The Paladin's Message

by Richard Crofton

  Diana was smiling maliciously. She was relishing in the anguish that the young man conveyed. “Tell me then, boy, did you really think we were kidding? Did you not believe the sincerity of our message?”

  The man returned her stare with an icy fire in his gleaming eyes. “No,” he answered in that same, low voice. “I got the message loud and clear. And I believed every word of it.”

  “What are you doing here then, son?” Chief Biddle spoke up as he stepped past the two members of the Secondary Circle he was hiding behind, still holding the revolver behind his back, readying himself.

  The man who Megan first knew as Cliff turned his head toward the police chief with a strange look of simplicity.

  “Sending you my reply.”

  Then, with the same lightning speed he had shown before, he drew two pistols that had been hidden inside his leather jacket, and fired. The chief hadn’t even begun to pull his from behind his back. Instantaneously, both of William Biddle’s eyeballs imploded.

  Chapter XVII

  Detective Harrison knew his legs would be screaming at him tomorrow morning. He checked his watch and realized that it was tomorrow morning. He had been on this miserable misadventure for far too long, and on foot, much longer than any sane human being would have tolerated. He admitted to himself that his behavior would reflect an obsessive personality if Gibbons, or anyone at his precinct, heard of his endeavor, but right now he didn’t care. Under normal circumstances, he would have headed back long ago. But these weren’t normal circumstances, his gut told him. So determination drove him onward.

  He was amazed that no other vehicles had passed his way since his encounter with the biker. Even at this hour, he would have expected at least some commute. Transportation vehicles such as semis were not unknown to country roads in the middle of the night, especially roads that connected two or more towns. It was as if this one was cursed or taboo, like certain channels or sections of the oceans that had gotten into sailor lore, stories that had swayed ships to steer clear, all because of nonsensical superstition. And he was the one mariner foolish enough to go it alone, without a vessel to bail out with. Without a working phone or a radio, he didn’t even have a life ring.

  Just as he paused to remove his left shoe, attempting to shake out a rogue pebble that had slipped itself inside during his trek, his eyes caught the movement of a figure emerging from a cluster of birch trees along the side, close up ahead.

  “Hello?” he called out, half expecting a response. When none was given, he pulled out his pocket flashlight and shined it in the figure’s direction. He might as well have been aiming the beam at a deer; the man in its path froze instantly as if caught in a flytrap. “Who’s there?” Harrison greeted again, with a not-so friendly tone.

  His second attempt to communicate with the man seemed to awaken him from his dead-still stance, and instead of replying, he attempted to run up the road away from Harrison.

  “Hey!” he shouted immediately pursuing the stranger. “State police! Stop where you are!” The man ignored the order and continued to flee, but his effort to outrun the younger and healthier detective was pointless. Harrison caught up to him rather quickly, grabbing him by the collar of his greasy, tattered shirt. Instantly, he took him down, laying him flat on his stomach and placing a strong knee against the small of his back.

  “Hey man!” the dirty stranger struggled with panic in his voice. “Come on, I didn’t do nothin’!”

  “Running from a police officer when he tells you to stop?” Harrison countered as he commenced a quick pat-down. “You call that nothing?”

  “Just sayin’ yer a cop don’t mean nothin’ ta me! Yer by yerself in th’ middle o’ nowhere! C’mon man, get off!”

  Harrison grabbed the man’s wrists and cuffed him quickly, which only caused him to struggle harder. At first, the detective became prematurely excited. Given the man’s appearance, he thought that perchance this might be the infamous Cliff, but after further consideration, he could tell the vagabond before him was confused and frightened to the core. He certainly didn’t have the look of a psychotic serial killer. His gut told him this wasn’t his man. “Calm down!” he ordered. “I’m not getting off you until I get some answers!”

  “I don’t know you, an’ I don’t know nothin’! Get offa me! Get off…”

  Harrison wrestled him over to his back, pressing his knee upon his chest. He was in no mood to put up with any resistance, but the man continued hollering. “Shut up!” he yelled. “Do you hear me? Shut up!”

