“So you want me to be your therapist?” he laughed slightly.
“You know what I mean.”
“My diagnosis is that you need sleep.”
“Since I’m wide awake right now, I’d say that’s an inaccurate diagnosis,” she teased. “Therapists are supposed to allow conversation between themselves and their patients. You’re not very good at your job, Doc.”
“Well, you get what you pay for. I’m working for free here.”
“Good thing. Otherwise you’d be robbing me blind.” Almost immediately after the words came out of her mouth, Megan sat straight up and swung her legs from underneath the covers, facing him.
“What is it?” he asked, lifting his head toward her.
She flicked on the light switch, and the darkened motel room instantly brightened.
“What the hell!” he groaned, squinting his eyes.
“Working for free, my ass!” she shot at him. “You mugged me! Where’s my twenty bucks?”
Michael threw his head back down on the pillow, covering his eyes with his hands with exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”
“You put a gun to my head and took my money, you big jerk!”
Michael could tell from her tone that she wasn’t angry with him; not too much anyway, but for some reason she suddenly felt the need to give him a hard time, perhaps to enforce her desire to stay awake. “Look, the gun wasn’t loaded, and I only took the money to make it look like a regular mugging. If I just took your necklace, my cover might’ve been blown.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you still have my money! What’d you do with it, huh?”
He took his hands off his eyes and looked at her, trying to hold back a smile. “I uh… spent it at a bar.”
Megan’s mouth hung open in disbelief momentarily, but she recovered from her perplexed state quickly, and she began hitting him with her pillow. “You went out drinking?” she yelled and laughed at the same time. “Are you shitting me?”
Michael put his arms up again to shield himself from her pillow abusing. “Such language!” he taunted.
She finished her assault by throwing her pillow at him. “Like you have room to talk,” she shot back as she fell to a sitting position on the side of her own bed. “Megan,” she said in a deep, hoarse voice, trying to mimic his own, “give me… the fucking… necklace.”
“Okay, okay!” Michael raised his hands in an “I surrender” gesture. “You got me.”
Megan held out her hand, palm facing up. “Twenty bucks, buddy. Pay up.”
He gave her a look. “I spent a hell of a lot more than that on you when I went shopping.”
“You offered,” she argued, not backing down, keeping her hand outstretched, “and that doesn’t make up for it, since you took my money… and my necklace by force. Pay up, or I swear I won’t let you get one wink of sleep tonight. I’ll pour the rest of my Coke on your motorcycle. I’ll…”
Michael stopped her threats short by hopping up and grabbing for the pair of cargo pants he had worn earlier that night, which were lying messily on the floor by the foot of his bed, and pulled a leather wallet from the front left pocket. “And you said I’m impossible,” he grunted with a smirk, producing two ten-dollar bills and handing them to her. “Merry Christmas darlin’, as Karen Carpenter used to sing.”
He didn’t notice how much the commotion she was causing had diminished to sudden silence as he walked back to place the wallet in his pants’ pocket. It wasn’t until he had returned to his bed and placed his hand on the light switch, that he looked at her, as he was about to ask her if it would be okay to shut it off now. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow at her, for the look on her face, with widened eyes, displayed an expression of genuine surprise.
“What’s wrong?” he asked still laughing slightly. “Hey. What is it?”
“I don’t believe it,” she whispered, with half-smiling, half-frowning lips.
“Don’t believe wh…” he started, but suddenly his eyes widened almost as much as hers. “No…”
“Yes!” she assured, suddenly placing both of her hands in his. For some reason, it seemed natural to both of them.
“That’s it? You’re kidding!”
Megan shook her head. “One of my favorite memories was this one Christmas… I think I was ten or eleven. We always opened presents on Christmas morning, but this one year seemed special to me because my parents told me I was old enough to open one gift on Christmas Eve. My grandparents also came up to visit from Phoenix, and my aunt and uncle were there with their two daughters: my cousins Julie and Samantha. Usually, the holidays were quiet with just the three of us, but our home was pretty festive that year with so much extended family staying with us. I remember having so much fun sharing my room with my cousins.
“Anyway, I don’t remember what the gift was that I opened; just the fact that we all got to open one early that year made me excited. Plus, everyone laughing with good conversations and fun card games at the table…”
“And Karen Carpenter playing on the stereo, I’m guessing?”
Megan nodded. “My mom’s favorite album.”
“It’s a good one,” Michael agreed.
“She was singing along with ‘Merry Christmas, Darling’ while I was sitting on her lap, opening my gift. For some reason, out of all the moments that could have stimulated my memories on that night, that one seems the most vivid.”
“Makes sense that you thought of that then,” Michael commented. “Family get-togethers, vacations, and holidays are more easily remembered than your average days that are filled with routine.”
“Ever have one like that?” she asked.
“Well,” he shrugged with a smile, “not so much from my childhood. At least as far back as I can remember. My holidays were spent at the orphanage at St. Elizabeth’s.”
Megan gently squeezed his hands, suddenly realizing that they seemed cold and clammy, as if underneath his lightheartedness, he was secretly dealing with a trouble that remained deep in his thoughts. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Nah, it’s okay. They were some good times anyway. The pastor, Father James… he used to dress up as Santa and bring in all the gifts that were donated by parishioners in a large bag. He was pretty heavy set.” He let out a short laugh. “The guy loved to eat. He admitted it proudly. And he already had a reddish complexion in his face, like he laughed too much… or drank too much wine. So he fit the part of Santa nicely… always had a happy disposition. We older orphans knew it was him in that suit, but we played along, especially for the sake of the younger kids.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she thought aloud. “I guess it’s not as lonely as someone might think to grow up with a bunch of other kids.”
“It had its ups and downs. There were times when you could get pretty lonely, but for the most part we had each other to keep company.”
“Did you wind up keeping in touch with any of the kids you grew up with?” she asked, as if she couldn’t learn enough about him.
“No,” he answered. “I was bussed with the other guys my age over to St. John’s high school on the other side of town, near East Petersburg. The girls went to St. Mary’s in Paradise. After graduation, we all went our separate ways. Some got jobs in town, some enlisted in the military, some got scholarships. I got a free ride to Penn State myself.”
“Wow,” she smiled. “That’s great. I’ll bet you worked hard for it.”
“Well, there wasn’t much else to do except study. It wasn’t the loneliest way to grow up, but you can imagine that I was different than the other kids and therefore mildly outcast, so I spent a lot of my time hitting the books.”
“Still,” she suggested, “a free ride is nothing to sniff at.”
He smirked. “I had a lot of help from Father James. Can’t take all the credit. He really took me under his wing.”
“What happened to him?” she asked quietly after a moment of silence, she let go of his hands and dared to move
to his bed, sitting beside him now, staring at him with wonder.
His smile remained, but that familiar saddened look seeped into his blue eyes. “It’s a long story but… he died.”
She once again placed a gentle hand in his. Still clammy, she noticed. “I’m so sorry. Sounds like he was a good priest.”
To her surprise, he accepted her hand with his own gentle grip. “He was. He was a real priest, unlike his replacement. The events surrounding Father James’s death was more tragic than I have time to get into, Megan. But there’s more of a reason than, just moving on with our lives, that no one from the orphanage kept in touch. Again, long story.”
Megan nodded as both of their smiles faded. The mere thought of Paul Cunningham seemed to scratch away the unexpected pleasantness of the room’s ambiance like nails on a chalkboard. “So, what do you think will happen with the church now? After what’s happened tonight?”
Michael took a breath. “I suppose Father Chris will run things as best he can, at least until the diocese can assign a more experienced priest to take over as the new pastor.” He turned to face her again. “Don’t worry. Father Chris is a good man. He’s not involved with the Agents of Shadow. Wasn’t even aware of Cunningham’s connection. Though he understood that he was kept in the dark a lot. I had a conversation with him and could tell that he sensed things were amiss… enough to trouble him.”
“Do you think these Agents of Shadow will send one of their own take Father Paul’s place?” she asked with worry.
Michael shook his head. “Something tells me they won’t. It wouldn’t make sense for them to reinvest in a place after it’s been… compromised. I’m pretty sure they’ll find a new church to infiltrate. Somewhere else. And not for a while either. After the dust has settled maybe.”
Megan turned her head, the giddy feeling in her having dispersed as quickly as it had overcome her. “I wonder what it takes to place someone like him in what sounds like such a good church, to corrupt it so badly.”
“Careful planning,” he replied. “On the outside it just seemed like Father James was being replaced by another pastor. Records can be falsified. Even the diocese was fooled by their efforts. When Father Paul took over, he immediately had all the children currently registered with the orphanage relocated to different parts of the country. He wanted a fresh start… to bring in new orphans not yet influenced by the morals his predecessor would have established in them.”
Megan shivered. How many agents, she wondered, like the ones she was forced to endure, had once been dear, innocent children who grew up believing in a cause that centered on pure evil, completely loyal to an evil, false priest, only because they knew nothing else? “Like Nazi, Germany,” she said out loud. “On a smaller scale.”
“Or possibly on a larger scale,” Michael replied, “if they have their way.”
The mood had absolutely turned for the worst. Megan faced him again, only able to offer the weakest smile. “Looks like the conversation got serious after all.”
“Gone pretty sour,” he nodded. “Sorry we couldn’t keep up the façade of having a good time.”
“How could we anyway?” she said. “I don’t think there’s any avoiding it, not after all we’ve been through. And you for much longer than me. Maybe our ‘good talk’ was just us going through the denial phase after a traumatic experience.”
“Now you’re the one sounding like a therapist,” he said dryly.
She grunted a short laugh, but did not smile. Nor did she feel like returning a witty retort. “I guess we should call it a night before things get any more depressing.”
Michael squeezed her hand. “Yeah. Pretty sure you’ve more than exceeded the ‘few questions’ limit anyway. I lost count after ‘Where’s my twenty bucks.”
She admired him for trying to get back the mood they had lost, knowing that neither of them wanted to end on such a down note, but like him, she was convinced that there was no avoiding that. “Michael,” she began, “thank you. Really. I know you’re tired, and it means a lot to me that you stayed up and talked with me. Even though I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, I really did need that.”
