Agents of Shadow (The Keepers of White Book 1)

by Richard Crofton

  Father Paul offered a warm smile of pity and concern. “…in so much pain.”

  Nice save, Father, Megan thought. The conversation had gotten entirely too uncomfortable for her, and probably everyone else in the room as well, so she offered no further comments on the topic.

  “Pain’s all I got left. Keeps me goin’.”

  “Cliff,” the priest said gently, “to feel the presence of our loved ones inside us is to understand that they are no longer a part of the physical world. And to honor their memory is to honor our own lives, for life is the most precious gift of all. Only God can decide to give it to us, and God determines when it’s our time to go. Yes, there is a time to grieve when we lose someone close to us, but then we must move on and respect the gift of life that God gave us. So I say to you, son: release your pain, live your life, find peace. And when you do, you will hear them speak inside you. Let the pain go.”

  “Don’t wanna.” Cliff rose from his chair unexpectedly. The few parishioners who were watching him in his seat now turned their heads from him. “Maybe you’re right, Father. Maybe I ain’t ready to accept things yet.” Then he looked at Megan, who did not turn her head but kept his sorrowful and gentle gaze. “Miss Megan? I’m terribly sorry to hear about yer mom. And I hope ya don’t ever give up on yer pop. I’m sure he’s a good guy. He’ll come ‘round when he’s ready.” Then he gave her another wink and slowly stumbled out of the room, favoring his left leg.

  When the man had gone, it sounded like everyone in the room exhaled as if they were holding their breath for awhile. Clearly things had gotten too tense for their tastes. Some parishioners were even rolling their eyes at each other. No one ever wants to be bothered with the cries of help from an attention craving, over-dramatic vagabond who has little to no social skills whatsoever. They would rather just ignore them… pretend they don’t see them. And to them, the best social skill a poor man can develop would be to make himself easy to be ignored. Anytime one of them called attention to himself, no one seemed to know what to do. It was not difficult to determine that most of the attendees at the Bible Study were relieved to see Cliff leave.

  Megan however, did not share the same conceptions as the rest. She couldn’t dismiss the memory of his donation to the poor box, nor could she forget how that gesture reminded her of her mother. After hearing his woeful expressions of his own losses, however theatrical they may have been, her heart went out to him, and she was almost disappointed to see him go.

  “Well,” Father again broke the tension, “I’d say that was educational. Folks, that’s about all the time we have for tonight. But as we close, I’d ask that you would all keep our new friend Cliff in your thoughts as we pray…” All parishioners bowed their heads as Father Paul led them in an appropriate closing prayer. Once he finished, the people each grabbed their chairs and replaced them, folded against the corner per the priest’s request.

  A few members stayed around for a brief moment, chatting about meaningless topics. No one seemed to give mention about the final bit of discussion concerning Cliff, other than the occasional comment such as, “Never a dull moment, huh Father?” or, “God bless you, Father. I thought my job required patience. The priest smiled and shook several hands as the attendees filtered out of the room, back to their everyday lives.

  Megan, as usual, stayed behind to help clean up. There wasn’t much to be done, other than breaking down the coffee station. Professor Madsen offered to take on this chore, leaving Megan to empty the small trash bin containing empty Styrofoam cups, creamers, sugar packets, and coffee stirrers. She didn’t take Madsen to be one to get his hands dirty, for he reeked of aristocracy, so it didn’t surprise her that he preferred the coffee station over the garbage, albeit a more time consuming task.

  “You probably should have asked him to leave,” she heard him comment under his breath, when everyone else had left.

  “Oh, it wasn’t that bad, Stephen,” Father Paul dismissed, as he tended to the chairs that no one had occupied. “All are welcome here, and like I said, we get folks like that from time to time.”

  “I don’t think you got through to him with your pep talk though. All his presence did was make people uncomfortable. I wouldn’t be surprised if the attendance next week will require less folding chairs.”

