CROSSOVER (THE CHASER CHRONICLES Book 1)

by John C. Dalglish

  CROSSOVER

  BY

  John C. Dalglish

  2013

  More CLEAN SUSPENSE by John C. Dalglish

  CROSSOVER (Chaser Chronicles #1)

  JOURNEY (Chaser Chronicles #2)

  DESTINY (Chaser Chronicles #3)

  WHERE'S MY SON? (Detective Jason Strong #1)

  BLOODSTAIN (Detective Jason Strong #2)

  FOR MY BROTHER (Detective Jason Strong #3)

  SILENT JUSTICE (Detective Jason Strong #4)

  TIED TO MURDER (Detective Jason Strong #5)

  ONE OF THEIR OWN (Detective Jason Strong #6)

  DEATH STILL (Detective Jason Strong #7)

  DET. JASON STRONG: THE EARLY CASES (Books #1, 2 &3)

  DET. JASON STRONG: COLLECTION #2 (Books #4, 5 & 6)

  Dear Reader,

  Before you embark on what I hope will be an enjoyable journey, I wanted to address an issue that has presented itself in the early reviews of this book.

  I am a Christian. I believe in the plan of salvation and the infallibility of the Word of God. In writing this work, I have attempted to remain true to the character and love of our Lord.

  Having said that, I must tell you this book is written for pure enjoyment and fun. The concept of Chasers and Runners is purely a fiction of my mind, and a vehicle for the story.

  It is not my desire to put forth any suggestion of this being a reality of the Spirit world.

  It is fantasy and fun.

  So please enjoy, and rest assured that my only goal was to entertain without any of the junk the world puts in its books.

  God Bless,

  John

  CHAPTER 1

  The dull ache in the back of my head was fast becoming a pounding that made its way toward my temples. As I began to come around, I moved my head back and forth, forcing the cobwebs to clear. When things came into focus, I recognized my surroundings. My office in downtown St. Louis, exactly where I was going when everything went black.

  I tried to sit up, but found myself tied to my rolling desk chair. Whoever tied me up had also rolled me over in front of the window on the south wall. Normally, the old leather chair would sit behind the desk to my right.

  The office door, complete with distorted glass and the words ‘Jack Carter Investigations,’ was directly ahead of me. The bathroom was to my left, which despite my current predicament I felt the need to use right now. My day always starts, continues, and finishes with lots of coffee. Also, there was a bottle of Tylenol in the cabinet that my head was crying out for.

  To say that I found myself in an unusual situation would be somewhat disingenuous. In the seven years I’d been a private investigator, I’ve been kicked, punched, cursed at, and even spit on. However, being tied up was a new one for me. What added to the novelty of my current state was that I didn’t know who was responsible.

  In past altercations, I always knew who was taking their best shot at me and why. Husbands I’d exposed cheating on their spouses, disability claimants who were surprisingly nimble when not at a doctor’s office, and even a woman who told her husband she was ‘working out,’ while going to a different sort of club with her girlfriends.

  But currently, my caseload was light and, as far as I knew, my enemies were few. Then I heard a voice; not just any voice, but a booming, throne room of God, rattles your insides, type of voice. If I hadn’t been tied in the chair, I might have fallen out of it.

  “Jack Carter, hear what I say or you will die.”

  Okay, not the first thing you expect to hear when you think God is talking to you.

  “Is that you, Lord?”

  “I am not your lord!”

  The source of the voice moved around in front of me where I could see it. Seeing him removed all doubt as to whether his voice came from God. In fact, the speaker looked like the guy at the opposite end of the ‘good versus evil’ spectrum.

  My office was not large, but when this deep voice behemoth moved around in front of me, the space suddenly became claustrophobic. Six foot four or five, shaved bald, with grey eyes that shimmered. His body was a square, almost as thick as it was wide, but all muscle. A full-length black trench coat, black t-shirt, and black boots increased the incredibly ominous look.

  “Who are you then?” I asked.

  “Who I am is not as important as why I’m here. I have come to give you a message.”

  “Was it necessary to hit me in the back of the head and tie me up to deliver this message?”

  I get sarcastic when I’m terrified. Actually, I’m sarcastic most of the time, just more so when I’m scared.

  He ignored me, which was probably good for my health, and the shimmering gray eyes bore down on me, forcing me to meet his stare.

  “This is a warning. You will receive a call to service and it will be up to you to choose your path.”

  “Well good, because I like to make my own decisions.” I have to learn to shut up.

  “Do not mock the opportunity I am giving you!”

  I held my tongue.

  “You can reject the call and live. If you accept the call, I will be forced to kill you.”

  I was about to object to the killing part when he looked over his shoulder toward the door, then back at me, before he disappeared. Gone. There one second and not there the next. My head really hurt now.

  I glanced behind me, but he wasn’t there. Bending over as far as I could, I looked under my desk. My head spun immediately, so I sat back up.

