She waited until she made it to the bottom of the stairway to pick up the pace. Once she got outside to the Mercedes, she carefully placed the bags into the open trunk as Mommy instructed. “There are two more in my room,” Diana said. “Go grab them and bring them down.”
Courtney repeated the process while her mother followed, grabbing her own suitcase. When the car was packed, Diana told her to go back to her room and get her pillow, and to make sure she didn’t leave any clothes behind. Hoping Mommy would tell her this, she obeyed instantly and ran up the steps.
When Courtney didn’t return as quickly as she had expected, Diana hurried upstairs in a huff. She entered the bedroom to find her daughter standing in the middle of the room, holding her pillow, and teddy bear, close to her chest; her arms wrapped around both. “What are you doing?” Diana demanded. “Why are you just standing here? We have to go!”
Stuttering, Courtney answered meekly. “I… can I… can we… take my mirror?”
“What?” Diana snarled angrily?
“My mirror,” she repeated. “On my door… I want… to bring it.”
Diana glared at her with eyes of wrath.
“Please?” she whimpered.
Her mother stood there, staring, both perplexed and agitated. Then, without any apparent self-control, she slammed the bedroom door shut, exposing the mirror hanging upon it, then swung a closed fist violently against it, shattering it to pieces with one blow. Courtney cried out in terror.
Diana quickly scooped up a piece of the broken glass and darted for her, slapping her across the face with her free hand, then grabbing her by the hair again. She brought the shard close to her exposed neck. “I’ve had enough of you and your stupidity!” she screamed at her. “You’re wasting time over a damn mirror? How dare you try my patience! How dare you!”
Frozen with fright, Courtney could only squeeze her pillow and teddy as hard as her arms allowed, her vision blurred with tears. She wanted to blurt out how sorry she was, how much she loved her, anything she could say to make Mommy stop. But all she could do was close her eyes and hold tightly to the comforting softness against her chest, constricting her tiny hands into balled fists with all of her might, protecting the nine of her fingers that were still whole, the memory of losing the upper portion of her pinky suddenly fresh in her mind.
A mere second later, Diana dropped the glass in her hand and pulled Courtney close to her bosom. She said nothing at first. The only sound in the room was her daughter’s soft weeping. Diana began to stroke her long hair. “I’m sorry dear,” she finally soothed. “Mommy’s not angry with you. But a very bad man is after us. And we have to leave right away.”
“I’m scared, Mommy,” Courtney managed with a shaking voice.
“It’s okay, darling,” Diana assured her, still stroking her hair while embracing her. “You don’t need to be scared. Mommy will take care of that man; don’t you worry about that. But right now, Mommy’s too weak to do anything about him, and I need to rest somewhere where he won’t find us. So we have to go now. Do you understand me?”
Courtney tried to be brave. “I understand, Mommy.” She thought she did, but she would have said so even if she hadn’t, if only to prevent Mommy’s anger from returning.
Fifteen minutes later, they were on the road. Mommy was somewhat calmer, so Courtney was somewhat more relaxed, but she remained still and silent in the back seat, teddy bear in her lap, pillow still clung to her chest. Drowsiness began to seep in again as the comfortable, forward motion and placid sound of the luxury car’s engine soothed her. Mommy never told her where they were headed, unaware of the remote vacation cabin Diana owned under a different name and a separate, private account not two hours north of Lancaster County. She didn’t bother to ask. Mommy always had a plan; always knew what to do. Mommy could be very mean sometimes, but Mommy would always take care of her.
Diana, while focused on the road before them, fished out her phone from her purse on the passenger seat, easily finding a particular number in her list of contacts. She held the phone to her ear, and within seconds a connection was made. “This is Agent six-two-two. I need immediate relocation orders and an assignment transfer.”
She waited for a response, then continued: “Mission failed. The Cycle was broken and the Primary and Secondary Circles compromised. We suffered casualties. Number of survivors is currently undetermined. I’m sending you my coordinates to await further instruction.”
She continued to give information to the receiver on the other line, mostly conversation that was beyond Courtney’s comprehensive capacity. She called it “adult talk,” and tuned it out, her thoughts focusing on where their new home would be and what it would be like.
When she hung up, Diana glanced in the rear-view mirror to see that Courtney was still awake, staring out the side window. “People will be at the house tomorrow to move all our things for us,” she informed her daughter.
Courtney turned toward her briefly, then returned her gaze to the darkness outside the Mercedes. If Mommy wasn’t liable to change back to a less favorable mood, she might have pouted, knowing that if movers were going to get the rest of their things, they could have taken Dorothy as well. Now that her mirror was shattered, she would go without. She might have hated Mommy for that, but Mommy was the only one she loved. So she hated the arrogant boy even more.
“We’ll get you a new mirror once we’ve settled in to our new place, dear,” Diana said as if reading her daughter’s thoughts. “Get some sleep.” Silence followed. Then, after several seconds, she offered one last tidbit for Courtney to think on. “If you’re very good, Mommy might even get you another puppy.”
Courtney said nothing, but was satisfied by Mommy’s promise. She relaxed her arms around the pillow and placed it between her head and the side window. Her fading thoughts as she drifted into a shallow slumber were of her best friend Dorothy. And of the arrogant boy who made Mommy so mad tonight.