  “Well,” Megan interjected, “he must have come here for a reason. Maybe he is trying to make peace with himself, and just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “My dear Megan,” the priest noted enthusiastically. “Always seeing the good in everyone. You could learn a thing or two about humility from this one, my good professor.”

  “I’m sure I could.” Professor Madsen turned to Megan with a friendly smile, though it gave her the slightest uneasiness. “It was a pleasure meeting you this evening, Megan. I hope we find ourselves with another opportunity to explore the interpretations of the good book.”

  “Likewise, sir.”

  “Please. Stephen. I work for a living.” The professor smiled at his own joke; Megan offered a little laugh that defined “phony.” She found the professor to be quite witty, but did not particularly enjoy his insensitivity.

  She replaced the trash can with a fresh liner, zipped up her windbreaker, and headed for the door. “See you on Sunday, Father. Stephen, it was… educational.”

  “Careful on your way home, dear,” Father Paul waved. “It doesn’t sound like the rain is letting up.”

  Chapter XVII

  The light drizzle had undoubtedly upgraded to a light rain, but it still wasn’t anything to fret over. Megan only hurried a little to her car, careful to avoid any puddles that formed. They were easy to spot, thanks to the soft, blurry glow they produced from the reflection of the parking lot’s abundant lamps. The property of St. Elizabeth’s never failed to give off an indication of safety and sanctuary at night, both indoors and out, as the illumination of lights and lamps was never scarce. Megan had no trouble sifting through her collection of keys to find the one that unlocked and started her Volkswagen Beetle, but once she was buckled snugly into the driver’s seat and started the ignition, she waited a few minutes for the defrost mechanism to do its thing on her windshield.

  When she was satisfied with the improved visibility that the ventilated air provided for her windows, Megan exited the parking lot. She had not driven far up the road when her eyes caught a figure sitting on the shoulder with his legs extended, almost in harm’s way, where some less-than-careful driver, who could be texting on a phone, might run over the poor creature’s feet. She slowed to a stop and allowed her headlights to confirm her suspicion that the man on the side of the road was in fact the same vagabond from Bible Study. Not entirely sure of what she should do, Megan waited a moment, until her windshield wipers completed three or four rotations, then let out a sigh as she put the Beetle into park. She unbuckled, opened her door, and went to the man.

  “Hey!” she called as she approached him warily. “You okay?”

  Cliff was massaging his right knee with his hands as he turned his head in her direction. “Oh, hey there,” he greeted with a smile.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s nothin’, ma’am. Just my bum knee. Darn thing gives out on me every now and then.”

  “Here,” she said as she bent to his level, “let me help you up.”

  “No, no,” he waved her off with a laugh, “I got it.”

  “Come on,” Megan insisted. “You’re gonna get run over. At least let me help you farther onto the shoulder.” She grabbed his arm and put it around her neck to help the man up, but not before holding her breath. She had done this many times before, when she would assist her mother, weakened from cancer, to bed. On the count of three, she supported him as he stood himself back up, then she helped him farther off the road.

  “Okay, okay,” he protested quickly. “Now let me sit back down for a minute.” She helped him down and watched him as he performed a series of kicks with his leg while sitting on the wet pavement. She watche
d in wonder as he bent and extended his leg several times, until they both heard a tiny, clicking, pop produced from his kneecap. “There!” he exclaimed. “All better.” He grunted as he brought himself to his feet. “Now I just gotta walk around for a second… loosen it up a bit.”

  Megan stood there as the man paced back and forth with the same limp he demonstrated earlier. “Much obliged, Miss Megan. Not every day a good Christian girl like yerself comes around ta give assistance to an ugly sonofobitch like me.”

  Megan thought nothing of it. True, it was not the smartest decision to expose herself like this to a stranger she had just met, particularly one whom most people would use effort to avoid, but Cliff seemed quite fragile to her. Though he was tall, (she estimated about six feet), and she noticed a fine, muscular firmness in his arm when he rested it on her shoulders as she helped him stand, he still gave off an impression of frailty. Something inside her, a woman’s intuition perhaps, told her that she had nothing to fear from Cliff, and that he needed help. And she wanted to help him.

