Knights of Light: Knight Vision

by Mark Moreland



  Knights of Light

  Knight Vision

  by

  Mark Moreland

  Copyright 2012 Mark Moreland

  https://knightsoflight.us

  Chapter 1:- Dark Schuy

  The right way to begin is to pay attention to the young, and make them just as good as possible. - Socrates

  The desert sky turns crimson as the searing sun begins to set in the northern part of the valley of the sun in Arizona. Sixteen year old Schuyler O’Brien dutifully greets golfers returning from their rounds as the newly minted supervisor of the bag drop area of Quail Valley Ranch Golf and Country Club. Part of his plan he supposes given that his girl friend’s grandfather owns the club, and developed the entire community where he now lives.

  “Hey Sky, great catch there in the state playoff game last year,” says a well-tanned patron with a gold pinkie ring. “Keep it up and there’ll be more where this came from.” He places a crisp $20 into the palm of his hand.

  “Thanks,” he replies looking around as he places it in his pocket. As soon as the man is out of earshot, he mutters “Great catch, you’re damned right old man.” Unexpectedly, a tingle goes up his spine. Then he shakes his head. He’s not only beginning to accept the accolades, but a part of him is beginning to expect them. Focus on myself, and I’ll keep the dark voices in my head at bay, he muses. “You’ll never live up to him. You’ll never be as good as Kev.” The voices sneak in. No, Schuyler thinks, I’ll be better, and worse. I mean why be the nice guy when all it gets you is killed. I’m here to grab the things in life, before they grab me – that’s the way I see it.

  Schuyler finishes lining up golf carts as his mind wanders to his girl friend, Jamie LaFrance. Cute and perky, Jamie is de facto royalty in this area given her family’s standing, and history in Arizona. Her grandfather developed much of the area along historic Carefree Highway, and is a ‘captain of industry’. There was also the close run at the Governor’s office during the 1970’s.

  Yes, Jamie has many of the things Schuyler covets, not the least of which is access: access to the most powerful and influential people. He loves this part of the job. He’s a dot connector quite naturally. He pairs caddies with clientele, and goes out of his way to make sure caddies are properly prepared for the individual they are assigned, giving them insights on their personal preferences and idiosyncrasies. This puts him in great favor with the caddies, but more importantly the clientele, which serves him well.

  On this particular late August Thursday night, there is a club dinner dance - effectively a quixotic ball for a hopeful early end to summer and a break in the oppressive heat. Due to his skill in assessing personality types, Schuyler has been asked to stay to help seat the patrons to ensure maximum enjoyment. “A prime opportunity to work the room, and expand my reputation currency,” he whispers to himself, as elderly club members begin arriving. He darts into the men’s locker room, and quickly changes into khaki trousers and a white button down shirt with the country club logo. He finishes it off with a blue sport coat that has been loaned to him for the evening.

  Standing at the main entrance, he subtly pinches himself when real celebrities get out of their cars. “Easy, just act normal,” he whispers. “They can smell fear.” After receiving and seating club members, guests, and local dignitaries for nearly an hour, Schuyler makes his way inside and targets a table near the band where an elderly neighbor couple of his is sitting with a well known celebrity.

  “Pleasure to see you this evening, Mr. and Mrs. Williams. I’ve seated you here for maximum enjoyment. Please let me know if you need anything.”

  “Why thank you Schuyler, very kind of you dear. Dick, this our neighbor boy who scored that winning touchdown as a freshman last year. He’s becoming more of a local celebrity than you are.”

  “Always glad to share the spot light with a fine young lad like yourself. Good luck in your career son,” he replies shaking his hand.

  “Thank you sir, but only if I work hard and listen to wise folks like yourself,” Schuyler responds working hard not to crack an inauthentic smile. The celebrity stares at him trying to read the sincerity in his body language.

  “Oh, there you are Schuyler,” Jamie interrupts. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Still recounting old football tales I see. Hope you all don’t mind, but grandfather has asked for Schuyler to sit at our family table for dinner. “

  “No, go right ahead Jamie,” the celebrity replies. “Good to see you. Tell Grandfather I said hello. And Schuyler, it was a pleasure meeting you. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around.”

  Jamie leads Schuyler to the LaFrance table where they are able to enjoy a short bite before Jack LaFrance stands up and promptly parades Schuyler from table to table as some sort of prized trophy. “Way to ensure that the blood lines will remain strong, Jack,” retorts one of the club members. “You’re always loading the deck.”

