Archangel Crusader

by Vijaya Schartz

  When Michael fell limp to the ground, Dave and Becky, who had watched from a distance in horror, ran to him.

  "Shall I call the ambulance?" Becky asked in a daze.

  "I don't think the medics can do anything for him." Dave looked at the sky where the storm clouds were dissipating as fast as they had formed. "Help me take him inside."

  "Is he alive?"

  Dave checked for a pulse. "Barely."

  "What's wrong with Uncle Michael?" Awakened by the commotion, Clara was on the brink of tears.

  "He's ill, Love. He needs a lot of rest. Go to your room. I'll come tuck you in."

  When he regained semi-consciousness, Michael felt a familiar presence. A bluish glow illuminated the bedroom.

  "Children always expend more energy than necessary in their futile games." The statement came as an observation, without reproach. The gentle alien came to face Michael who lifted his head slowly.

  "You? Look at the mess I'm in. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for you." Michael's head hurt as if about to rupture.

  Amrah smiled. "You mean if you had never been born and if Jennifer had not been born?"

  Taken aback by the logic of the reasoning, Michael paused for a few seconds before answering. Jennifer was a ray of sunshine in his existence. And despite his attempted suicide three years ago, he loved life with a passion, at least most of the time. "I guess I never had much of a choice, did I?"

  "I am sorry it has to be this way, Michael, I really am." The kind sincerity in the alien's voice warmed Michael's heart with hope.

  "What am I supposed to do, Father? All is lost, no matter what I do. In any case, I die and she dies. I feel so powerless."

  "But what about the others, Son... Dave, Clara, Debbie, Walter, Bill... Do they deserve to die, too?"

  "I care deeply, don’t get me wrong, but what can I do? I wish I could just fight the son-of-a-bitch, one on one. Do you think he would accept a single combat?"

  "Consider the personality of your adversary," Amrah suggested. "He is so much like yourself, proud, arrogant, powerful. He wants you dead just as you want him dead. Above all, he wants to know which one of you is the strongest. He itches to measure his power against yours."

  "You think so?" Michael's mind started to clear. "But why would he risk everything if he's already won?"

  "Krastinios does not know that for sure..." Amrah’s dark blue eyes didn’t seem so alien anymore. "What if you decided to sacrifice Jennifer and go ahead with the Crusade? He would lose it all! He is gambling on your weakness for Jennifer. You could gamble on his own weakness by offering this personal challenge."

  "What makes you think he will accept?"

  "Oh, he certainly will... Of that you can be sure."

  "But he may be stronger than me. What if he wins?"

  "At least you will have a fighting chance... And, my son,"

  "Yes?"

  "Do not underestimate yourself. You brought Clara back to life and conquered your own demons. I think you are ready. You can also draw strength from me if you need it."

  "Thanks, Father, I think I will."

  "You can win, my son. My strength will be yours."

  The bluish light shimmered. All went dark again. Michael sat on the bed, painfully contorting himself into a meditation posture to start repairing his body. After a while, feeling better, he went out to get some fresh air. Sitting under the oak tree in the front meadow, facing east, Michael waited for the sun to rise on a day that might bring new hope.

  *****

  The sun finally appeared in a pink, pale sky. It was Sunday. Dave would probably want to go to church. Even though Michael would not mind going himself for old times sake, he could not risk being recognized. The FBI was still actively looking for him.

  So, after breakfast, while Dave, Becky, and Clara attended mass at Saint Joseph, Michael explored the property searching for fishing implements. He needed to do something normal, something relaxing to clear the mind in preparation for Krastinios' next phone call. Michael had a whole day in front of him but had no doubt that the bastard would call back. His heart went out to Jennifer. God, he hoped she was all right.

  Michael opened the small wooden side door of the barn and stopped, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The packed dirt on the ground felt soft underfoot. One side of the barn was stacked to the roof with bales of hay. The smell of straw and chicken droppings reminded Michael of his childhood on the chicken farm.

