Agents of Shadow (The Keepers of White Book 1)

by Richard Crofton

  For a moment, the forced surrender of her dear memento brought a surge of anger, to Megan’s heart, the kind of anger that can only be birthed by deception, for a moment it overpowered her fear, and she found the will to speak with venom on her tongue: “So your stories are bullshit after all.”

  “Pardon?” the man hesitated from outside the car.

  “The one about the moon. Turns out the real monsters do come out when it’s full, not new. You’re just full of shit, Cliff.”

  It was too dark to tell, but Megan thought Cliff was looking down at her with pitiful somberness in the downpour. “I wish I were, kiddo.” And with that, he ran off into the rainy night with an athletic sprint.

  Megan was unable to scream, and although her tears would suggest otherwise, she was also unable to cry aloud. She focused solely on trying to quell the fierce shivering that had infected her entire body. The pattering sound of raindrops against her windshield was drowned out by the thumping of her own heart. After several deep breaths, which did nothing to calm her terribly distraught nervous system, she fumbled into her purse again, managing to pull out her cell phone without dropping it. She flipped it open and pressed one button on her speed dial.

  After three rings, a familiar voice, one that she wished was in the car with her instead of in her phone, answered: “Hey babe. How was Bible Study?”

  “Sonny!” Megan cried into the speaker. “Please… I need you!”

  The voice on the other line responded with an immediate growth of concern: “Honey, what’s the matter? What happened?”

  “Oh God, Sonny!” she cried again, having an excruciatingly difficult time speaking with enough clarity so to be understood. “I need you to come quick! I was just mugged!”

  ****

  A few hundred miles away, in a secluded ranch house located deep in a wooded area, outside the town of Toms River, Moonie was sitting in his most-used, yet ironically least favorite chair watching reruns of All in the Family. The two children he was temporarily responsible for were nestled warmly in their freshly inflated air mattresses in one of the guest rooms. He enjoyed watching them play at a nearby park that day, followed by a stop at his favorite pizza joint. Though he decided he liked the fatherly role he was now playing, he somewhat remained anxious for the day he would be relieved of this duty so he could get back to a normal, much quieter routine. The kids were very well behaved and all, but simple was always better.

  It had been a long day, and he felt rather spent. It wasn’t long before Moonie’s eyes felt heavy, and he thought he might nod off and sleep right where he sat, without partaking in the tedious procedure of getting his crippled ass into bed. However, he knew better than to risk the morning stiffness that would result in sleeping in his loathed wheelchair, so he did a quick series of stretches with his arms to prevent himself from drifting off just yet. He had become accustomed to his condition, and found ways to overcome the challenges of changing his day clothes for bed wear on his own, but it wasn’t a feat he particularly had fun with. On nights like this, he had no qualms about skipping the whole ordeal and settling for the living room couch, remaining in his jeans and sweatshirt he had worn all day.

  Five minutes passed in what seemed like an hour, and Moonie decided he would not make it to the end of the show. He had had his fill of Archie Bunker anyway, so he reached for the remote on the wooden dinner tray next to him and switched off the television. Just as he replaced the remote, the tray started to rattle. His phone… not his main phone… the other phone... which was also resting on the tray, was vibrating. In the blink of an instant, Moonie’s senses were no longer groggy with want of sleep. He picked up the phone and viewed its little, square screen, which indicated that he had just received a text message. Selecting to open his message folder, he saw that the incoming message was from an unknown caller. He was hoping for this, relieved that the number from the source was not revealed. Immediately, he pressed the “OK” button and read a simple, two word phrase that was the entire message:

  Second Base

  Moonie deleted the message and closed his phone. “Well I’ll be damned, Mick,” he said to himself as he rested the phone on his lap. “You’re really gonna go for it.” Instead of using his arms to transport himself from the chair to his couch, he wheeled himself to his refrigerator in the kitchen, grabbed a beer, then his pack of cigarettes off the counter, and continued to the back porch. He had already had his routinely “suds and smoke” earlier that night, shortly after he saw the kids to bed, but he concluded that the occasion which had just presented itself, had called for a repeat performance.

  Chapter XX

  Sonny held Megan’s hand supportively as they waited in a small office of the state police precinct in Lancaster County. It wasn’t long before Father Paul arrived with a worried look. “Megan,” he addressed as he approached her swiftly with open arms. “Thank God you’re alright.” He hugged her gently, and she looked up at him with teary eyes, offering the best smile she could muster. She was no longer shaking, her terrified body was now replaced with a numb state of weariness.

  “I was an idiot, Father,” she spoke softly with a blank expression. “I was trying to be a good Christian, and I almost got myself killed for it.” Fresh tears slowly dripped down.

  “No Megan,” the priest consoled. “Don’t blame your good nature. It’s not your fault that he would take advantage of it.” He placed a gentle hand on Megan’s shoulder. “There are just some people who are beyond help, dear. It’s okay to try, but there are safer ways.”

  “He’s right, Megan,” Sonny added. “Never pick up a stranger when you’re alone like that. I know you want to help people in need, but next time just call 9-1-1 and tell them that you saw a man on the side of the road who might be injured. That man could have kidnapped you. Or worse… he could have raped or even killed…”

  “Sonny,” Father Paul stopped the young man, “now is not the best time for such lectures.”

  “You’re right.” He held Megan tighter. “I’m so sorry, Megan. I just don’t ever want to lose you.”

  Chief William Biddle, whom Megan already met and spoken to shortly after she had arrived, reentered the office area. “Evening folks,” he greeted. “I’m Police Chief Biddle. Which one of you will be taking Miss Panco home?”

  Sonny raised his hand. “I am, sir. I’m her boyfriend; Sonny Williams.”

  “Okay,” the chief acknowledged, then eyed the priest. “Are you the pastor at St. Elizabeth’s?”

  “Yes I am. I’m Father Paul.” He offered a handshake.

  “And Megan tells me the mugger was at your function tonight?”

  “That’s correct. I’m able to give a statement along with Miss Panco.”

  “Great. Good to have some eyewitnesses to help with the description.” He walked passively over to Megan. “How you holding up, hon?”

  Megan did not answer, but simply nodded to the police chief, signaling that she was alright.

  “Okay,” he said with empathy. “In a few minutes, my detective on duty will be here to ask you a few questions about what happened. If you tell him as much as you can remember, it’ll really help better our chances of finding this guy. In the meantime, is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water?”

  “Water would be great, thank you,” Megan replied. Chief Biddle nodded with a warm smile, assuring her that everything would be alright, then he exited the office while calling to one of his deputies to grab a bottled water from the break room.

  Megan buried her face in her hands. The coldness of reality, slowly sinking in, had returned to her a less severe case of shivering within her fingers and lips. “He took my necklace,” she cried softly with a tremble in her voice. “My mother’s necklace. I told him it was worthless, but he took it anyway. Why? Why would he do such a thing? He knew how much it meant to me.” Sonny rocked her back and forth a bit, letting her cries become muffled into his massive chest. “I begged him not to take it. I even told him I wouldn’t gi
ve it to him, but I was so scared. Oh God, