by Greg Ballan
"I threw some clothes in a bag and went with him. We climbed out of the bedroom window and headed off, neither one of us having any idea what to do next." Erik paused, tears rolled down his cheeks. Denton sat stone still, a look of shock on the old man's face.
Erik shook his head sadly and continued. "We were picked up by a police car in the next county two days later. We were caught stealing some Ring Dings and Twinkies. We were cold and hungry at that point and it didn't seem like taking the food was a bad idea. The clerk called the cops and it was only a matter of time before we wound up back home. We had to go to confession because we stole and got our backsides tanned for running away. Father Lucas took our confessions, of course. Timmy was forced to go back to being an altar boy and the private tutoring at the rectory continued. I remember clearly. Three weeks to the day after we ran away, my brother came home from his 'tutoring'. He was different. His face looked like he'd seen a ghost or something. Over dinner he just sat stone still staring off into space. Our father asked what happened and Timmy just started crying saying he couldn't tell. But I did, I told. I shouted it at the top of my lungs. I remember the backhand I got like it was yesterday, I can still taste the blood in my mouth from my split lip. We both got the belt that night for telling such blasphemous tales." Erik laughed sickly. "Blasphemous he said … not what was done to his son but what I said was blasphemous. At that point I hated that man, I hated my foster father and I hated Father Lucas." Erik started to whimper. "The next morning, I awoke to find my brother had slit his wrists with his pocket knife and bled out while I was sleeping. He left me a note saying he couldn't go on and he couldn't take Father Lucas' boy part touching him anymore.
"I screamed out and my foster parents came running in. I showed my foster father the note which he crumpled up and threw away. They called an ambulance and the police came. I was asked a few questions but was warned by them not to mention Timmy's letter. I kept the letter, Martin. It's still in a safety deposit box. Do you know what the real irony was? Father Lucas holding vigil and saying mass at my brother's funeral and offering comfort to my parents and the community. I'll never forget him telling my foster mother that when I was old enough I should become an altar boy too." Erik snorted an ironic laugh. "And that stupid ignorant woman had the nerve to thank him and hug him after he killed her son—my brother. That stubborn religious idiot of a man shook the priest's hand and accepted his blessing after they put my brother in the ground. They didn't believe their own son. Even his dying words were dismissed as ravings. I sat up that evening crying and praying to God for some kind of salvation, some kind of explanation for what happened to Timmy. God was apparently busy in some other corner of the universe because my prayers went unanswered. Around four in the morning I snuck into their bedroom and emptied the old man's wallet and her purse. I took a few things and I hit the road."
"Erik, I'm sorry. I had no idea."
Erik took a deep breath. "I should apologize to you. I shouldn't have gone off like that. What happened certainly wasn't your fault. But hopefully you can understand my reluctance to do anything for the quote 'Holy' Catholic Church."
"What happened? Did you ever see any of them again? You were a seven-year-old runaway. Surely you didn't get too far."
"I made it from Massachusetts to Upstate New York with two hundred forty-five dollars and sixteen cents." I followed the Mass Pike and the New York Thruway avoiding as many people as I could and buying food at highway rest stops while sleeping in the woods or inside dumpsters when it rained. I was on the road for about five weeks before a New York cop spotted me from a BOLO. At that point I was flat broke, cold and hungry, not to mention I smelled like an open sewer. The police were nice enough and I got turned over to social services and back into the lovely foster care system. I was in and out of different homes until I joined the Marines. I got the early waiver and was at boot camp at the tender age of seventeen and in Special Forces by the time I was twenty. When I had my first leave I paid a visit back to Timmy's parents. It took them awhile to remember me but I was very convincing. I even showed them the letter they threw away. I asked them if Father Lucas was still ministering in town and they said he wasn't. It didn't take too much looking to find out where the pervert priest was located." Erik's face turned to stone. "I paid Father Lucas a call. I wasn't a helpless little boy anymore. I made him regret that he ever laid a hand on my brother and I made sure he'd never do the same thing to another innocent boy."
