The Killing of Miguel

by Christopher Mcafee

  He crushed my hand. Damn Alpha male, I thought to myself. It was an all-too familiar feeling.

  I hurriedly left, limping my way back to the house to throw cold water on my face.

  ***

  I was scheduled for more dialysis that day, and it was a quiet trip. Alexa could tell I was distracted and asked if I was alright.

  “I’m fine,” I replied. I didn’t want to upset her with my feeling that Evil might be back in our lives.

  As was the tradition, we met Patrick for supper. It was common that Alexa and Patrick would eat while I consumed crackers to settle my stomach from my dialysis. With a smile on his face, he would catch us up on his studies at the seminary college. He spoke highly of the staff and was especially enamored with one professor that claimed he had been approached by an agent of the Devil, seeking to obtain his soul.

  We sat quietly and listened, knowing all too well what that gentleman had gone through.

  Alexa insisted long ago that we not reveal anything about our past to Patrick that might deter him from his religious beliefs.

  The trip home was always the same; Alexa would drive, and I would sleep. The hospital visits just zapped my strength.

  ***

  As tired as I was, it was a sleepless night. I worried about my exchange with the young boy who had triggered my Battle Ring. I checked on Fernando, and he was fast asleep.

  The following morning, I called Miguel Jr. and asked some random questions about the current crop prices, masking the real reason for my call.

  I finally summoned the courage to ask the question that I was afraid he knew the answer to.

  “Do you know where your brother is?”

  “No,” he said. “Do you have reason to believe he is near?”

  “Yes.”

  I could hear the concern in Miguel Jr.’s voice.

  “Steven, please be very careful.”

  ***

  I still could not get Fernando out of his room, and he had convinced Alexa that he was ill.

  I trained another worker to drive the Cushman scooter and made my daily rounds, trying to look normal. We had an awful week. Two of our tractors broke down, and we had an irrigation pump stop working. Since these were integral parts of our operation, we meticulously maintained them.

  I dismissed these occurrences as coincidental, but in the back of my mind, I wondered if something else was afoot.

  I put the defeats of the prior day behind me, and Alexa and I readied ourselves for Sunday church. The turnout was low, and I attributed it to being rainy and unseasonably cool, although the weather reports were calling for it to be dry and clear. As I passed the workers’ cabin, my Battle Ring alerted me to a sign of Evil.

  I calmly asked Alexa to head to the house and told her that I had some business to attend to with one of the workers. As she left my sight, I looked inside the cabin and saw the young man who had triggered my Battle Ring speaking to a large group. He had them entranced as he spoke in Spanish. My Battle Ring was crimson, and I waited for that familiar feeling of courage to be instilled in me. It was nowhere to be found.

  Whoever this Evil man was, he had infiltrated our home and our workers’ families.

  I forwent the Sunday feast and visited Alexa in the kitchen, claiming I was too ill to attend.

  With my heart pounding, I again called Miguel Jr. There was no answer, as it was Sunday.

  I limped my way upstairs to retrieve my duffel. I had stowed it in the closet of our bedroom twenty years ago, never thinking that I would need its contents again. A musty smell escaped the bag, and I grabbed my Holy Stick.

  I had to be ready.

  I went outside to practice throwing my wooden weapon in hopes of reliving my warrior days. I leaned on my cane and made several futile attempts to guide it to a circle I had drawn on the side of a barn.

  My abilities were that of a child. I couldn’t “hit the broadside of a barn” to save my life.

  Miguel Jr. called me back the following day. I needed some type of confirmation that this might be Miguel’s second son seeking revenge on his father’s death.

  “He goes by the name ‘Charles.’ Check your roster of workers for someone of that name.”

  I grabbed my file and nervously ran my finger down the list.

  “No Charles.” But a different name caught my eye that I would later investigate.

  “Steven, I’m due for an inspection on your farm. I’ll use an excuse to move it up. See you in a few days.”

