The driver was in no hurry, obeying the speed limit, and Barry couldn’t detect any signs of suspicion. Even the squeaky-clean drivers often nervously exerted themselves to show extra precautions when noticing a police cruiser behind them, but the Chevy Silverado in front of him remained steady, making carefree headway along the road, while Barry continued a casual, passive pursuit.
It was difficult to get a good look at the driver with the covered motorcycle partially blocking the rear window, and Barry was tempted to take advantage of the broken yellow line that divided the highway and the lack of oncoming traffic, and quickly pass the vehicle just so he could steal a glance in the process. But before partaking in anything so obvious, especially under that miniscule chance that the driver was in fact the supposedly armed and highly dangerous suspect, he called into Dispatch and had the operator run the plates.
When the info came back over the radio, everything seemed to check out normally. The PA plates were registered to a 2007 Chevy Silverado, owned by a Michael Dawkins with an address in Strasburg, a borough in Lancaster County. Not much need for alarm; Barry had no doubt that many of the drivers that passed by his various positions and patrols on a daily basis lived in Lancaster, as it was a mere thirty miles west. But the name struck a chord. As the day had progressed, updates of the initial report came through his radio that the male suspect went by the name Michael Messenger, and that the female, the blonde beauty, was possibly Megan Panco, who had gone missing roughly two weeks ago.
The state police were after a Michael Messenger, last seen in Lancaster County riding a black sport bike. Barry was currently tailing a Michael Dawkins just outside of Lancaster County, driving a black pickup… transporting a black sport bike.
He still considered it a long shot, maybe a one-in-a-ten thousand chance now, but that didn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from raising straight up as if charged with electricity, acting as a harbinger of a not-so uneventful shift.
The county deputies were informed that they were to report any and all potential sightings of the suspects, and that it would be preferable that they wait for backup before engaging, but should they come into confirmed contact, to proceed with extreme prejudice. Barry decided that he hadn’t confirmed enough to report a “potential sighting.” Just not enough coincidences yet to rattle the hornet’s nest again. But too many coincidences to just remain idly behind them any longer.
With his mind made up, Barry switched on his lights, relaying to the driver in front of him to pull over. He quickly thought through his plan: introduce himself amicably, tell the driver that the police are looking for a stolen truck that matches this one, and check the I.D. If the driver and passenger (if there was one), didn’t fit the description from the report, he would tell them everything checked out and to have a nice day. But if by chance they did match, he would ask them to hold on while he ran a check, then return to his cruiser and call it in, rattling the nest very willingly.
The driver cooperated immediately, pulling over far past the edge of the shoulder, very thoughtfully Barry noted, as he could safely approach the side of the truck with plenty of space between the driver’s door and the edge of the far right driving lane. He checked in with dispatch, informing the operator that he was making a routine stop on what might be a possible lead on the suspects from Lancaster, but that currently there was no cause for alarm. When he got the “Ten-four” crackling back over his radio, he stepped out of the cruiser. He believed, based on probability, that there truly was no cause for alarm, but that didn’t stop him from unbuckling the strap of his holster as he made his way toward the parked vehicle.
“Afternoon, officer,” the driver greeted Barry with a friendly smile. He had a young look, wearing blue jeans, a red and white, pin-striped Philadelphia Phillies jersey, and a red matching ball cap that covered most of his brown hair, which Barry could tell he kept cut very short, probably a “level one” length around the back and sides. He examined nothing out of the ordinary as he gave him a quick nod, but the young lady in the passenger seat was, in his opinion, the perfect definition of a “blonde beauty.” If he were the one drafting the report, he would have inserted the adjective “stunning” to the description. Especially when she too, offered him a smile, though it was more of a nervous one, whereas the driver’s was not in the least.
“H-How you folks doing today?” Barry replied, finding himself straining to keep from appearing dumbfounded. The two surely matched the vague description of the suspects, and he sensed his adrenaline elevating at the prospect that he had hit the undesired jackpot. He also couldn’t help staring at the woman, feeling guilty that Nicole would be steaming if she could see him now, feeling thankful that his sunglasses hid the direction of his gaze.