  As a boy, it had been his job to feed the chickens every day. Ever since, he had hated the damned birds. Once, a belligerent rooster had attacked him, beak and talons lashing in a flurry of feathers and savage screams. The beast slashed his bare legs, jumping and flying to get at more vital parts. Young Michael had seized the bird by the neck, twisted, and pulled with all his might, feeling a surge of triumphant elation.

  Later, he’d paid dearly for killing the rooster. His stepfather tied him up to the bedpost, naked, and flogged his skin raw with a thick leather belt, making ugly bruises with the silver buckle across legs, chest and back. Too proud to cry or plead, Young Michael had endured silently under the mad ravings of his persecutor.

  Now, in the cool shade of the barn, in the familiar smell of hay, a small flock of white hens stared sideways, then came closer, hoping for some food or treat. Sensing their expectations, Michael picked up a handful of grain out of a canvas sac, then threw the grain in a wide arc. Immediately, the fluffy birds, forgetting all fear, swarmed to his feet. Michael crouched to observe them better. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

  One daring hen eyed him with interest. The bird came close enough to be touched, and Michael extended one hand, when out of the shadows came a russet and green cock making straight for him. Michael stopped in mid-movement. The rooster rushed at him, cackling, but Michael saw no aggressiveness there. In a friendly gesture, the bird offered his head to the extended hand, requesting to be petted. Chuckling at his own fears, Michael willingly obliged and picked up the rooster to scratch him gently behind the head.

  Past the rabbit cages, Michael heard noises and discovered the source of a smell he had not noticed right away. Pigs. A sow and three piglets, pink and clean, were penned on a wide concrete slab covered with fresh straw. The mother lay down, feeding the litter.

  Michael found most of what he needed in shoeboxes stored on the shelves in the back of the barn. He packed the fishing supplies in the saddlebags of the Harley and attached the fishing poles along the frame of the motorcycle. The small automatic in the saddlebags reminded Michael of the mission. He’d traded the sawed-off shotgun for an Uzi. He felt for the knife sheathed in his boot. Could a bullet or a knife kill alien evil? The thought of Jennifer in the hands of Krastinios made him close his hand on the handle. The time would come, soon...

  Michael was getting use to the idea that he might win. According to the myths, supernatural demons could be killed with silver daggers and silver bullets, vampires dispatched with wooden stakes, witches and sorcerers burned alive, others decapitated. What would it take to eliminate Krastinios whose powers seemed limitless? If injured, he probably could heal himself instantly. Michael would need to strike a vital organ with enough force, accuracy, and speed to cause instant death. Surprise might be the determining factor.

  Back to the kitchen, Michael made some sandwiches then wrapped them in an insulated lunch box, along with some cans of soda. He jumped when the house phone rang. It was way too early to be Krastinios. Besides, it was the wrong phone.

  "Michael? I'm so glad you're here. Are you all right?" Debbie sounded relieved to find him safe.

  "Yes, Debbie. Just the person I wanted to talk to. How is everything in D.C.?" For a second, Michael thought about telling her to abort the campaign. No. Quickly regaining confidence, Michael resolved to go ahead as planned. "Where are you calling from?" he asked, concerned about her safety.

  Debbie sounded excited. "Don't worry, this is a payphone. They can’t track the call. Bes
ides, I'm only calling my sister. I have great news. The Crusade is alive and well. The fact that you're hunted by the police hasn't been made public yet. I guess they don't have any hard evidence, only suspicions, and if they didn't find you, they would look bad. Walter has contacted a lawyer, a very dedicated friend. Even if there's a public scandal, the authorities have no legal right to prevent other organizations from taking over the Crusade and using your material."

  "This is great news, Debbie."

  "All your prerecorded tapes have been distributed to the right organizations. They are used regularly in meetings and over the networks. Not bad for only two weeks of campaigning. Green Peace just agreed to finance several runs of your subliminal message film regarding the ecosystem in a major chain of movie theaters around the country. Your voice is heard, and your message mostly well-received."

  "Mostly? What about the rest?"

