Jim wanted to rest a reassuring hand on the young man’s shoulder, but he hadn’t been the comforting type. He decided he would have to work on that part of himself if he wanted to improve his fatherly relationship with Megan… if he could get her back. “Look,” he began awkwardly, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want…”
“It’s okay,” Moonie cut in, still speaking very slowly and distantly. “I was actually going somewhere with this. I want you to understand how bad they got to me, because what they did to my buddy… well it’s not my place to say, but it was much worse than what they did to me. Much worse.”
Jim didn’t bother asking for further details. He could easily imagine losses more painful than that of one’s limbs, but such losses were better left unspoken.
“But,” Moonie continued, “he has a very unique way of coping with it. He doesn’t smoke or drink, hasn’t really succumbed to any bad habits or vices like that. Instead, he focuses. Focuses on the worst day of his life, like he uses it as fuel. He’s spent a great deal of his free time studying those cultist fucks, learning everything he could about them and their methods. Patterns of activity, sources of their wealth and influence, anything. He’s obsessed with their business, as if he’s been working on a freaking dissertation on their whole organization. Other than providing for Alex and Emily, trying to be a responsible father as best he can, that’s all he’s done. All for the purpose of preparation.”
The wind had died down; even the night insects and creatures in the area seemed to silence themselves out of respect for the eerie ambiance that had overtaken the back porch and its surrounding area. “What’s he preparing for?” Jim asked just above a whisper.
“Same as me,” Moonie answered. “The right moment to interfere with their operations again. That moment is happening tonight, Mr. Panco.” He finished his cigarette and pressed it into the ashtray, exhaling a cloud of smoke from his mouth.
“And you believe all this preparation will give him the advantage?” Jim chimed in, impatient with Moonie’s apparent dramatic pause.
Moonie only smirked. “Not preparation alone. Something far more valuable. Something these Agents of Shadow gave to him unknowingly.”
“Gave to him? What’s that?”
Moonie’s stare remained fixed into the deep expanse of nothingness before him. “What they did to him, I won’t say, but it left his life in ruins. It’s the kind of shit people never recover from. In a way, they killed my friend. Not literally, you see; the damage they did pretty much left him dead inside. The once, fun-loving, light-hearted goofball I once knew was gone.
“But underneath all the rubble and debris of that life they shattered all those years ago, like a phoenix rising outta the fucking ashes, a new man emerged. Filled with wrath. Like none I’ve ever seen. That’s what they gave to him, not realizing it could very well lead to their own undoing. Instead of breaking him permanently, they wound up creating what he is today.”
“A monster?” Jim remarked somewhat cynically. Though he was completely engulfed within Moonie’s tale, he found his method of storytelling to be a bit theatric.
The legless man turned his gaze toward the old electrician, a tiny spark igniting in his deep, brown eyes. “No,” he replied. “A paladin.”
Perhaps it was the subtle power behind Moonie’s voice. Perhaps it was the word itself. But when his host said it, Jim felt a quick and sudden shiver as if the Devil had just walked over his grave. “Paladin? What’s a paladin?”
Moonie’s expression suddenly became less surreal as he offered a sly smile. “Just a term we give to someone with a personal mission as incredible as my friend’s.” He took another sip of his beer. “They say a paladin with a cause can’t be stopped. And regarding Mick… Michael… I believe it.”
He paused again, taking a long swig of his beer. “So yeah, for the record, his chances of stopping these fuckers from killing Megan tonight are paper-thin. But I know him better’n anyone. And believe me when I tell you, man… I wouldn’t bet against the guy. Not tonight. Not ever.”
As if on cue, the wind gently picked up again and made its presence known within the leaves and brush nearby. Crickets began to chirp their repetitive song more fanatically. Moonie’s tale had ended, and in turn the creatures of nature broke their silence and returned to life.