“Not too bad, sir,” the man answered. “Yourself?”
“Just fine.” He gathered himself, forcing his eyes to make eye contact with the driver. “So where you headed today?”
The man’s smile widened just a bit as he tapped the white, decorative “P” on the center of his ball cap. “To see the game. We’re playing the Braves tonight.”
“Got season tickets?”
“You bet!” the man responded happily. “Got seats pretty close to shallow left field, not too far from third base.”
Barry smiled weakly. Normally he would commend the loyalty of a true fan, being a local to the area himself, especially since the team had been suffering from an embarrassing slump for some years now. He might have even engaged in friendly conversation about their gradual decline after the Series of ’08, having lost the Series in ’09 to the damn Yankees, then the NLCS to San Francisco the following year, and of course the disappointment of finishing the 2011 season with the best record in franchise history, only to suffer elimination in the first round of the playoffs to St. Louis. It had been all downhill from there, despite their talented roster. Normally, this might have been the outcome of the conversation: some good old baseball talk and a “you folks have a nice day” kind of ending. But the more Barry stared at the driver, the more he suspected this was the couple the state police were after.
Before he could carry out with his plan however, something strange overcame Barry’s senses; subtle yet noticeable. A faint dizziness infected his equilibrium, and eerily the source seemed to be streaming from the man’s bright, piercing blue eyes into his own, like an invisible beam from which the polarized lenses of his shades provided no shielding. He breathed in deeply to fight the odd sensation as the logic of his mind suggested the cause of his sudden condition was merely a result of his not eating enough that day. He willed himself to keep talking until he could clear his head and get what he needed. “A little… early… isn’t it? Citizen’s Bank Park… won’t be admitting patrons… for several hours.”
“Well,” the man chuckled light-heartedly, “if you want our full itinerary, my girl and I are going to tour Antique Row on Pine Street, maybe do some window shopping. Then of course, Passyunk and Ninth. I mean, what’s the point of visiting the city if you’re not going to enjoy what it’s famous for? Looking forward to a proper meal before the game, isn’t that right honey?” The man didn’t turn to his passenger as he addressed her, but kept his powerful gaze with Barry, who barely noticed the young lady nodding to confirm. “So which do you prefer, officer? Geno’s or Pat’s?”
Barry was well aware of the friendly rival between the two shops, famous in South Philly for their cheesesteaks, and he noted that the man knew his way around town. Either he was legitimately a frequenter of the city, or he had done his research to provide a good cover story to any chump deputy like himself who might stop him for questioning. “Neither place… disappoints,” he managed to say, feeling his knees wobble slightly at the thought of food. “I’m partial… to whichever one… has the shorter wait.”
“You feeling okay sir?” the man suddenly asked with what seemed like genuine concern in his voice?
“Fine,” Barry answered stubbornly.
“Yo
u look a little woozy. You’re not gonna puke on me, are you?”
Barry wanted to pull his eyes away from the man’s; he would have much rather preferred to stare at the woman next to him. She was wearing jean shorts, short shorts that exposed a lot of leg. Perfectly smooth, slightly tanned, delicious thighs. But something kept him drawn to the powerful eyes of the driver, and he began to grow frustrated. Frustrated that he somehow couldn’t direct his stare at the nicer scenery in the truck, and perhaps slightly envious that those sexy legs apparently belonged to the man before him, which made Barry suddenly hope this guy was the fugitive from Lancaster, just so he could enjoy assisting in his arrest. If his head were fully clear, he might have thought to himself that Nicole would, without a doubt, be downright pissed at him right now. Instead, the unexpected jealousy inside forced him to focus his thoughts on shaking the dizziness from his head and getting on with the task at hand.
“What kind of… bike you got under there?”
The man’s smile faded just a bit. “A Kawasaki. Why?”
“Is it yours?”
“Yes sir,” the man replied. “Is there a problem?”
