here. Is it them, can you see those same faces again?'

Bishop was unable to answer. It was too sudden; no sooner had the lights been dimmed than the presence was with them. As though it had been waiting.