  I hung up the phone, feeling nervous.

  I returned to the name that had caught my eye. It was the name of my prison cellmate: Raphael.

  I left the house and left a message for “Raphael” to come to my office after the day’s work had been completed.

  Was I in for more fate?

  Chapter 40

  It was time for another trip for dialysis. Alexa and I began our trek, and she spoke.

  “Good news, Steven. After we meet Patrick for supper, we’re going to the church he’s going to be affiliated with. They are going to present him to the congregation tonight!”

  It was as proud as I had ever seen her, but I was agitated because she knew these treatments completely wore me out, and even after supper, I always slept on the way home.

  I was not looking forward to this.

  Patrick was impeccably dressed, and Alexa doted on him so he wouldn’t get any food on his suit. I sat by eating my crackers, partially slumped over the table, exhausted from my dialysis.

  We exited the restaurant and walked a block to the church. Alexa and Patrick walked arm in arm as I trailed with my cane and my broken body.

  It was a very nice service. Alexa was beaming and proud of Patrick’s accomplishment. While mother and son stood in a receiving line, I wandered into another room to find a place to sit. A statue of Archangel Michael stood before me. I approached it and looked carefully into its eyes.

  A familiar voice from the past startled me. It had a British accent.

  “Hello, Steven. How is your journey going?”

  It was a much older, bearded version of Jackson Thorpe.

  Now I really needed a place to sit.

  Jackson could see that I was laboring to stand and grabbed a chair for me. I was speechless.

  “What the Hell are you doing here?” I asked.

  “If you remember, I received a teaching degree in theology. I went to work in the United States, but was quickly blackballed for my views of Evil in the Bible. An opening came up at a seminary college not far from here. I’ve been Patrick’s mentor for the past few years.”

  He inquired more about my journey, and although agitated, I spoke of my travels and the killing of Miguel. He sat entranced as I verbally relived the battle at “The Gates of Hell” and how I had been transformed into a religious warrior that killed the Evil serpent.

  Jackson’s eyes welled with tears, and his hands shook.

  “What you are describing is the tale of St. Michael the Archangel defeating the Evil serpent! Steven, are you St. Michael?”

  I nodded.

  “How…?”

  I showed him the Battle Ring.

  “Of course! The Battle Ring and all of the power it possesses. When Father Patrick passed the ring to you, he also passed the title and legacy of Michael!”

  He took a few moments to compose himself.

  “You know, I made many attempts to see your ring while you were in my prison. Your attorney made sure no one but him had access to it. Do you mind?”

  Before I had a chance to try and remove it, Jackson retrieved a monocle from his vest pocket and grabbed my hand.

  It was an awkward situation as he held my hand. His nose was inches from my Battle Ring.

  “It’s exquisite! What did Father Patrick tell you about it?”

  “He said it was one of seven.”

  “Of course! One for every Archangel.”

  He released my hand and exhumed a huge exhale.

  His conversation
turned to my son.

  “Your Patrick is a remarkable young man. Just like his Father.” Jackson smiled at me. “We’ve talked at great length about Evil and religion. And don’t worry, Steven, I would never reveal how we met or your time in prison.”

  I was beginning to feel at ease with him.

  Patrick approached us. “Dad, Professor Thorpe, I’m so glad you two have met.”

  Jackson and I shook hands as if we were meeting for the first time.

  Alexa drove home, and for the first time since I had started my treatments, I stayed awake.

  ***

  Miguel Jr. arrived at the plantation the following day. I showed him the workers’ files, and he scoured the list to see if there was a name that might be familiar with. His finger stopped halfway down.

  “Carlos! Carlos is a form of Charles. Where is he stationed?”

  I looked at his file.

  “He’s a picker. I know where to find him.”

  Miguel continued his inspection as normal, as to not create suspicion, taking samples and notes. We approached the location of “Carlos.” My Battle Ring grew red. We made our way to Carlos’s work area. We were within feet of him when our eyes met. We exchanged glaring looks, and he smiled as if he knew something we didn’t. Miguel Jr. vomited, turned away, and made his way back to his car.