  "There are some industrial cartels who would love to see you dead. You made some powerful enemies in denouncing the illegal disposal of radioactive and pharmaceutical waste. They resent the expense of safe disposal and the cost of publicizing it to keep their good name. Some of them may be more dangerous to you than the police, or even Krastinios."

  Chemitek came to Michael’s mind. "Did the Frenchman call you yesterday?"

  "He certainly did. A nice man this Jean-Marc Fontaine... He was baffled when I told him you were the Crusader. Why didn't you tell him? Anyway, he was a great help. The threat from Chemitek can be circumvented now. But there are others."

  "Did you get any feedback from the press?"

  "The newspapers are delighted. Your disappearance adds to the mystery. As far as the public at large is concerned, you vanished without a trace, and this makes you a legend. Your recorded appearances become even more meaningful. Everything is going so fast, it’s like magic."

  Michael knew that Debbie’s hard work was at the heart of that magic. His intervention wouldn’t have been possible without her. "Wonderful. What else?"

  "I see a definite change in the attitude of the people who witnessed your public display. They were touched, Michael. They are on your side, and they'll help you, no matter what the cost. Even if you never came back, the Crusade would succeed. People are changing attitudes, affecting everyone and everything around them in a constructive way."

  "This is perfect, Debbie. Good job. How's Walter, how are you guys coping with the situation? Is the FBI still harassing you? No more threats?"

  "No, everything seems to have calmed down. I feel safe again, and Walter is here, taking care of me. I hope you're safe, too. Did you hear from Jennifer?"

  Michael took his time before answering. "Yeah, she called me last night." The image of Jennifer tied on the chair haunted him. Something about it wasn’t quite believable, but he couldn’t tell what.

  "Good, you were worried about her. How is she getting along with Tori?"

  "Good, I think... But I made a terrible mistake... She's not safe, and it's all my fault."

  "What do you mean, not safe?"

  "I should have known she couldn't be safe anywhere. Krastinios found her. He has her and Tori."

  "Oh no! This is terrible, Michael, I'm so sorry... Poor child... She must be terrified... What does that monster want?"

  "He wants me, of course."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to give him his wish."

  "Michael, this sounds dangerous. Are you sure you can handle him?"

  "No, I'm not sure of anything, but what would I be if I didn't try?"

  "Be careful, Michael. You're strong and powerful, but from what you told me, this guy is wicked and doesn’t play by the rules."

  "I'll be careful, Debbie. I promise."

  The sound of the blue pickup truck coming down the dirt road interrupted the conversation. The vehicle stopped in front of the trailer and Becky stepped out. Michael waved the receiver through the window and Becky hurried inside to pick up the phone while Michael went out to meet Dave and Clara.

  The child seemed all excited about something and finally blurted it out. "We saw Grandma. We saw Grandma at church, Uncle Michael!"

  Michael struggled with the thought. He knew coming back to Arkansas would create an awkward situation since he had not spoken to Maria in years. She still lived with the hated stepfather responsible for all his suffering.

  When Michael did not respond, the little girl continued unabashed. "She wants you and me to go see her this afternoon."

  "But I have everything ready to go fishing today." Michael felt terrible about the lame excuse.

  Dave had observed the scene while unloading groceries from the back of the truck. "You can do both, go fishing now, and go see Grandma later this afternoon."

  "Thanks a lot, Dave! I appreciate the fact that you are trying to get my mind off Jennifer and tonight’s phone call, but I’m not prepared for this, yet."

  "You'll have to face Mom sooner or later, Mike. You might as well get it over with. You'll feel better afterwards."

  "Damn you! You arranged it all behind my back, didn't you?"

  "I'm just trying to make everyone happy, brother. Believe me, you'll thank me for it some day."

  "Can we go fishing now and go to Grandma's later, Uncle Michael?" The child's big eyes shone with hope.

  "Let's go fishing first,” Michael grunted. “After that, we'll see..."

  Clara smiled, turned toward her adoptive father and winked.

  Dave winked back and said, "Knock those fish dead, kid. But you want to change clothes first or your mother will have a fit."