  Idiot! That guy could barely get his knees under your desk, never mind hide there.

  I tried pulling at the ropes again, but nothing doing. I would have to wait for someone to show up.

  Fortunately, the wait was short.

  The door to the office crept open slowly, and an elderly man peered around the edge. He was clearly trying to be stealthy, but when he saw no one besides me in the room, he relaxed and entered.

  As he shut the door behind him, I couldn’t help but think of Yoda from Star Wars.

  ‘Here to save you, I am.’

  Short, with just a ring of gray hair, he wore a white robe that touched the floor. When he turned toward me, the robe was open in front, and I could see a leather belt surrounding his waist, blue jeans, and a blue t-shirt. In his hand, he carried a wooden knife that looked more like a short sword, which he slipped into the belt as he walked up to me. A wooden cross, far too big for his chest, hung around his neck.

  “Are you okay?”

  “My head hurts but I’ll survive. You came along at just the right time.”

  “Actually no. If my timing was right, I would have been here before he hit you over the head and tied you up.”

  I found that logic hard to argue with. He undid the ropes and I rubbed my wrists as I stood up.

  “You know the guy who did this?”

  “I do. I’ve been tracking and chasing him for nearly thirty years.”

  “Thirty years? Some sort of personal vendetta or something?”

  He moved around the office, checking the bathroom before going to the window.

  “No, not a vendetta. A calling.”

  There was that word again. ‘Calling.’ I could see I was clearly out of the loop on something here.

  “What kind of calling?”

  He turned and looked at me.

  “A spiritual calling. A mission from our Lord.”

  “Our Lord? You know who I call Lord?”

  “Yes; Jesus Christ.”

  Okay, so that was an easy one. I’d given my life to Christ when I was in college, some twelve years ago. Since then, I’d always worn a silver cross around my neck. I reached down to see if it was showi
ng and found it gone. I looked around the chair but it must have been lost when that goon hit me over the head.

  “Your cross was not lost. Your attacker tore it from you out of hatred for our Lord.”

  Okay, this day had now turned full-fledged creepy. I rolled my chair back over behind the desk and sat down. He watched me but didn’t move from the window. I stared back, studying him, which didn’t seem to bother him at all.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Buddy Daniels.”

  “How do you know these things about me?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  I should have known. “Why not?”

  “Well, let me restate that. I can’t tell you yet.”

  “What about that thug? Can you tell me what his name is?”

  “He calls himself Harbinger; his real name is Steve Mason.”

  “Why are you chasing this Harbinger guy and why does he call himself that?”

  “Can’t tell you that yet, either.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  He looked directly into my eyes now.

  “Only that you are about to receive a calling on your life that will change your path; if you accept it.”

  “Are you here to bring this ‘calling’?”

  “No, I can’t call anyone to this mission. Only God can place the call, and the gifts that go with it, on your life.”

  “So this calling is what ‘Big and Black’ was warning me about?”

  “It is, but you mustn’t let him change the path for you. You must make the choice based on your own values and the direction you decide is right for your life.”

  All of this cloak and dagger was making my head hurt even more, and I remembered the Tylenol in the medicine cabinet, which also reminded me I still needed to pee. I got up and walked around my desk toward the bathroom. Yoda watched me with serious eyes and I felt the need to explain myself.

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  He nodded at me and turned back toward the window.

  At least he wasn’t going to follow me.

  When I’d relieved myself, I opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved the bottle of painkillers, washing three of them down with a glass of water. I looked at myself in the mirror.

  I’d looked worse but couldn’t remember when. Raccoon circles had started to form around my hazel eyes, and I could feel some blood matted in my light brown hair. While I’m not a terribly big guy, just a shade over six feet, I had taken a pretty good blow, and lived to tell about it. My YMCA membership must be paying off.

  Bending over, I splashed some cold water on my face and then went out to see if I could pry any more information out of Yoda. The office was empty.

  For all I knew, he’d done the vanishing thing like ‘Big and Black,’ but there was no point in worrying about it. I needed to lie down, and taking the rest of the day off seemed just the tonic for what ailed me.

  I locked up the office and went down the stairs—I don’t trust elevators—and found my car where I’d left it.

  My car was actually not a car. The 1978 Ford Ranchero was a sort of hybrid car-truck thing that served both purposes. Its color and its current state could best be described as rusting brown. The vehicle was a testament to my inability to decide between two good things. I wanted a car but needed a truck, so I compromised with the Ranchero.

  The reliable engine fired up immediately, and I headed for home. My bed was calling my name and I wasn’t about to ignore it. I was less certain about what I would do in reference to the other ‘calling,’ whatever it was and whenever it came.

  CHAPTER 2

  Home for me was a small bungalow in West End, on North Drive, not far from Eastgate Park. Confused? So was I. The real estate sales lady had to drive me there the first time I looked at it.