  As the evening wears on, Schuyler’s ego gets more bloated. Seemingly, at each table he is offered a different cocktail. Not surprisingly, underage drinking is pretty much the norm in his circles. At first he feels invigorated – indestructible – on top of the world. But further on, he fades into a buzzed induced blur which soon after turns into visible intoxication. At first he begins to mouth off to the staff, and then begins insulting some of the guests. Jamie rushes up to him.

  “Schuy, what are you doing? You’re becoming so rude to everyone. Tone it down, now!” she says tilting her head down at him. “Look, go into the men’s locker room and take a cold shower if you need to, but don’t blow this. You’ll lose your job, and worse.”

  At first Schuyler refuses, but then makes eye contact with Jack LaFrance who steels his eyes on him. He steadies himself for a moment, and walks deliberately so as to not sway. He empties himself out into the hallway, and stumbles his way toward the men’s locker room door. Once inside, things start spinning for him, and then he catches a whiff of cigar smoke emanating from the communal hot tub area. Instinctively, he heads for a toilet, and promptly deposits the contents of his stomach in it. “Nice one – O’Brien, is that you?” He uses toilet paper to wipe idle hunks of spew from his chin. Then he readies himself with a deep breath before heading out of the stall. “O’Brien, that was you,” a man named Bill says. “Funny, we were just talking about you.”

  “Geez Bill, me thinks the boy’s fitshaced,” says another.

  “O’Brien is this true?” Bill asks.

  “I’m afraid so sir,” Schuyler slurs in response. “People kept giving me drinks, and well…. I guess too many.”

  “Well, by all means, come on in for a soak to help sober up,” Bill answers. “Just make sure you don’t puke or pee in this thing, will you?”

  Schuyler hesitates, then strips down to his skivvies and wades into the foaming cauldron. “Hot!” he exclaims, unsure whether to proceed.

  “Yeah, that’s the way we like it,” says Bill. “Don’t worry, you’ll acclimate soon.” The men are holding cognac glasses and smoking cigars, which doesn’t help his queasiness. “You know, John and I played a bit of football in our day as well. John was a linebacker for USC in the old days. He lies about going against Madden.”

  “It’s no lie, we played Oregon every year back in those days,” John replies. Anyway, I want to congratulate you on the proper disposal of your contents there just a minute ago. You just have a lot to learn in terms of holding your liquor. Don’t worry son, that will come with practice.”

  Sitting there in the hot tub, Schuyler begins to calm down, and a deep sense of relaxation comes over him. “Oregon, that’s where my family’s f
rom,” he offers.

  “Yeah, still a land of fruits and nuts – probably more so now than ever before,” says John. “That Mr. Nike has the football program doing well – though. The best money can buy.”

  Schuyler is tempted to argue with the man, then retracts down into the tub among the foam of the bubbles. The voices of the men regaling their football exploits faded into the background. All of a sudden, he is brought out of his mental state by someone shouting. “Jamie dear! What in the world are you doing in the men’s locker room?”

  “Looking for my boyfriend! He’s pretty messed up,” she replies.

  “Don’t worry about O’Brien,” Bill replies. “He’s had his puke, and appears to be resting. Here boy, grab this towel and wrap it around you. We don’t want to be blamed for any impropriety in the locker room.” Schuyler grabs the towel, dries off and heads toward the empty locker room with Jamie.

  “Schuyler, what is going on with you?” she asks in a hushed tone through clenched pearly white teeth. “You’ve missed most of the banquet. Now that the dance has begun, many of the influential guests are going home.”

  “You mean the grey hairs,” he slurs. “Friends of grandpa. What’s wrong? Didn’t they all get my autograph?”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Jamie replies. “That attitude is not a good look for you. You need to remember that you’re lucky just to be in this place. Lucky to be my boyfriend. Get dressed, and let’s dance this buzz off you.”

  “Oh, really? Lucky to be your boyfriend?”

  “Really,” she asserts.

  “Whatever babe,” he says. “I think we’ll get to the bottom of that – sooner than later.”

  “Don’t ‘babe’ me,” she retorts. “I’m not yours, you’re mine – and you remember that.” With that, Jamie spins on her heel and heads out the door. In a fit of rage, Schuyler finishes drying off, gets dressed going commando, tossing his wet undies in a garbage can, then heads into the banquet room after her. As he arrives, he can see Jamie is already on the dance floor with someone about his age. She notices Schuyler enter the room, then comes over, grabs his hand, and drags him to the dance floor. He is barely able to contain his emotions. They dance in some sort of non verbal argument, accenting to the beat and lyrics. After a few rounds of this, Schuyler is really working up a sweat, his head feeling much clearer. A peculiar thought enters his mind. He leaves Jamie on the dance floor and makes a bee-line to the far corner toward a garbage can full of iced-down beer cans. He quickly downs one, trying to wash the awful taste out of his mouth with mixed results. He looks back over toward Jamie, and sees that she is dancing with Johnny Mack, the star quarterback of the football team. He instinctively grabs another beer, still feeling the effects of the first round, and begins to pound this one down as well. A darkness slowly creeps in on him. “How ya doing tonight beautiful?” says a blonde haired, blue eyed girl in a Texas accent.

  “Huh?” he mutters trying to focus his eyes. “Oh, hi Ronni. I suppose I’m all right. Just having a little issue with Jamie.”

  “Schuy, my eyes are up here,” she says pointing in the direction of her face. “It kind of looked like it, the way you two were carrying-on on the dance floor. It wouldn’t be the fact that you’re half-baked as well, now would it?”

  “Now how could a pretty girl like you tell a thing like that,” he says as he stumbles to embrace her. She grabs hold and steadies him.

  “Schuyler O’Brien, you must be drunk,” she replies. “What will that ever-present girl friend of yours say? Well, no matter. I’ll just steal a little kiss anyway.” With that, their lips meet. Schuyler falls into the embrace as if in some sort of trance.

  “Schuyler O’Brien, and Veronica Schwinn, you stop that this very minute!” Jamie screams at them. “I demand it!”

  Schuyler leans over to whisper something in Ronni’s ear. “Oh, boy. I guess I’m in trouble now.”

  “Don’t you realize what you are doing?” she says walking him off in an arm lock about 10 yards away. “You are blowing your big opportunity. I bring you along into this inner circle, and you just throw it back into my face. Well, I’m not going to stand for it. You are going to have to make some decisions. I want you to go home right now, then we’ll talk about this on Monday. You need to sort out your priorities, what kind of man do you really want to become? Your family brings you no advantage here, no influence. I bring you both. All these things you’ve told me you want, I bring this to you. You have two days to get straightened out, then we’ll see where you’re at.”

  At that, she grabs Schuyler’s hand and escorts him down the hallways toward the front entrance. She walks him outside to where his late model Toyota pickup truck is parked in the far corner of the parking lot. He leans against the car trying to steady his balance. “You’re to go straight home,” she says. “You’re really not in any condition to drive, but it’s only a few blocks, and you’ll be safe once you get inside the gates of your neighborhood.” She leaves without saying goodbye.

  Schuyler stares at her as she walks away. He then stares at the car keys that have somehow ended up in his right hand. He gets into the car, starts it up, then sits there for a moment trying to let the dizziness pass. He turns off the ignition and closes his eyes, as the car begins to spin around in his mind.

  “Schuy blue, is that you?” says a gravelly voice coming through his open window from around the near side of a maintenance shed. A group of three maintenance workers come up along-side his car. Schuyler shakes his head imploring the spinning to stop.

  “Getting in a late nine, boys” he utters instinctively as he tries to buy a moment for clarity.

  “Nah, just having our breakfast of champions,” one of them says as he hands him a can of cold beer. You do know there’s an actual crew that cuts the grass at night so the golfers can enjoy the beautifully manicured grounds during the day. Keeps the golfers happy, and us too – if you know what I mean.

  Schuyler pounds down a beer that he clearly doesn’t need – which makes his head spin even worse. A firm darkness begins to settle in on him. Then nothing.

  The next thing Schuyler sees is a stop sign headed right for the front of his pickup. There’s a split second of disbelief which hangs in the air, just before he plows into a stop sign, and clips a nearby guy-wire that is anchoring a utility pole. Somehow he manages to stop the car just short of a 50 foot ravine. “Oh crap!” he pauses. “I’m in real trouble now. Sheriff Joe will lock my ass up in tent city in no time. I have to get the hell out of here.”

  He’s shocked to find that he’s just outside the back gate to his neighborhood, adjacent to the golf course. He manages to back up onto the road, then pushes the key fob button for the gate, which slowly opens. He enters and waits for the gate to shut behind him. A measure of relief overcomes him, coupled with a pounding heart from all the adrenaline. He musters enough alertness to gather himself to drive the rest of the way home. He parks on the far side of the driveway before letting himself into the side door of the garage and into the house.

  Chapter 2: Blue Sky

  I saw them with my bodily eyes as clearly as I see you. And when they departed, I used to weep and wish they could take me with them. - St. Joan of Arc