  The stranger quelled his rebellion against the detective, who was only pressing more weight against him the more he tried to resist. “Okay,” he subsided with a terrified, meek and quivering voice. “Just don’t hurt me.”

  The detective pulled out his badge and brought it close to the man’s face. “Detective Harrison, state police. I’m not gonna hurt you, but you’re gonna have to cooperate. You do that and maybe I let you go. Understand?”

  “Whaddaya want from me?”

  “I just have some questions.”

  “I don’t know nothin’.”

  “Let’s start simply then. What’s your name?”

  The man hesitated for a second. “Charlie,” he finally answered, choosing to forego the, my friends call me Chuck bit.

  “What are you doing out here, Charlie?”

  He didn’t answer. Harrison stared at the man impatiently. “Answer me!”

  “Maybe I live here! How do ya know this ain’t my property?”

  “Really?” Harrison pressed. “What’s your address? Do you have any I.D.? You don’t look like a farmer, buddy. You look like you’ve been living in piss. Jesus, you sure smell like it.”

  “Fuck you! You got no idea what kinda night I’m havin’!”

  “You and me both, pal. Try again. What are you doing here?” When Charlie didn’t answer, Harrison added a little more weight on his chest. “Do you want me to let you up or not?”

  “Okay! Okay, you wanna know what I’m doin’? Tryin’ ta get the hell outta here, that’s what!”

  “Why? What were you doing here in the first place?”

  He hesitated again. “Yer not gonna believe me if I say.”

  “Try me,” Harrison assured him. “I’ve got a pretty open mind right now.”

  The man wasn’t convinced. “Fuckin’ cops! You gonna believe the crazy shit I seen?” he spat.

  Harrison, taking a moment to reflect on his frightened demeanor and frantic desperation when trying to tear loose from him, suspected he was running scared. He decided to take a gamble. He took his knee off of him, but remained kneeling beside him. “I might if what you saw had something to do with a few black SUVs,” he said in a calmer tone.

  The man suddenly ceased all struggle whatsoever, giving Harrison a surprised look.

  “Cadillacs. All the same model and color. That sound about right?”

  Almost in awe, Charlie nodded. “Somthin’ like that.”

  “Okay. Charlie, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I’m gonna let you up and uncuff you. Tell me what’s happened so I can help.

  Charlie sat up; a distrusting expression formed on his face. “What is this? Good cop, bad cop?”

  “Nope,” Harrison dismissed. “The thing is, Charlie, I’m very prone to believe you’re telling the truth. First, I can tell by the wild look in your eyes that something’s got you spooked. Second, and the reason why I was so aggressive with you just now is because, some things have got me pretty spooked too. I don’t know how to explain it, but from what I’ve seen, I’m guessing there’s more to it than we know. I don’t know if it’s dangerous or not, but it’s my job to find…”

  “It’s dangerous,” Charlie said immediately. “That much I know. Sure as my teeth are yellah.”

  “Alright,” Harrison acknowledged. He started to loosen the man’s cuffs. “Charlie, I’m gonna take these off you. But no funny stuff okay? I’m trusting you here.”

  “I ain’t tryin�
� ta jerk ya here, man. Remember? I’m just tryin’ ta get as far away as I can.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you just tell me about it?” He undid the cuffs and secured them back in the holder attached to his belt.

  Charlie gently rubbed his wrists, still sitting. “Down that dirt driveway I come out of.” He pointed in the direction where he had first come into Harrison’s sight. “Some shit’s goin’ down in there. Some crazy devil worshiping hullaballoo.”

  “Devil worshipers?”

  “Buncha fuckin’ psychos, that’s what they are.”

  “How many?”

  Charlie thought for a second. “‘Bout a dozen I think.”

  “How did you get involved with all of this?”

  He hesitated. He knew that if he told the officer that he had been kidnapped, that he might have to testify if any arrests were made. “Just lookin’ for a place to hole up fer the night. Thought the place wuz abandoned. Then I saw what I saw and took off.”

  Harrison nodded. He was generally good at smelling bullshit when it was thrown at him, but he decided to let it go. The wino was giving him the info he needed, and after everything he’d been through tonight, that was all he cared about. He stood up and helped the man to his feet. “What did you see that made you take off?”

  He hesitated again. “Somethin’ bad.”

  “Anything illegal?”

  He thought of the girl, naked as a babe, being taken into the dark room. Another victim with a potentially worse fate than what his was to be. This time, he didn’t worry about having to testify, but he also thought of the man who saved him. The man who had something special about him, had performed what he believed was a miracle on him. Whoever he was, Charlie believed he was the girl’s best hope. This cop had heart, no doubt about it, but he didn’t have what the stranger had. Besides, he promised. (Forget you ever saw me). “I dunno,” he finally answered. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Harrison shot him a look. “Come on, Charlie. I’m getting the feeling you’re not telling me everything here. Don’t hold out on me.”

  Charlie shook his head. “So what if I am? Listen mister, yer all by yerself. Don’t look like you got backup. Whatever’s goin’ on in that place, it’s bad. That much I’ll tell ya. But you don’t wanna go there on yer own. Not without callin’ it in.”

  “I’ve got nothing to call in Charlie. You haven’t given me anything substantial.”

  “And I ain’t gonna. Fer yer own good. You go down there, believe me, it ain’t gonna end well fer ya.”

  “Story of my life,” Harrison sighed. He could tell he wouldn’t be able to break through the man’s obstinacy. He considered, for a moment, heeding his warning, but now he finally knew where to go, where he had been trying to get to all night. “That place, that’s where the SUV’s are?”

  The man shook his head. “Yer pretty pigheaded, y’know that? Even fer a pig.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Charlie looked away. “Yeah, I seen ‘em there.”

  “You happen to see a black sport bike too?”

  “Maybe. I didn’t do no car inventory check while I wuz runnin’ fer my life y’know.”

  Harrison said nothing else. He turned and headed back about a score of steps until he caught sight of the dirt path.

  The last thing Charlie saw of Harrison was him pulling his pistol from his holster, holding it at the ready, as he headed off in a tactical gait toward the building that was once a schoolhouse, now used for much darker purposes.

  “Fuckin’ cops,” he said to himself. Then he turned away, running as quickly as he could, thankful he had enough smarts to stash the large sum of money into his urine stained crotch, a part of his clothing where the detective’s pat-down most certainly did not include.

  Chapter XVIII

  The crack of the two pistol reports, fired in unison, was a sound that could wake the dead in the thick, tense stillness of the dungeon-like room. The ringing in Megan’s ears that immediately followed was unbearable. She anticipated more to follow; everything about the standoff conversation among the coven of cultists and the man they repetitively called “Boy” built up toward this moment. It was unexpected by all in the room, yet in hindsight was as foreseeable as a violent storm, thunderclouds silently rolling in, then striking with rage at the atmosphere’s quietest moment.

  The searing pain in her right ear pulsed again.

  That was when she realized she had her palms pressed against her ears to deaden the ruthless noise of any following gunshots that would most likely occur.

  That was when she realized she could move once again. The spell that had rendered her literally petrified had been broken at the first sound of the man’s pistols.

  That was when she remembered the quiet voice deep within her giving her a very specific instruction.

  That was when she rolled to her left, allowing her body to fall to the cold floor of stone behind the altar. She sat herself upright and pressed her back against the solid structure that was to be her sacrificial table, keeping her ears covered, ignoring the pain, as a rapid rapport of gunshots ensued. Megan, too frightened to do anything else, lowered her head and shut her eyes.

  ****

  As Chief Biddle fell to a blinded death, the cultists reacted in panic. Some tried to charge the man with daggers of their own. Some tried to hide behind others. Some, knowing the man stood between them and their only escape route, attempted to dart for the back room to hide. Senator Tom Homan of the Midwest, a devout supporter of the Second Amendment, carried his own concealed firearm. He quickly loosened his robe and attempted to draw on the intruder. He instantly became said intruder’s next target. The senator fell flat on his back with two bullet wounds puncturing center mass; his dominant hand gripping his pistol inside his sport jacket. His white dress shirt began to form a growing stain of red upon his chest, nearly matching the shade of his exquisite tie.