“You made the right call by following our directions and coming here, Mr. Panco,” Moonie stated as an afterthought. “Michael Messenger is the best hope Megan has. The only hope she has.”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “Messenger? That’s his last name?”
Moonie nodded. “Keep that to yourself though. He goes by a different surname now. It’s necessary in order to stay out of their radar.”
Jim smirked as he shook his head.
“What is it?” Moonie asked curiously.
“When I asked him who he was, he simply answered, ‘Messenger.’ I thought he meant…” He grunted a short laugh.
Moonie shared a similar chuckle as well. “That he was delivering a message? I guess he was… and introducing himself at the same time. What a punny guy!” he snorted humorously at his own creative remark.
“You boys sure have a taste for theatrics,” Jim observed.
“That we do,” Moonie agreed. “How ‘bout another beer?”
With the knowledge and understanding that sleep would elude them on this night of anticipation, the two men sat together and passed the time exchanging small talk, with no desire to conserve the remaining stock of Yuenglings or Marlboros. Having spoken enough of the possibilities of their fates, as well as those of friends and family members involved, they avoided any further serious topics of conversation henceforth.
During his stay in Toms River, Jim still hadn’t understood everything about the situation at hand, but he was convinced that in this case, the less he knew about the people who Moonie described as a terrible threat to humanity, and about their ultimate purpose, the better. He was content that he knew enough, or enough that concerned him. It irked him to no end, feeling completely powerless to save his daughter, having little control over the whole ordeal, and this hard truth forced him to realize that Moonie was right: had his mysterious friend been up front with him about his role in the matter, he never would have left town. As certain as he was breathing, he would have demanded to go with the man, and his stubborn mentality would have never taken “no” for an answer.
Moonie believed that if this had happened, it would only make matters worse. Jim wasn’t so sure, but at this point it wouldn’t do any good arguing about it. He was here, had been waiting here for days, being fed information one piece at a time, which he supposed was in order to keep him both satiated as well as stationary. It didn’t really matter now. All that mattered was the task he was expected to perform, whether he would have agreed to it or not in hindsight, which was simply to wait. So wait he did, as his host did. He might as well enjoy a fine night on a back porch in mid spring, with a few suds to wet their palates and some smokes to calm their nerves, while speaking of the simpler things in life such as baseball and the perfect spices to complement a nice steak on the grill.
Though he tried to resist, Jim had checked his watch periodically, which only seemed to slow the time down that they were trying to kill. When the night had been long, by the time 2:00 am had passed, he began to sense a sinking ship within his gullet, as if hope were a breathing entity that had suddenly started drowning. As a result, he began checking his watch more often, more obsessively. Moonie noticed easily, but made no comments about it. He later would admit to Jim that he would have been doing the same thing if Jim hadn’t been there to do it for him. And he had felt the same sinking sensation long before his guest had, knowing how badly the odds were stacked.
Shortly after 2:30, Moonie felt the prepaid phone in his pocket begin to vibrate. Jim could hear it from where he sat and opened his sagging eyes wider, almost feeling the pores upon his forehead opening to allow microscopic droplets of
sweat escape.
Moonie frantically fished the phone out and looked at the screen, his face in the dark reflecting the soft glow from the tiny display panel. Within a matter of mere seconds, but those were some of the longest seconds of Jim’s life, he let out a sigh. And cracked a smile. “Son of a bitch did it,” he said as he turned the phone around to show Jim the display screen.
Jim read the only two words in the text box:
Home Stretch
“It’s gonna be alright, Mr. Panco,” Moonie assured him. “Megan’s safe. Our Messenger got her out.”
Jim exhaled the breath in his lungs that he thought he had been holding and nodded to indicate he understood. His rigorous training in the Army had its uses; he had mentally conditioned himself to maintain a stoic demeanor through the most trying experiences. “So that’s that,” he said softly as he put out the half-used cigarette between his fingers. “Don’t think I want any more of this.”