  “It’s him alright,” Miguel Jr. said. “It’s the stench. I remember it from my youth. It smells like death and despair. My father had the same smell.”

  He apologized and said that the smell had triggered memories from a youth surrounded by Evil with no apparent escape.

  “I wish I knew who killed my father,” Miguel Jr. said as he wiped his mouth. “I would like to shake his hand.”

  I had vowed never to tell him that I was responsible for his father’s death, and with what had just transpired, I no longer needed proof that Miguel’s second son was in our midst.

  Miguel Jr. left, and I headed back to the office looking for a solution.

  With my elbows on my desk and my hands covering my face, I heard a knock on my door.

  A young, well-built Latin man presented himself. “I’m Raphael. You wanted to see me, sir?”

  I instructed him to sit. I was preoccupied with the presence of Carlos but was still interested in this young man and the origin of his name. I remembered Raphael telling that me he had family that traveled to Ecuador to help with the banana harvest. After only a few minutes, I discovered that the Raphael whom I had shared a cell with was his uncle. His mother was quite a bit younger than her brother, Raphael.

  “I idolized him. When he was killed in prison, my mother vowed to have a son and to name him after Raphael…to keep his spirit and his soul alive,” he explained. He continued talking about his strong religious beliefs, and since our regular priest had left, he asked to hold the religious services.

  He apologized for rambling on and confessed, “I love spreading the word of God.”

  I welcomed young Raphael to our family and told him that if he had any questions to please contact me.

  He bowed and thanked me for hiring him.

  It was a pleasant distraction to a worrisome day.

  Chapter 41

  I answered the ringing phone, only to hear Jake on the other line. He sounded distraught. And the fact that he had forgone our agreement to only contact each other by mail made me nervous.

  “Susan’s cancer is back! And I have that same gnawing in my stomach from when Miguel was alive! Steven, do you know what’s going on?”

  He seemed near hysterics, and I knew his wife’s life was more important than him losing his license to practice law.

  Jake had always told me the truth when he was my lawyer. I thought he deserved the same from me.

  “Miguel’s son is on my farm. He’s Evil.”

  Jake asked me to kill him.

  “I will,” I said.

  ***

  Several days later, Miguel Jr. called and apologized for his hasty retreat and commented that he had some bad news regarding our banana samples.

  “There seems to be some kind of unidentifiable parasite growing in your crop. None of us could identify it, and I am not sure if a pesticide could kill it.”

  “What does this mean?” I asked.

  “We might have to shut down your operation.”

  By the tone in his voice, I felt that he was keeping something from me.

  I asked him “off the record” what he thought was wrong.

  “Any native Ecuadorian will tell you that Evil is part of our culture. There is Evil on your farm. I’ve got one guy who has been inspecting farms for forty years. I asked him to go and look at your plantation. He refuses, fearing he will die.”

  Just the thought of closing the doors of our farm was deeply concerning. I broke the news to Alexa about the parasites, leaving out the part that Evil was back in our lives. She began to cry. I tried to console her and told her that Miguel Jr and his colleagues were working on a solution.

  We halted production and waited on a call from Miguel Jr. I called around to the other farms to see if they had encountered any parasites that were unidentifiable. They all replied that they were looking at a banner crop for the year.

  Any of the workers that had permanent homes left, and the many that lived on the road stayed. The other plantations already had their quota of laborers.

  Nature’s sunshine was the most important ingredient to growing bananas, and a dark cloud continued to hang over our operation.

  I convinced myself that it was all Carlos’s doing.