Denton squirmed. "Good God! Tell me you didn't kill the man!"
Erik looked over at his old friend. "No, but he begged for death a few times before I was finished with him. He left the priesthood once he was discharged from the hospital. He's living in Arizona at a retirement community. The dry air is good for people suffering from multiple broken bones."
"So you've kept tabs on him?"
Erik nodded slightly. "One of my Special Forces friends also specializes in my kind of work, he calls me once in awhile and pays Father Lucas a visit from time to time to assure that he's leading a virtuous life."
Erik sipped his coffee. "Then the whole scandal erupted in 2001. I had no idea how vast the clergy abuse was. I'd just assumed my experience was a freak occurrence. I was wrong."
Martin chimed in gently. "The press did a great deal of wild reporting, Erik, and in fact the number of cases compared to the overall priesthood was very small."
Erik shook his head vehemently. "There's supposed to be an extra level of trust there, Martin, more so than a school teacher or some other institution. These were supposed to be men of God, men beyond reproach. They held a position of esteem and trust within the community and, just like Father Lucas, they warped and perverted that trust. And to make matters even worse, the Archdiocese covered up the truth, moved these problems from parish to parish writing glowing letters of recommendation for these monsters so they'd be free to prey on more innocents. Is that Godly? Is that the act of a holy organization? Hell, I read articles where the Archdiocese was actually blaming victims!"
"I agree, Erik but you're broad brush painting an entire organization and condemning everyone for the actions of a few. That's not justice. That's a witch hunt."
Erik shook his head. "Do you remember how Cardinal Law crept out of Boston to hide in Vatican City to avoid being forced to testify under oath? He knew what was going on and deliberately buried it. Do you remember how the Mass AG Kevin Riley balked on forcing the warrant for the 'good' cardinal? The powers in Rome used their influence to pull the protective blanket of the Vatican around him to keep what he knew buried. It was a perfectly orchestrated cover up right down to paying off some victims and ferrying the guilty away from justice." Erik sighed. "Look, I know the whole church isn't dirty. I know the vast majority of priests are good, decent men doing incredible work. I know the church does amazing charitable work around the world. I get it. I just can't let it go, Martin. The hurt runs deep and some shit just doesn't fade even after all these years."
An air of silence hung between the two men as Erik reburied the painful memories.
"You've had a difficult life, Erik. You've suffered more than any man should have to in one lifetime. As far as what happened I can't blame you for how you feel. No child should ever be exposed to such horrors." Denton began to shake. "I'm going to ask you, plead with you if I have to, for friendship's sake to please put aside your hatred for just a little while."
Erik sensed his friend's wave of pain and misery. "What is it Martin? What aren't you telling me, Counselor?"
The old man looked up, his face tortured, enduring some unknown agony. "My son, Erik. One of those clergymen murdered was my only son. No one in Vatican City has any leads or the slightest clue what happened. All I could glean from our intelligence gathering was that an artifact of some significance was stolen and my son and two other men were slaughtered. I did some checking on my own and I know one man survived the attack and the church hierarchy is sitting on him. He's the only witness to what occurred
there. Our firm has some relations with the Bishop's Council and the Papal staff at Vatican City and they've consented to allow a team from the firm to investigate the crime scene for clues. I need your Esper senses, Erik. I need to know what happened to my son. Will you please put aside your hatred for a short time and help me find my son's killer?" Denton stared down at the floor. "A father shouldn't outlive his son."
"No, Martin, that shouldn't happen." Erik stood up and extended his hand toward his wounded friend. "Congratulations Counselor, you just managed to make me feel like shit. I'll do whatever I can to help you. I'll need to juggle my schedule with Shanda. Is it safe to assume that the firm has a staff of fitness gurus to fill in for me here while we're gone?"
Martin's posture stiffened and he managed a smile. "I told the firm I'd be hiring you and that you wouldn't be cheap. They want the mystery solved as much as I do. I get the sense that whatever was taken has some historical significance. The brass on the top floor is in a tizzy and Washington has been inundating our offices since news of the theft and deaths were discovered. Vatican City police and the Papal staff want this kept at a high clearance with no publicity and Washington is echoing those sentiments."