  “Well,” the man straightened up before her when he finished his pacing, “as fun as it’s been, I better be movin’ along. The sooner I get goin’ the sooner I’ll be outta this rain.”

  “Well… where are you headed?” she asked hesitatingly.

  Cliff looked up at the sky and held his palms up to feel the many droplets of rain on his skin. “Looks like I’ll be sleepin’ like a troll t’night,” he announced. When Megan gave a look that exposed an inability to comprehend his reference, he clarified; “Gonna’ find me a bridge.”

  “There’s an overpass up north on Route 30, past the outlets, but that’s quite a few miles.” She let out a nervous laugh. “You’ll be soaked by the time you get there. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nah,” the man shook his head. “Not unless ya got an umbrella in your car that ya don’t mind partin’ with.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t own one. I’ve always just used my windbreaker. It works just as well.” She started to unzip her jacket. “Here. You can have it. It’s got a hood that will cover your head, and…”

  “’Fraid it wouldn’t fit me, kid,” Cliff interrupted, shaking his head in protest to her offer. “Look, it’s nothin’ I can’t handle. I been through worse weather than this.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” the man laughed. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the assist.” He turned from her and started limping up the road, one speed faster than a turtle’s pace. Megan watched him for a few seconds, then decided she should get back in the car. She wasn’t sure what it was about him; she had passed homeless men in the rain before, but pity seemed to have lodged itself inside her esophagus, and she just couldn’t swallow it or cough it out. Matters made her conscience worse when she suddenly heard him down the road, commencing into a short sneezing fit, just as she reentered her car. She almost had a crazed compulsion to speed her way to the nearest pharmacy, purchase an umbrella, and drive back to give it to him. Of course, by then, he could be anywhere.

  Megan sat behind the wheel of her car. With the door shut, the only distraction from her thoughts was the rhythmic rubbing and thumping of the rubber windshield wipers on glass. Cliff had managed his way past where her headlights bounced off his back, and he had disappeared into the darkness.

  “Damnit,” she whispered aloud as she put her vehicle into drive.

  Her rational thought argued with her, warning her that helping strangers, though Christian in effort, was a good way of putting herself into danger. Then the intuition came again. When she helped him up off the shoulder, she felt something. It was like knowing she was safe. She wouldn’t have been able to describe the feeling if asked, but somehow she got a vibe, and inexplicably entertained the far-fetched notion that she was safer than Cliff, than she would be with anyone else… even Sonny, the muscle-bound Superman in her life. Rationality would have had a field day with her if it were able to manifest into human form and start a debate session with her.

  Megan drove up the road only fifty yards before she caught up to Cliff, still limping along the shoulder. She beeped her horn, pulled over, and lowered the passenger side window with the depression of a button on her arm console. “Cliff!” she called through the rain as he stopped. “Come on, get in. I’ll drive you.”

  “Ma’am,” Cliff argued, projecting his voice in order to be heard over the car’s engine and the rain, “ya don’t haveta do this! Not like I ain’t never walked in rain before!”

  “Cliff, just get in the car before you catch cold! Or what if your knee gives out on you again?”

  The man stood there with uncertainty. She gathered that he may have never been offered this much generosity from a stranger before. Sometimes, when you’re not used to acts of kindness, you don’t know what to do with yourself when it finally comes your way. Sometimes, you don’t even know how to say “thank you.” In a country where everything comes with a price, freebies can seem awkward and out of place. “Come on, Cliff! If you don’t get in the car I’ll just follow you the whole way to the overpass if I have to.”

  The man shook his head and conceded, finally approaching the car and opening the door. “Well, ya sure are a stubborn little lady, I’ll give ya that!” Megan rolled up the window, and they were on their way to find Cliff his troll’s shelter.