  The man opened fire on the ones daring enough to run toward him, most from the Secondary Circle. Not once did he miss his mark, whether he fired with the pistol in his right hand or his left; he did not appear to favor one over the other. One shot per cultist was enough. All of which either took a hollow point round to the chest, the throat, or the head. The man’s precision was uncanny, especially considering the incredible speed at which he fired his weapons. Megan, at one point through her compressed ears, imagined a fully automatic assault rifle in the man’s grip instead of two handguns.

  A heavy thud resounded to her left. Megan dared to open her eyes for an instant and turned toward the sickening sound, where she bore witness to the large body of her manager, now her former manager, lying face down on the floor with a hole in the back of her skull. Splinters of bone protruded as blood and gray globs spit out of the opening. The woman must have attempted to run. She clearly wasn’t fast enough. Bye Butch, she might have thought to herself if she wasn’t so taken aback by the woman’s revolting condition. So instead, she closed her eyes again.

  Then she realized the folly of this choice, only too late; through the chaotic commotion and cracking of weaponry, she did not realize that two of the cultists, the judge and the professor, took shelter beside her. Not until one of them grabbed her and lifted her up, pulling her body close to his.

  Judge Dickson had seized the ominous dagger from the altar and put it to Megan’s throat. She found herself staring with widened eyes of fright at the man, who now held his pistol in his right hand trained in her direction. His left hand held its gun pointed upward next to his face.

  “Take one more shot,” the judge cried, “I’ll kill…”

  The man fired.

  Only half of Dickson’s face was exposed as he had crouched to hide himself behind the girl. Half his face was all the man needed. Megan could feel the zipping of wind break just past her ear as the bullet from the man’s pistol found its mark. Another cultist’s eyeball gone. Megan screamed with all but ruptured vocal chords from the intensity of the moment, but she immedia
tely felt the judge’s grip loosen. The dagger fell as his hand lowered limply, and she struggled to push his dying body from him while she dropped with weakness back to her place of shelter. She did not care that she had to share it with Professor Madsen; she doubted he would make the same attempt as the judge. But she kept her eyes open this time and remained watchful of him.

  Swearing under his breath, as the gunfire carried on, Madsen glanced left and right, searching his surroundings for any option. Father Paul remained standing in his spot near the altar. His eyes remained fixed on the attacker, but he kept very still. The professor was awestruck by the priest’s bold stance but was convinced he would not have remained out in the open unless he felt himself to be quite safe. Diana on the other hand was nowhere to be seen; not standing her ground, not running, not lying lifeless upon the floor. Had she escaped into the back room? Throughout all the commotion he hadn’t seen, but he eyed the open doorway, contemplating his own move in that direction.

  Suddenly, the sound of sliding metal neared him. Turning to his left, he saw beyond the cowering Megan, a pistol, most likely having been accidentally kicked by one of his colleagues while fleeing in panic, coming to a stop several feet away from him. Bill’s pistol. He quickly risked a peep over the surface of the stone altar and observed the man preoccupied with gunning down one of the last of the Secondary Circle. Madsen quickly made his move, darting for the gun.

  Just as he reached for it, another gunshot exploded, and the pistol, once still upon the floor, now bounced away from his grasp just a few more feet away. Without stopping, he ran towards it again. But the same result occurred as he was just about to pick it up.

  With no cover to protect him now, Professor Madsen turned to face his enemy, and certain death. The man had both barrels fixed on him, but he did not fire. Instead, he winked at him.

  At first, he stood motionless, not understanding the man’s unlikely intent. But the confusion of the chaos within the place began to subside, and an eerie silence fell around them. With nothing left to lose, Madsen turned and darted for the back door. No shots were fired as he dove through the threshold and disappeared from sight.