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！ Somebody was mimicking her； but it had the same effect。 Just thinking about her as she used to be in those far…off days was doing things to him 。。。
Sabat tried to check the feeling； tried to think of other things； but it was futile。 His pulses raced and his fevered body demanded satisfaction； ordered him to pay homage to the memory of one who had once loved him with a sadistic viciousness。
Somehow his sweaty fingers found the strength to do what his erection was screaming out for。 He tensed； shuddered； cast off the feeling of guilt and felt it replaced by one of unbelievable euphoria。 To hell with everybody！ Watch me if you want to； you bastards； because I like you watching me。
His nakedness was bathed in sweat； every nerve afive and responding。 He wasn't ill after all； just experiencing pent…up frustration because he hadn't had a woman for a long time now。 And in the darkened room they were willing him to do the next best thing； urging him to confess his past secret pleasures。
Sabat's voice seemed to echo in the darkness to the acpaniment of hollow whispered laughter which might have been Catriona's。 Or Vince Lealan's。 Or Royston Spode's。
Or Quentin's！
Sabat told them everything they wanted to hear。 They knew it already； so it didn't matter。 They just wanted to listen to it ing from his own lips。 He told them of that occasion in his adolescence when he had let another of his own sex do what he'd wanted to do。 How he had enjoyed it。 He'd felt guilty afterwards because convention had dominated； driven him in a fit of cowardice to seek refuge in priesthood。 Sabat cringed at the memory； blasphemed。 The SAS had been his salvation； taught him the real pleasures of life 。。。 taught him how to kill amongst other things。
Have you ever taken human life； Sabat？
You know fucking well I have。 That terrorist。。。 Sabat winced； heard the deafening reports of his own pistol in the confined space； the screams of his victim as he writhed like a helpless landed fish； arms and legs shattered； pleading for death and being denied it。 Laughter again 。。。 Sabat's。
Women。 Jealous naked bodies materialising out of the past； fighting amongst themselves； clamouring for him； displaying themselves lewdly。 Fuck me； Sabat； the way you used to。 Fingers that were not his own taking over； speeding up； a million sensations blending into one mind…blowing explosion of mind and body。
Sabat was convulsing； floating in a void； but they wouldn't let up on him； a forest of frenzied arms and legs that grabbed and pulled and squeezed him until he was crying out for them to stop。 The laughter was louder now； hurting his throbbing head。 He tore his hands free； pressed them to his ears but he could not shut out the noise。 You're too weak to resist； Sabat。
He was back on the bed in a splayed heap； shivering uncontrollably； groping blindly for the bedclothes but they were gone。 So cold； so frightening Cringing。 There's nothing to be afraid of。 You're not Mark Sabat…you 're Quentin。 One of us！
The dreaded reversal； one soul overing another after weeks and months of awaiting its opportunity。 Sabat was still trying to fight； an autumnal leaf attempting to resist a gale； being swept away。 Sobbing； something he had not done since 。。。 since when1* He couldn't remember crying； not even in childhood； his frustrations had always built up into something more vicious； revenge at any cost。 Oh God； he'd have his revenge on them； make them pay dearly for this。 He had to fight！
Crawling； slumping down； fingers that trembled with cold and terror searching the darkness； touching something that toppled and fell； the handset of the bedside trimphone。 He groped for it again。 It was like a wriggling serpent trying to escape him； but in the end he caught it； dragged it back。 Invisible fingers tried to tear it from his grasp but he managed to hold on。
Trying to dial； the spring so strong that he could hardly move the digits。 Any number； it didn't matter。 Got to tell them。。。 warn them。。； about Louis Nevillonl
Sabat almost fainted； felt his chilled slippery fingers losing their hold on the handset。 It fell； swung to and fro below the bed like some taunting pendulum； evil to good and back to evil。 He couldn't muster the strength to try and catch it again。 He moaned aloud。
A pause； then a sound apart from the rasping of his laboured lungs。 Metallic； so divorced from this atmosphere of enshrouding evil。 It took Sabat some seconds to work out what it was； and then he knew。 The phone was ringing out at the other end； some anonymous number。
A voice。 It wasn't Quentin's nor any of the others； a jumble of meaningless words that did not register in his numbed brain； being angry； impatient。 Shouting。
Sabat tried to speak； tried to warn them about Louis Nevillon but all he managed were animal…like gasps and grunts。 They were trying to shout him down； a whispering noise like the hissing of angry demons。 Weakening still further； feeling his senses slipping from him； knowing that they had beaten him in the end。
The phone went silent at approximately the same time as Sabat lost consciousness and rolled off the bed on to the floor。
CHAPTER THREE
LIGHTS so bright that they seared Sabat's eyeballs even though his eyes were still closed； a sickly sour…sweat smell that almost had him vomiting。
He lay motionless； tried to work out where he was； what had happened。 The darkness that had hidden so many evil entities was gone and in its place was harsh blinding light。 He knew that he was in a bed but it did not seem as fortable as his own； like wooden boards beneath him。
After a lengthy mental struggle he came to the conclusion that he was in a hospital。 Somehow he had been saved； his SOS call had got through in spite of their efforts。
He opened his eyes a fraction； squinted。 It was a hospital ward all right and there were screens around his bed； people beyond them talking in low muttered tones。 He tried to make out what they were saying but it was impossible； a harsh nasal voice that reminded him of Quentin。 He closed his eyes； tried to work out what had happened。
He'd been ill。 Or had he？ It was as though his body had been taken over by 。。。 something； an inner force dominating； making him subservient to the dark powers。 He'd lost all track of time。 It could have been hours or weeks ago。
A movement； somebody ing inside the screens。 Sabat squinted again； saw a tall angular man wearing a long white coat and spectacles that seemed to enlarge his frog…like eyes； approaching the bed； bending over to scrutinise the patient。 Sabat had no reason to keep his eyes shut any longer。 The brightness hurt but he decided it was time he found out what was going on。
'Ah； Mr Sabat！' a note of relief in the doctor's voice。 'You have decided to join us at last。'
'How long have I been here？' Sabat grunted； suddenly realised how weak he felt； even his own voice was barely recognisable。
'Ten days。' The other consulted a chart； pursed h