“No need to thank me,” he said as he let go of her hand. “Honestly, I needed it probably as much as you did. And I probably won’t sleep much either. But we should at least try.”
She gave him a strange look. At no point prior to this did he let on that he needed to just sit and talk like she did, but she supposed he was a man accustomed to hiding his feelings to most. “Before we do, can I make a request?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Could you… hold me? Just for a while? We don’t have to talk anymore. I just need to… feel safe.”
He said nothing, but offered her a warm smile. Gently, he wrapped his arm around her opposite shoulder as she leaned against his chest.
Of all the countless moments in the past months when she embraced Sonny, she had never felt safer than in the arms of this man, whom she would not have recognized yesterday. She knew nothing of the magic that he had spoken of, but wondered just then if he knew a spell that could freeze time. Even though she somehow knew the worst of her nightmare was over, that the sun would shine more brightly than ever when it would rise in a few hours, and she would once again feel as right as rain, she believed the warmth of the new day would not compare to the moment she was now in.
Yet, after several peaceful minutes, a disturbing thought came to her mind. Something about the clamminess of his hands when she held them suddenly penetrated the soothing sensation she felt from his embrace.
“Michael?” she whispered. “What’s bothering you?”
He didn’t answer at first, but loosened his hold of her and turned his eyes to her with wonder.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” she explained. “I think we still have a bit of that connection. It’s like I feel you shivering, even though you’re not.”
He lifted his head, allowing her to lower hers on his chest again. “You’re scared,” he guessed, as if sensing her as well.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“So am I.”
“But you’re so strong.”
He sighed. “Tonight was rough on both of us, Megan.”
“What do you mean?” When he didn’t answer, she repeated, “Michael. What’s bothering you?”
For quite some time, she was left without an answer. Silence had yet again filled the room. Only their soft breathing, and the muffled sound of his beating heart in her ear reminded her that there was in fact no spell that froze time.
“I never killed anyone before,” his voice finally broke softly, just above a whisper.
The man was certainly full of surprises. She tightened her arms around him, almost disbelieving his words, especially after the massacre she had witnessed, yet the hanging thread of their connection was enough to assure her that he was telling the truth.
“You were sure as hell good at it though,” she said, “like you’ve been doing it for years!”
“Yeah,” Michael acknowledged. “That’s what scares me.”
Chapter V
Horrid screams filled the dark room abruptly, springing Michael awake in an instant as he sat upright from the bed and grabbed both pistols from the nightstand next to him, aiming them at nothing but shadows. He turned his head and could see Megan thrashing about under her covers as she wailed. Gathering his bearings and sensing no danger, he dropped his weapons onto the bed and flicked on the light. “Megan!” he shouted.
Neither the sound of his voice, nor the sudden intrusion of the bright luminescence of the motel room’s bed lamp awoke her from the apparent night terror that invaded her sleep. She repeatedly swatted herself violently with her hands as if millions of wasps were stinging her all over, and continued to scream in full panic, yet her eyes were wide open.
Michael went to her quickly, grabbing her arms and holding them still, and proceeded to call her name forcefully until she finally broke free of the
haunting dream. Megan stopped, breathing heavily as she shot wild glances in every direction, as if searching in dread for whatever phantom predator stalked her, then looked back into his eyes with horror in her own.
“It’s alright Megan,” he spoke softly. “You’re okay.”
His voice soothed her somewhat as she gazed at him for a few more seconds, then she broke down into frightful sobs. “Oh my God,” she cried with a shaking voice. “Michael…”
He shushed her and let her head fall into his chest. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’s okay.”
“Fire,” she managed to voice in between her choking sobs. “Everything burning. Skin… melting. The heat… it was horrible!”
Michael stroked her long blonde hair. “No, you’re fine. Just a bad dream is all.”
“Oh God,” she repeated. “Ryleigh! He killed her, Michael! Burned her alive… I saw it happen!”
“Ryleigh?” Michael said the name questioningly. “Your friend...”
Megan released more cries that sounded of both mourning and fear. “Ben too!”
“The apartment fire,” Michael recalled. “Who killed them, Megan?”
“Sonny!” she blurted out. “He was… my boyfriend… but he’s one of them!”
“Sonny,” Michael repeated. “The young man I saw you with at Mass that one Sunday.”
Megan nodded, wiping away tears that were only replaced by fresh ones. “He’s the one that abducted me.”
“Then he killed your friends.” Michael’s voice seemed distant as he gave a pensive expression.
“He didn’t just kill her,” she answered. “He beat her… tied her up. He… he raped her…” Her voice became more hysterical as she recounted the event. “When Ben came home… he tried to stop him…” She broke into terrible sobs again. “Sonny snapped his neck! Then he poured gasoline… all over her. Oh God!”
Michael held her tightly. “It’s okay,” he repeated as he rocked her gently. “Breathe, Megan. Slow, deep breaths.” He waited some time, caressing her softly and breathing in slow, methodic patterns of inhaling and exhaling, trying to model the activity for her. Megan started to follow, every now and then her breaths became stuttered as her sobbing resumed off and on.
The Paladin's Redemption Page 6