The man’s words seemed to echo and bounce around inside his skull. He tried to shut his eyes behind his sunglasses to repel what he imagined as that invisible beam, but was unable to. The uncanny lightheadedness did not grow, but it did not waiver either. He was able to function with effort, but suddenly had to rest his hand on the door of the truck, where the window would be had it not been lowered. As soon as his hand made contact with the door, his head suddenly cleared. “Can I ask you why you’re bringing your bike with you, if you’re just going for cheesesteaks and a ballgame?”
“All due respect sir,” the man answered without missing a beat, “can I first ask you why you pulled us over? I wasn’t speeding or anything.”
Though he still couldn’t pull his eyes from the man’s, Barry had now fully collected his sense of will. He straightened up, and gave a confident, disarming smile. “Nothing too serious, sir. It’s just that we got a report on a stolen bike in the area. I just want to run a check. If everything clears okay, you’ll be free to go.”
“Yes, of course,” the man smiled back with a nod. “I understand, officer.”
“Okay,” Barry said. “License and registration please.”
Without warning, the man suddenly placed a gentle hand on top of Barry’s. He had forgotten he had placed his on the truck; he never would have done so under normal circumstances, but the wave of dizziness had somehow forced him to, as if it were a completely natural and reasonable action. And for some strange reason, his mind accepted the idea that the man’s hand on his was just as natural and reasonable as it started to cloud again, feeling much more disoriented than before, so he didn’t even try to pull away. For the moment, as quickly as he had recovered, just as instantaneously, he became unsure of everything, having incredible difficulty remembering what his purpose was for pulling the couple over in the first place.
“You don’t need to see my license and registration,” the man said, his smile now transformed into a wily smirk.
“C… Come again?” Barry asked with a slur. The man’s voice had become toxic as it entered through his ear canals into his brain, which felt like it was operating on reserve energy alone.
“We’re not the ones you’re looking for,” the driver continued, his blue eyes piercing through Barry’s shades.
“You’re not?” he said, almost like a lost child.
“We can go about our business.”
“Um… yeah. Of course you can.”
“Move along.”
“Okay. Sure thing, pal.”
He suddenly felt a desire to move his legs and head back to his cruiser, but the driver’s hand remained on top of his. There was no hard grip to it, in fact he was simply resting his hand upon his own, yet it felt like a ton of bricks that kept him stationary.
“No, no, officer,” the man said as if he were a teacher correcting a student. “You have to say, ‘Move along.’ That’s your line, sir.”
“Oh,” Barry blinked. “Okay. Um… move along.”
“Thank you, officer,” the driver said. “Oh, and when dispatch radios you to ask about the stop you just made, remember that I was a single mother who was taking my two screaming toddlers to the park before they drove me crazy.”
“Absolutely… ma’am,” Barry agreed. “Can’t blame you for that.”
The man removed his hand from Barry’s and he stepped back from the truck. “You have a nice day now,” he said warmly.
“No, no,” the man corrected again. “Move along.”
“Right,” Barry replied as if embarrassed by his apparent mistake. “Move along.”
The man nodded with the smirk still on his face as he pulled the truck forward and back onto the road. Barry waved as he watched them safely drive away before walking steadily back to his cruiser, thinking nothing of the encounter, once again looking forward to the weekend he had planned with Nicole.
If he were sitting in the truck with the young couple he had just met, he would have seen the man turn to the blonde beauty next to him with the widest grin on his face, and hear him proudly exclaim to her, “Hot-damn, it worked! I’ve always wanted to do that!”
Chapter III
In their short time together, a mere twelve hours, Megan hadn’t seen Michael in a mood as cheerful as he seemed now. Though it was apparent that he thoroughly enjoyed the outcome of their encounter with the county police officer just moments ago, she on the other hand felt like she had been holding her breath during the whole ordeal. Here she was, trying to relax after what she considered as dodging a bullet, and the man in the driver’s seat next to her was bouncing his head side to side and drumming on the steering wheel to inaudible music as they continued east on Route 30.
“Hot-damn, it worked!” he had just burst out like a young boy whose volcano science project just erupted. “I’ve always wanted to do that!”