"Then there's some unspoken truth yet to be told. This reeks of hidden agendas and politics. It seems our religious friends in Rome have more secrets that need keeping." Erik smirked. "Okay Martin, let's go overturn the Vatican's applecart."
Denton smiled for the first time since he'd been at Erik's office. The old man reached inside his coat pocket and tossed an envelope on his desk. "Here's what I forced out of the accounting department for your fee. Consider it back pay for all the cases we steered away from you the last two years."
Erik picked up the envelope and opened it. His eyes widened, "That's a lot of zero's, Counselor, just for me looking into a homicide."
"Agreed, but the firm acknowledges that they overreacted to your little rebellion. I made a point of reminding them about who saved the planet from interstellar war while at the same time mending our diplomatic fences with France. Some of the higher ups needed a reminder of just how valuable an asset they were shelving for spite's sake. Also in your absence the terrorist cells in the Arab nations have skyrocketed. Al-Qaeda is no longer 'On the run' as our dear leader once said and several splinter cells and new factions have emerged in Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, and Libya. You were our biggest weapon against them, and from what I heard, they were dancing in the streets when news of your termination spread."
Erik chuckled. "I got a few good riddance e-mails from some Al-Qaeda regulars I'd tangled with in the past. Sarina Fahaad's brother actually sent me flowers. Black roses, of course."
"The Fahaad family still blames you for Sarina's death, despite the fact you two were working together to protect the LaSalles." Denton shot his friend an evil grin. "I also reminded our friends higher up how the overseas problems have drastically escalated during your absence." The old man pointed toward the fat check. "Consider this their version of an apology and an invitation back to the 'family'."
Erik pocketed the check nodding, "I accept the apology. But I'm not sure I'm ready to travel around the world chasing terrorists and international bad guys again. It's nice being home with Shanda and EJ. The firm doesn't plan on inciting a riot in the next star system, do they?"
Denton laughed and nodded. "As far as I know we have no plans regarding interstellar warfare. One battle was sufficient. I understand your reluctance, but we've missed your insight and we've been suffering on the higher end private client cases. Our field detectives are good but none of them have your intuition or ability to dig into the weeds. The firm wants you back at the helm of Private Clients if you're willing. For that matter, they might possibly drop you in to cool a few hot spots in northern Iraq." Denton sighed. "But that's a discussion for another time. I can have a corporate jet ready to take off in two days. Will that give you enough time to get things squared away here and at home?"
Erik nodded. "Yeah, just let me know whose going to show up here so I can let the staff know what to expect. I've got good people here and I don't want a bunch of strangers walking in and trying to take over. Just send me two competent bodies willing to work with our clientele and maybe a bean counter to check my math. My bookkeeping skills are far from perfect."
Erik looked up at his friend. "Speaking of aliens, I wasn't privy to how things finally played out with 'Diplomat' and the negotiations for relations."
Denton shook his head. "The proposal was rejected. Our representatives were extremely disappointed. Humanity was deemed too unfit and ill prepared for intergalactic relations. We were also informed that Sergeant Phelps would not be returning to Earth. He chose to stay with Gray and his family."
Erik smiled. The young sergeant was a gentle soul living an unimaginable life of adventure no other human being would ever believe possible. Phelps was the first man in history to move beyond the solar system. A part of Erik was alien and he often wondered about the cosmic mysteries that lay beyond man's reach. His alien lineage came from a species long extinct. The Espers and Seelak fought their final war on Earth, over ten thousand years ago. The Observers claimed to know much of the Esper history and Diplomat, the Observer leader, had expressed an interest in discussing that history with the hybrid soldier at a future point in time. Erik felt a pang of regret at losing that opportunity.
"I wish I could say I'm surprised but I'm not. Diplomat didn't think much of our species and the case he made against us was pretty damning. The meeting at Area 51 for the peace negotiations was terse for awhile." Erik chuckled briefly. "Has the military finished rebuilding? We kind of decimated it during our difference of opinion."