Moonie almost blurted out that he would have finished it for him, but instead put his own cigarette out as symbolizing the shared sense of relief between the two. “I’d break out the whiskey I have in my cabinet to celebrate, but you know what they say about beer before liquor.”
Jim only responded with a weak smile. “Think I’ll turn in for the night if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all sir,” Moonie replied. “I’m gonna finish my beer. We can clean this up in the morning.” He nodded his head at the stack of empty bottles and the butt-filled ashtray on the table.”
“Right,” Jim chuckled, knowing that “we” meant himself. “Goodnight, Robert.”
“Please,” he reminded his guest, “you can call me Moonie.”
“As long as you start calling me Jim.”
“Yes sir,” Moonie smirked. “Let me know if you need anything.”
After using the bathroom to brush his teeth, empty his bladder, and wash up, Jim made his way to one of the guest rooms where he had slept during his stay, shut the door quietly, and slipped off his jeans. He pulled a clean T-shirt from his duffel bag and changed into it, tossing the one he wore that night, reeking of a mixture of Marlboro Reds and Yuengling’s finest lager, into the hamper Moonie had left for him. Then he sat on the edge of the comfortable bed that housed a full-sized mattress.
All he wanted to do was lay down his weary body and fall asleep quickly. Instead, he remained seated on the edge and stared at nothing for some time. Finally, his thin thread of stoicism vanished, and Jim Panco buried his face in his burly hands. And he wept softly.
Chapter III
“Courtney, wake up!” her mother’s voice boomed with a sense of urgency. The bedroom light burst on as Diana Palmer flicked the switch. Courtney sat up immediately from her slumber, squinting her eyes from the intrusion of the bright ceiling lamp that abruptly replaced the still darkness of her bedroom.
“M… Mommy?” she answered groggily. “What… is it?” Though she had not completely gathered her bearings after the unexpected disturbance of sleep, she could see that Mommy was tense and perturbed; even haggard looking, which was abnormal because Mommy always looked pretty. She was holding a large suitcase, which she dropped onto the floor. Courtney only knew that she had gone out for the night and wouldn’t be back until late, as she sometimes had done before. She had followed the routine that was always set for her, which was simply to wash up, stay in her room, and go to bed at an appropriate hour. It wasn’t too lonely for her when Mommy was out; she had Dorothy in the mirror for company.
“Pack your clothes,” Diana commanded. “We’re leaving.”
Courtney remained in bed, still somewhat disoriented. “What do you mean?” she managed to say. “Now?”
“Yes,” her mother answered curtly. “Now do as I say.”
“I… I don’t understand,” she blinked, forcing the lethargy out of her head. There were times that she remembered having to move before, which she had never been happy about, but never without notice. Never like this, in the middle of the night. She was too young to grasp situations that constituted an emergency, but old enough to know when something was terribly wrong; she could see an unlikely expression that resembled both fear and rage in her mother’s face. The latter emotion, she recognized, and she had always been afraid of Mommy when she was in a bad mood, but the former was something she had never seen in her before, which for some reason caused her to become petrified of the woman standing before her.
Diana moved briskly with heavy feet toward the bed and grabbed her daughter by her long, dark hair. “Idiot girl!” she spat as she dragged her from underneath the covers and onto the blue carpeted floor. Courtney yelped like the helpless puppy she had played with a few weeks before. “You’re wasting time, which we don’t have! You don’t need to understand anything! You need to obey! Now pack your clothes and nothing else. If you’re not ready to go in ten minutes, I’ll make you regret it! Do you understand me?”
Tears welled in Courtney’s eyes, not just from the pain she experienced when Mommy grabbed her. From the violent outburst of Mommy’s hurtful words. From the fright of Mommy’s threats. From the fear of having to be taught another lesson that would cost her another finger. From the sudden disruption of her stable lifestyle in this quiet house that now came to life with Mommy’s rage. And from the complete confusion she felt from the hundreds of questions forming in her mind. Why did they have to leave suddenly? Where were they going? Would she still have a bedroom to herself? Would she like the new house they were moving to? Would they even be going to a new house? Would they ever come back? Could she take her teddy bear with her? Were they going far away? Would she still be home-schooled, or would she have to go to a normal school with other kids?