****
Roughly twenty minutes of dead silence had passed with only the constant, healthy hum of the Mercedes’ well-tuned engine to accompany Diana’s racing thoughts. Her troubled daughter was now dozing in the back seat, when suddenly her phone vibrated to life. Set upon a fixed holder on her dashboard where she could easily access the device, hope leapt into her despairing heart when she saw Madsen’s number appear on the display. Diana quickly hit “Answer” and pulled the phone to her ear, saying nothing, but waiting for the caller to identify himself. Were she not black of heart, she might’ve prayed at that moment.
Within seconds she breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing Madsen’s voice speak the proper passcode phrase. “Stephen!” she responded, forcing back the desire to do so too loudly. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” he answered shakily. “Or as well as can be expected.”
“My God, you sound terrible. How did you get out?”
“Same as you. But teleporting took a lot out of me.” Madsen took a much-needed breath. “Where are you?”
“On the road, heading toward my safehouse.” After a moment’s pause she added quietly, “Courtney’s with me.”
“Good,” he replied. “I’m glad you were able to get to her and get out.”
“Do you know if anyone else got out alive?”
She could hear Madsen sigh deeply into the phone. “Paul was the only one left alive when I escaped. He’s not answering his phone. More so, my link to him has been severed.”
“Mine too,” Diana confirmed, her tone iced with venom. “That little shit… we need to make him pay, Stephen. This… this… Michael… whatever the hell his name is.”
“Michael Messenger.”
Diana’s blood suddenly froze, as if a forgotten, haunting fear had emerged from deep within her core. As if that fear was unknown, and had gone unnoticed, lying dormant, only to surface for the first time at the sound of the boy’s full name. But in one instant later, she buried it deep, under all the rage and abhorrence that was anything bu
t unknown to her. “So you remember his name.”
“I hadn’t,” Madsen admitted. “But I do now. We will make him pay, Diana. But first we need to regroup.”
Diana fought her anger to allow herself to think. Madsen was right, of course. She hated when he was right. “What do you have in mind?”
“Can you make it to Gettysburg tonight? We should all stay at my safehouse here since things are too hot in Lancaster right now. Besides, I don’t think I could make it to where you are. I’m too drained and need to rest before...”
“Text me the address,” Diana interrupted. “I’ll head your way.”
“Good. That’ll give us time to recover. And quite frankly, I’d like to hash things out and make sense of what the hell happened tonight.”
Without waiting for a reply, Madsen ended the call, leaving Diana to resume her drive in silence, her thoughts even more focused on Michael Messenger, the unwelcomed intruder who had ruined their quest for glory. Her emotions teetering between hatred… and worry.
Chapter IV
There was never a time when Megan appreciated the soothing cleanse from a hot shower more than she did in the cheap, rundown motel set in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania, over twenty miles east of the Lancaster County line. The 1970’s style of pastel, ceramic material that decorated the rectangular shower stall, excluding the partially transparent, frosted-glass, pivoting door that separated the stall from the rest of the bathroom, held a strong scent of bleach due to the efforts of the facility’s daily housekeeping services. As the constant beads of the shower-head’s spray pelted the back of her shoulders with adequate but not stellar water pressure, she scrubbed herself from head to toe with a sudsy loofa as if trying to remove old, used skin, where a fresh, untainted layer might lie beneath. She had used her choice brand of shampoo on her hair, and rinsed, three times, and was now applying a third coat of body wash. And she was crying heavily.
Michael had asked her to stay strong during their escape, and she had held a firm grip on herself, drawing from whatever inner resolve she could pull from the depths of her core. Now that they were safely away, now that she was completely free from the two-week nightmare, she let go with no sense of pride or embarrassment to keep her emotions in check in front of her rescuer, who sat upon the closed lid of the toilet next to the shower stall; his back turned toward her so as not to invade her privacy any more than he already had felt to have done.
Michael of course, had at first waited outside the bathroom completely, but Megan had all but demanded he stay as close to her as possible, not wanting him out of her sight, not wanting to be alone. He had asked sheepishly if she was sure she wanted him near her while she showered. She had countered with the comment that it was nothing he hadn’t already seen, reminding him of his barging into the sacrificial chamber of the cellar while she had lain upon the altar, spread eagle, naked as a babe for all to bear witness.
It had been nerve-racking enough during the brief time that he’d left her alone in the motel room in order to make a run to the nearest twenty-four-hour Walmart and pick up essentials for her, and food for the both of them. Knowing the police, and possibly the Agents of Shadow, as Michael referred to them, would be searching for the black Kawasaki, he had set the bike onto the back of an extended cab of a dark colored pickup truck, which he used for longer distances, using an attached, automatic lift, then covering it with tarp after strapping it into place. Before taking the truck into town, he had her make a list of toiletries she would need, as well as her clothing sizes.
Though she was considerate not to have him empty his wallet, he convinced her that she need not worry about expenses, so she spared none, having a desperate need to clean and pamper herself after the personal battles she had endured. She had done as he asked, jotting a list consisting of her usual choice of shampoo, body wash, conditioner, deodorant, skin-care lotion, toothpaste and brush, mouthwash, and so on.