  It felt good to cruise on the purring Harley with a child's arms holding him tight. Clara felt so much like Jennifer. Even though there was nothing Michael could do for her at this point but wait, he thought about her constantly. Krastinios wouldn't hurt her, not yet. Despite the picture of the torture chamber, Michael knew she was still unharmed, but for how long? He hoped fishing would help him calm down and think.

  They headed north toward a bend in the Arkansas river, where Michael had gone fishing many times as a child, a secret place safe from his stepfather, a refuge of precious freedom and even a few pleasures. The motorcycle managed the narrow trail, splitting the tall grass along the river's edge, where kids' bicycles had trampled the wild vegetation for many years. Except for a little more activity on the water (pleasure boats had been fewer in his childhood), Michael found the place much as he remembered it.

  Parking the bike in the shade of a willow tree, Michael took the fishing paraphernalia out of the saddlebags. The river did not look quite as wide and imposing as it did when he was a boy. Michael remembered dreams of flowing with the river away from his mother and stepfather, all the way to the mighty Mississippi. Unfortunately, he discovered later that there was no escape from one's unhappy childhood. Michael had to face the ugly scars on his heart and deal with them in the end.

  "This is a nice spot. I like it," Clara announced solemnly, hands on her hips, looking around as if she were about to buy the place. "Do you take Jennifer here too sometimes?"

  "I never have, but I'm going to make sure we both bring her here soon." Michael silently prayed this would come true.

  "She'll like it," Clara declared with confidence.

  "I think so." Memories of fishing with Jennifer in Pennypack Creek, her disgust at touching the worms, a clear laugh in the dappled clearing with the sun playing on the water, Jennifer picking wild strawberries, Jennifer... Michael took a deep breath of cool, moist fishy air and released it slowly in an attempt to relax.

  Man and child sat on a log, ate the sandwiches, and drank soda while making up fishing stories. Michael discovered with surprise that, unlike Jennifer, Clara was not afraid of worms. She loved to touch them and laughed when they slipped between her fingers.

  "How do you make the fish come close? You said you would teach me." Clara looked skeptical.

  "That's easy. Just concentrate." Michael probed her thoughts and directed her young mind
into the correct brain wave pattern. "That's it. Now call them and watch."

  The child did as told, and the young face lit with pleasure as she pointed to a school of long gray silvery eels heading their way just below the surface of the greenish water. As the fish swam closer, Clara knelt at the edge of the river. Soon, the eels gently milled around while she fed them straight from the worm can with obvious delight.

  A couple of young boys in a small rowboat waved from a distance. Clara and Michael waved back. It reminded Michael of Dave and himself, many years ago... The boys were heading straight for the deep hole, just down river, Michael wondered if they knew of the treacherous undertow that could and had on occasions pulled down a small boat and everyone in it... Obviously, they didn't. Michael yelled and waved for them to come back, but to no avail. They just waved and yelled back, unaware of the danger.

  Michael concentrated in an effort to warn them telepathically. He saw when understanding dawned on the two boys, but rather than changing course, they panicked, rocking the boat in their desperate maneuvers, while the churning current pushed them faster toward dangerous waters. The boat tilted perilously as both boys tried to stand up. It dipped, thrashing into the muddy torrent. The two youngsters disappeared underwater. One head surfaced, then the other. The boys swam, but the rapids pulled them mercilessly toward the undertow.

  The great body of water between him and the two boys dampened Michael's paranormal abilities somewhat. He had to get closer if he wanted to help. Mind searching ahead, Michael started the Harley and rode down the river trail. Still too much water between them... Michael drove the roaring machine straight toward the middle of the river. Levitating the heavy motorbike was the least of his worries. In a heartbeat Michael reached the scene, emerging through the spray, as if materializing out of a white cloud. Stretching down as he had done many times when practicing to pick up beer cans, Michael fished one boy out of the water. The child relaxed a little at the sight of this savior out of nowhere but seemed stunned to find himself on the back of a Harley. Shivering with shock, cold and fear, the boy hung on to Michael’s waist.