  Chapter XVIII

  At first, the two temporary companions said nothing to each other. Megan was a little nervous; she figured Cliff was too. The windshield wipers slid back and forth, mopping the rainwater to the sides. The hypnotic motion did little to help Megan conjure up a method with which to begin a conversation to pass the time. “So,” she began, not really sure what to say, “where you from?”

  “All over,” he answered, intentionally avoiding specifics.

  “Yeah. You said that. I mean, where did you grow up?”

  Cliff smiled. “Who says I’m grown up?”

  “Well, um… how old are you?”

  “Older’n you, kid,” he continued his smile, looking forward at the road before them. “And I’m not sure where I grew up. I can’t really remember anything before I was about ten. But I lived in different parts of Pennsylvania most of my life.”

  “I see,” she commented with no enthusiasm whatsoever. She wasn’t particularly interested in his history, or any other pieces of personal information that two people normally ask of each other when they first meet, but she couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. It wasn’t every day that she taxied homeless passengers around. “And how long have you been in Lancaster?”

  Cliff sniffled and wiped his nose with the wet sleeve of his camouflaged jacket. “Not long at all. I s’pose I won’t be stayin’ long neither. Just passin’ by, as usual.”

  “Well, I hope you at least wait until the weather clears up.”

  They came to an intersection at Route 30. Megan flicked on her left turn signal. “It’s about ten minutes up this road,” she informed.

  The man turned to his right and began staring out his window, apparently lost in his own thoughts. “I’m sorry if I upset ya back there.” Megan gave him a quizzical look. “Y’know, at the church. I didn’t mean nothin’ about your mom not really bein’ there for you. Just playin’ devil’s advocate was all.”

  “It okay, I didn’t take offense to it. Well, maybe a little at first, but I understood what you meant.”

  “She meant a lot to ya didn’t she?”

  “Very much so. I still miss her, but I’m glad for the time she was in my life. I was very blessed to have been raised by such a wonderful person.”

  “Ya still are blessed,” he turned to her with a sad smile. There was a moment of hesitation before he continued. “Does that… necklace remind you of her?” Megan looked at him with a raised eyebrow again. She almost asked him how he knew, but he answered her question for her. “I saw ya playing with somethin’ through your shirt when you was talkin’ about ‘er. Figured it’s a necklace of some sort.”

 
; Megan nodded with a quaint smile. “You’re pretty observant, Cliff.”

  “When you’re livin’ on the streets, ya gotta be.”

  “I’ll bet. And yes, it’s a necklace. It’s just a cross on a chain, but it belonged to my mother.”

  “So wearin’ it helps ya feel close to ‘er then?”

  “In a way, yes. You know when I was talking back there, about when I feel upset and I need guidance? Well, sometimes it helps to have this on. I just hold onto it and breathe in and out, and sometimes it helps me refocus. I guess it sounds silly, but it’s just one of those things I do to help me calm down when I’m upset or really tense.”

  “Better than bitin’ your nails, I s’pose,” Cliff laughed briskly. “Or pickin’ your nose for that matter.”

  Megan laughed. “You’re pretty funny Cliff. You could start a comedy routine, you know?”

  “I’m here all week! One show per night, with a matinee on Sundays for the senior citizens!”

  They both shared a quiet laugh in the car, as Megan found herself having to put a little more effort in paying attention to the road. She knew she should probably be on her guard with this guy, but for some reason, his dry humor made her feel right at home. His mannerisms partially reminded her of her father, before he became the way he was now.

  There was another silence between the two as Cliff returned to watch the rain outside passenger window, and once again Megan had to reignite the conversation. “I know it seems kind of silly, but I guess when you wear a piece of jewelry for so long, especially one that comes from someone you love, it’s a little comforting… like you’re connected to it almost.”

  “We all have our good luck charms I guess,” Cliff suggested.

  “I guess. Why? Do you have one yourself?”

  “Sure. I wear somethin’ ‘round my neck too. ‘Cept it ain’t no cross.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just a little medallion. It’s got a weird symbol or rune on it.”