He had raised an eyebrow when he scanned the list and his eyes stopped at the line item describing a certain vaginal product, reading the line aloud.
She had pursed her lips and asked him if that would be problem for him to find.
He had informed her that, now that the Primary Circle’s spell had worn off, her untimely and unnaturally extended period should have ended, and that her bleeding should have stopped by now.
Men, she had thought to herself with a smile. Though quite uneasy with the idea that she would be left alone while he was out, she had managed some humor and said, “You’re adorable you know, when you’re oblivious. I need douche, Michael. I need to feel clean after… everything.”
He had lowered his head in an apologetic manner, clearly showing his embarrassment. And he questioned no more of her requests on the list, even of the particular Covergirl makeup products she had included. Personally, he felt this was unnecessary; she was a lovely young woman, despite her having been covered with two weeks’ worth of dirt, sweat, bruises, and dried blood. Even if she wasn’t naturally attractive, makeup seemed irrelevant at a time like this, but he had understood at that moment that Megan wasn’t necessarily in need of feeling beautiful. That was made clear by the greasy, fattening burger, with everything on it, and the extra-large Coke she listed. She needed to feel normal, to feel like herself again. As far as he had been concerned, she had more than deserved that.
“Can’t I come with you?” she had asked as he opened the driver-side door of the Chevy Silverado.
“Not trying to make you feel self-conscious,” he had replied, shaking his head, “but you look like you’ve been through a war. In your state, you could draw too much attention. Even if you cleaned up using the motel’s complimentary cleaning products, we’d still be taking a risk. Police will be looking for a man and a woman of our description. You, they have on file. Me, they don’t. Plus, I was able to change my outfit, while you’re still dressed the same.” He opened his arms as if modeling his new getup for her: a simple pair of blue jeans and red, long sleeve T-shirt which displayed the name of Philadelphia’s Major League Baseball team, with a matching red ball cap that complimented it. Given their geographic location, she had known he wouldn’t stand out in any public store nearby.
So, Megan had reluctantly waited while Michael had gone shopping. He had suggested she remain hidden in the bathroom, which was located in the very back of the motel room, farthest from the door. Too uncomfortable with paranoia, she would have waited anywhere else regardless. There she had remained, sitting on the lid of the toilet, where Michael now waited while she showered, while holding the pistol he gave her in a tight grip.
“You’re sure you know how to use this?” he had asked before he offered his weapon to her. She had nodded without hesitation. She had never been a fanatic for firearms, but she was not uncomfortable around them. Her father had taken her to a local shooting range many times since she was fifteen, using his veteran experience to train her on proper handling and firing techniques. Michael’s pistol was quite similar to the Beretta M9 that Dad owned, only smaller, more easily concealable. Michael himself however, did not seem to share her certainty as he had slowly handed it to her. But when she had taken it from him, easily pressed the magazine release with the thumb of her gripping hand and caught it in the other, then used a “push-pull” method to verify the chamber was empty, followed by her quickly reinserting the magazine, then pulling back the slide to load a bullet into the chamber, his doubts dissolved quickly. “Okay then,” he had commented as if standing corrected.
The gun had not helped her feel much safer. The time alone in the motel room seemed as long as the time she had spent in the cellar, and although Michael had assured her that it was highly unlikely anyone would discover their whereabouts, she had still feared that it would not be he who would return through the door at the front end of the dim-lit room.
“Don’t answer the door to anyone,” he had instructed her as he closed all the curtains to the windows adjacent to the front door. “If, by some strang
e chance, someone forces their way through this door, you shoot to kill, and you run to the nearby location we discussed.”
“Through the woods behind the motel,” she had repeated what he had earlier informed her, “keep going straight until I come to a lake, hide under the abandoned canoe by the shore.”
“Good,” he had acknowledged.
“What if it’s you coming through the door?”
“I won’t be forcing my way in,” he had smirked, waving the motel room’s key card. “And, I’ll announce that it’s me when I return.”
“What if it’s the office manager?” she had asked, afraid of accidentally harming an innocent person.
“It won’t be,” he had promised. “I’ll put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the handle.”
“And how will I know it’s you?” she had pushed. “Will announcing yourself be enough? I mean, these ‘agents’ don’t have the power to mimic others’ voices too, do they?” She had quickly recalled Michael’s demonstration of doing just that earlier that night.
“Actually, some of them probably do,” he had admitted. “Don’t worry. When I come back, I’ll say something that will let you know it’s me.
“What?”
“I’ll think of something.”
When he had finally returned, she had heard his voice call, “In some forgotten legends, werewolves were not abominations of nature, but protectors of it.” She had exhaled, having felt like she had been holding her breath during his entire absence, and had gone to him. She had been relieved that no incident requiring her to use the pistol presented itself, but she had already pushed those thoughts far from her mind, as the smell of hot, fast food permeated her nostrils. She had scarfed down her entire meal and gulped half of her soda by the time Michael had finished placing all her requested items in the bathroom for her.
The Paladin's Redemption (The Keepers of White Book 3) Page 4