Denton sighed. "The underground facilities were pretty much intact and you spared most of the tarmac and runways. It's on its way back to operational status but the alien craft we were studying and the Tesla prototypes were obliterated. I know they're reworking the Tesla models and the Phoenix fighter program but as far as testing any intergalactic hardware…" Denton slid his index finger across his throat. "That's all dead and buried."
"If they had another craft, would you know about it?" Erik shot his friend a doubtful glance.
Denton paused, as though weighing his answer, then shook his head. "Truth be told, probably not. This is becoming a younger man's business, Erik. High tech computer wizardry is rapidly replacing sleuth and investigative skill. It appears I've become a dinosaur after so many years. I was looking forward to retiring on my own terms, reconnecting with my son and seeing some of the world as a tourist and not a spy." A brief sob escaped. "Maybe even visiting William in Rome. It doesn't matter now; my son is gone and my career is over." Denton's head fell forward, another grief-wracked sob escaped him. Erik walked over placing a comforting arm on his friend's shoulder.
"I'm so sorry, Martin. I wish there was something I could do or say to ease this burden."
Denton's weathered, shaking hand reached up covering Erik's. "Helping me find his killer is the best thing you can do for me. Thank you."
Erik nodded. "You're more than welcome."
Erik spent the next two hours catching up and getting reacquainted with his old friend listening to stories of Denton's son growing up. The gym was closing as Erik escorted Martin to his car.
"I'll have someone contact you tomorrow with the details. I'll have a limo come by your place in two days to take you to the airport." Denton shook Erik's hand again and there seemed to be a bit more energy in his friend's grip. "Tell Shanda hello and I'm looking forward to a dinner invitation once we wrap up this unpleasantness."
Erik nodded. "Will do Martin, see you in a few days."
◆◆◆
Erik was alone in the dojo punching and kicking a massive heavy bag. The force of his blows cracked like thunder and the bag swung like a child's piñata under the powerful strikes. The hybrid threw a triple combination then stepped in, launching a powerful roundhouse kick. The heavy bag creased under the impact, then rock
eted upward. Only the protesting chain links kept it from flying into the air. Erik's mind raced through several images of his childhood and his blows increased in intensity. His hands were no longer visible. He launched strikes and counterstrikes faster than the human eye could follow. The sound of creaking chain and tortured canvas echoed throughout the empty dojo.
The ex-CIA agent saw images of his friend, Steve Forrest, and recalled the tragic passing of the brave Hopedale police officer. His mind took him back to Madame's and he saw his friend Jeff's body being taken away in an ambulance as the wait staff looked on in shock and horror. Erik put more force into his blows exhaling in rhythm with each series of punches and kicks. His mind kept recalling the painful memories like an endless waking nightmare.
"Enough!" he screamed aloud. A blue haze of bio-organic energy enveloped Erik's body. His skin had a faint silver hue. His eyes burned like two blue orbs of lightning. His final blow tore through the heavy canvas and snapped the heavy chain links. The two-hundred pound bag sailed across the open floor as sand and dense polymer stuffing fell from the gaping hole. The destroyed bag landed forty feet away, slamming into the far wall tipping over several chairs as it fell. The noise reverberated through the empty studio, echoing off the walls, knocking down several pictures. The hybrid stared blankly at the destroyed bag and the damage his last punch caused. "Wonderful." He approached the destroyed equipment lifting it by the severed chain with one arm. He casually tossed the bag in a corner and went back righting the chairs and hanging the fallen pictures.
"That heavy bag will cost a few dollars to replace."
Erik smiled as he turned toward the voice. "Don't you ever go home?"
Alissa stepped out of the dark walking toward the destroyed fitness equipment. She stuck her hand through the gaping hole caused by his fist. "What brought on this late night aggression?"
"Just exorcising a few of my own demons so I can approach what's coming with a clear mind." Erik grabbed a towel, then studied his body. "Forty-five damn minutes and not even a drop of perspiration. Goddamn Esper genetics, I can't even work up a sweat."