  Not surprisingly, it’s located on the west end of St. Louis, about half an hour from my office. The house was small, just two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. I had very little yard and neighbors who were a little too close. Go figure, a private investigator who likes his privacy.

  I parked in my driveway as an ominous cloud drifted over the top of the apartment building the next block over. It looked like evening thunderstorms were coming in, and as I walked to the door, the first drops of rain began to fall. Perfect weather for sleeping off the blow to my head, and the pounding that accompanied it.

  The small foyer, where I left my keys on a hook by the door, opened into the living room. Moving through the living room into the kitchen, I found the Tylenol PM in the cabinet over the sink, popped three with a glass of water, and headed for the bedroom.

  My bedroom is just that. A room with a bed in it. Room-darkening shades and a ceiling fan are the only other things in there. All my clothes hang in the closet, along with my underwear and socks, which are haphazardly tossed up on the top shelf.

  Stripping down to just my underwear, I turned on the fan and climbed into bed. A few minutes later, the pills took effect and I was out cold.

  *******

  “Jack Carter, do you hear me?”

  I heard the voice, but I had no clue where it was coming from. I was aware I was in bed, but that’s about all.

  “Jack Carter, do you hear me?”

  The voice was clear and came with no animosity. In fact, all I could feel was love and peace. I’d never felt so secure in my life, never felt so loved. It could only mean one thing.

  “Yes Lord, I hear you.”

  “Do you love me, Jack Carter?”

  “Yes, Lord, you know I do.”

  “You are correct. I wish to call you into my service.”

  Despite attempts to find a vision or face, only the voice existed in the room with me. It surrounded me, but felt like it came from inside me at the same time.

  “I wish to serve but feel incapable. I am a simple man with no special gifts.”

  It struck me as funny that I was telling the King of Kings who I was. He’s omnipotent and omniscient, just your basic all-powerful and all-knowing being. Seems maybe I was supplying information he already had.

  “I will give you all you need and I will always be with you.”

  “What is it you would have me do, Lord?”

  “This call is a life-long mission that will change everything for you. It comes with great sacrifice but great reward as well. I offer you the choice.”

  “The choice, Lord?”

  “This call is as all others. You may choose to follow, or you may choose to take your own path. This mission must not be embarked upon without total conviction.”

  Was he kidding? Choose to follow or not! When the Lord makes an offer in person, does anyone say no? Yet I could tell there was no threat in the choice. It’s difficult to have private thoughts when you’re talking to the ‘Lord of Hosts.’

  “My call does not come with punishment if you choose another path.”

  “What is this choice, Lord?”

  “My servant will bring the choice before you soon. I have come to signify that the call is real.”

  The Son of God had come to let me know his offer was for real. I was no biblical scholar, but I know the Lord’s visits with humans had been few and far between. Granted, we interact with him daily through the Holy Spirit, but how many had seen the Lord show up in their bedroom? And what did you say to him?

  “Thank you, Lord.”

  That’s the best I could come up with, and I guess it was enough, because I was quickly back to sleep.

  *******

  The next morning I woke up feeling a little like Ebenezer Scrooge. I’d woken in the middle of the night to pray for people before, especially loved ones who were laid on my heart, but voices from on high were new for me.

  I didn’t know what to think. Is the Spirit going to be stopping by to talk on a regular basis? Will I ever get a good night’s sleep again? More importantly, who’s the messenger bringing me the choice I needed to make?

  My phone rang. I stared at the ca
ller ID, half-expecting to see Heaven’s extension.

  Okay, maybe that’s a little nuts, but I was feeling a little odd this morning. It turned out to be my mother.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Good Morning, Son. How was your day yesterday?”

  “Interesting.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  My mom, Annie Carter, has been alone since we lost Dad to cancer nearly ten years ago, and has made worrying about me her main mission in life.

  Mom was my best friend, which tells you something about my social life, but I could talk to her about anything. Almost anything. I was not ready to try an explanation of ‘Big and Black,’ or the ‘visitor’ from last night, even to her.

  “Just a lot happening. How are you?”

  “I’m good. I wanted to make sure you’re coming for dinner tonight.”

  I’d forgotten, but as of right now, I couldn’t think of a reason not to go.

  “Yeah, six-thirty okay?”

  “Perfect. Why don’t you ask that nice cop lady if she wants to come with you? There’s plenty of food.”

  ‘That cop lady’ was Detective Amanda Myers. Mom knew her name, but insisted on calling her that; I’ve never been sure why. Mandy Myers and I had been friends ever since her long blond hair caught my eye across the campus in college.

  Mandy didn’t have a husband, she rarely even had a boyfriend, which always surprised me. She hadn’t met Mister Right apparently. I filled in at most social engagements, when she needed me to, and I’d considered trying to take our friendship to the next level. I never could get up the courage, and I’ve never revealed how much I adore her.

  “Okay, Mom. I’ll call her this afternoon and see if she’s free.”

  “Good. I need to pick up a few things still, so I’ll see you tonight.”