  ***

  With nothing to do but wait, and looking for a distraction, I proceeded to organize the mess that was Cletus’s filing system. With the help of some of the workers, I sorted through purchase orders and receipts. In one pile, a piece of thin cardboard stuck out, as its dimensions were bigger than a regular sheet of paper. I was stunned to see that it was one of the wanted posters that were handed out after I had killed those two soldiers in Balso. It had our pictures, and it offered a reward for the capture or proof of death of Benny and me. It also had a picture of my Battle Ring and offered a reward for that also.

  I casually asked Alexa if Cletus had ever gone to Balso for supplies.

  “Fernando and he used to go several times a year. Why do you ask?”

  I made a halfhearted excuse about the paperwork.

  Had Fernando recognized me when he picked me up? I remembered Cletus commenting on my Battle Ring. Had he known who I was when I arrived at the farm? Had the old codger offered me a job so I could hide out in case there were some of Miguel’s followers seeking revenge?

  I placed the poster in the trash, making sure Alexa would never see it.

  ***

  With Alexa upset and me searching for answers, I told her I would drive myself to my next treatment. She opposed my decision, but I strongly insisted until I got my way.

  I drove past the hospital, forgoing my dialysis, and went to Patrick’s seminary college and located Jackson Thorpe.

  I told him of my situation.

  “It appears that Miguel has a legacy of his own,” Jackson said. “A protégé to perform Evil, if you will. All he would have to do to consummate a rebirth of Evil in the world would be to avenge his father’s death by…killing you, Steven.”

  Sitting before him was a man with the status of Archangel Michael who had never been granted immortality from the church elders. Life’s events had taken their toll on him (me).

  “Steven, it might be, in a term, a ‘changing of the guard,’ if you will. I’ve given this quite a bit of thought since Miguel’s passing and have yet to discuss this with faculty or my students. And it is merely a theory. When you killed Miguel, you were a young warrior with little to lose. Miguel was the elder warrior that was risking everything. Nobody really knew how old Miguel was. Maybe he was past his prime and fate caught up to him. Now, instead of you being the hunter, you are the hunted. Instead of nothing to lose, now you have to risk
everything. Your farm, your family…your life.”

  I convinced myself that Jackson’s theory was all speculation.

  “Don’t forget, Steven, this isn’t all about you. With success on Carlos’s part, Evil will again rule the Earth.”

  “So what if I battle Carlos?”

  “I can’t predict destiny. But I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

  I looked dejectedly at the floor.

  “Steven, you must find a successor. Just as Father Patrick did when he knew his time was up. A younger warrior is needed now to foil Carlos’s plan for a rebirth of Evil in the world!”

  We sat quietly.

  “A legacy to St. Michael would please the church elders,” Jackson insisted.

  I knew what he meant: my son, Patrick.

  “No!” I insisted. “I don’t want him to have the burden of a life fighting Evil! And besides, he’s not up to the task!

  Jackson answered my reply. “I remember your story about how you were once young and meek, and now you have emerged to kill the most Evil being on the planet! Don’t underestimate your son!”

  He calmed himself and continued: “It may not be up to you, Steven! There are many forces in the universe that make decisions for us. It’s called destiny!”

  ***

  I drove home thinking of what Jackson had said. There would be no way I would put my son’s life in jeopardy. There had to be another way.

  In my eyes, young Raphael would be the perfect successor to the title of Archangel Michael. Young, strong, religious, well spoken, and he had shown up just as we needed him―if that was not fate, what was? He would be my choice to take my place. Father Patrick chose me without the permission of the church elders. Why couldn’t I pick my own replacement?

  I called Raphael to my office for the ceremonial “changing of the guard.” I would give him the Battle Ring just as Father Patrick had done with me. I started with small talk, and then I made a comment about Good versus Evil. And then, using my limited knowledge of the Bible, I confused the poor boy and myself. I was pulling on my Battle Ring and losing my train of thought. This was not going well. I couldn’t get the damn ring off. My mind flashed back to when Father Patrick gave it to me and how it hadn’t wanted to come off then either. I had had it on since Miguel visited me in my room. It had literally been through the “Gates of Hell” and back.