Do what? she wondered. Use some sort of psychic ability to manipulate someone? In just half a day, she had witnessed many wonders by his hand, and she found it hard to believe that in all his years, he had never used his magic on another like that before. She could only stare at him as he drove, both perplexed and amused.
Michael gave a quick glance in her direction and noticed her eyes on him. He must have interpreted her expression as if she were about to ask him how he pulled that trick on the deputy, which she had no intention of doing as she figured it was just more “Keeper of White” stuff, because he winked at her as he explained, “The Force can have a powerful influence on the weak minded,” with a voice that was not his own, but that of an older man.
“Um… okay,” she said, stifling a short giggle. “Who are you imitating now?”
“The late Sir Alec Guinness,” he answered. “Who else?” When she didn’t reply he dared to take his eyes off the road again and give her a look. “Obi Wan Kenobi? Jedi Knight? You know… the Force?”
Megan shrugged. “I never saw Star Trek.”
His eyes almost widened twice their size as they burrowed into hers. “Star Wars,” he corrected.
“Yeah,” she remarked, “didn’t see that one either. Eyes forward, please. Before you run off the road.”
Michael shook his head as he brought his attention back to Route 30. “What planet are you from anyway?” he asked teasingly, almost condescendingly.
“Not from Planet Dork, Mr. Obi Wan Kabobby.” The tone of her rebuttal matched his own.
“Ken-oh-be,” he corrected again. “And since everyone and their grandmother has seen Star Wars, I’m guessing you’re not from Planet Norm either.”
“Coming from the guy who’s part of a secret society that’s anything but the norm.”
Michael glanced at her again, briefly. “Touché,” he conceded once his eyes were forward once more. Again, he went back to drumming softly on the steering wheel.
Megan smirked, thoroughly
enjoying the banter between them. It was similar to the moments of light-heartedness between them the night before, the moments in between those of serious conversation and struggle. It seemed to come as naturally as it would between two old friends. Or more than friends, she thought as her smirk grew into a smile. She realized that their time spent together was short only if measured chronologically. On a different level she couldn’t define, it somehow felt as if they had known each other for ages, for the comfort level they shared supported such an idea.
Time usually drags when life sucks, and although she wouldn’t describe her life now as ideal, having endured indescribable suffering, the time she had spent with him was a roller coaster, usually thrilling and short-lived, but this one lasted what felt like a lifetime. In the past twelve hours she had experienced fear, anguish, and solemnity, even a morbid sense of impending doom, but there was also wonder, excitement, and hope. She expected more of the same conflicting whirlwind of emotions in the hours to come. More hardships as well. But for now, the mood was light and pleasant, and she would savor the present moment for as long as it would last.
Other than the nerve-racking encounter with the police officer just minutes ago, which, thanks to her new protector, turned out to be a slight hiccup, things had been looking up since their last venture into the recesses of her subconscious mind. Megan closed her eyes, confident that there would be no more visions. Her smile remained as she reflected back on the experience, when she had pressed her lips against his, and the curse-dream had reappeared.
He had been with her again, now fully prepared to extract the poisonous psychic stain from her mind. The terrible scene had appeared before her again, but she had not suffered the fear as she had during the previous attempts.
In the final vision, Michael had stood between her and the horror like an immovable sentry. His resolve had strengthened her own as, in the real world, they had been locked together as one, hand in hand, lips upon lips. In that dream world, he had moved away from her toward the evil monstrosity that took Sonny’s shape, but it had stopped its terror-inducing laughter. And the sword that Michael had held in the real world had somehow accompanied him into the dream. She remembered, as the vision had started to become a blur, he had delivered the final blow by raising the mysterious weapon, pointing it toward the thing that had once refused to allow her any reprieve. Brightness like nothing she’d ever known had radiated from it, and the thing before them let out a scream that reeked of anger and fear before it had vanished into the growing light. The last thing she had seen of the vision was simply blank, white nothingness.
The Paladin's Redemption (The Keepers of White Book 3) Page 12