The list of questions went on, but she dared not ask one. With shaking arms, she started opening the drawers of her dresser and throwing her clothes, unfolded, into the open suitcase. Diana watched her for a few minutes, then, satisfied that she was now doing what she was told, left for her own room.
She could hear Mommy down the hallway, making quite a commotion as she packed her own things. Every now and then, Mommy would shout out a series of very bad words and phrases; the most often being, “I’ll kill that miserable little shit!” Courtney at first thought Mommy was talking about her, and she moved her quivering hands faster to finish the chore given to her, but after several other phrases and expletives, she realized that Mommy was talking about someone else, some “arrogant boy,” as if said arrogant boy was in the bedroom with Mommy.
Though she was relieved that Mommy wasn’t mad at her, she wondered about the arrogant boy. She didn’t get to meet a lot of other mommies, but she still knew quite well that her own mommy was very mean to someone she was mad at. And the madder she was, the meaner she got. This arrogant boy must have made Mommy very, very mad. But she felt no concern for whomever he was. She was only curious about who he was. Courtney knew that other boys and girls were not to be trusted. They were worthless and petty. They were to be hated, only to be used to get what she wanted. Mommy had said so. Mommy was the only one she loved, even when she was afraid of her. If this arrogant boy made her mad, he deserved to have Mommy want to kill him. Courtney decided she wanted to kill him too. She suspected it was his fault that they had to leave home. It was his fault that Mommy got mad and pulled her hair.
She finished emptying her drawers in under ten minutes, and she might have been very pleased with herself, especially since Mommy was taking longer to pack her own things, under less stressful circumstances. But instead, she remained distraught, unable to still her shaking fear. She considered going to Mommy’s room to let her know she was all packed, to ask her if she had any other chores for her, but decided against it, knowing it was best to avoid Mommy when she got like this. Besides, she wanted just a moment of peace from the intense environment Mommy was creating. Very quietly, Courtney closed her bedroom door and looked at her reflection in the hanging mirror.
“Hi Dorothy,” she whispered. “I’m sorry
I have to wake you up, but something bad happened. We have to leave now.”
She paused, as if listening…
“No, I don’t know why, but Mommy’s very upset. We need to be quiet.”
…
“Don’t worry. I don’t think she’s mad at us. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
…
“Yes. We have to leave now, Mommy said.”
…
“I know. I’m gonna miss you too.” Fresh tears formed in her deep brown eyes. “Can you come with us? I won’t have anyone to talk to if you stay here.”
…
“Well, maybe she will let you come. I could ask her, but I’m scared to.”
Quick-paced, stomping sounds began to approach from the hallway.
“Shhh,” Courtney instructed her reflection in a softer whisper. “She’s coming back.”
…
“Okay, I’ll try.”
The door flung open. “Are you finished yet?” Diana demanded. Courtney nodded immediately. “Why the hell are you crying?”
Not daring to answer, she simply shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t have time for crybabies, Courtney,” Diana snapped. “Either you get yourself together or I’ll give you a reason to cry! Now there are bags I packed in my room. Go grab the smaller ones that you can carry and take them to the car. Can you handle that?”
Courtney nodded again as she sniffled while wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her pink pajama top. If she did as Mommy said, proved herself to be a good, obedient little girl, maybe she would be allowed to take Dorothy with them. She hurried to the master bedroom across the upstairs hallway and grabbed two duffle bags, one in each hand. They were small enough for her to hold steadily, but heavier than she expected. She carefully managed the stairway, stumbling a time or two, but able to keep her balance. Mommy was right behind her with her larger suitcase. “Hurry up!” she barked.
The Paladin's Redemption Page 3
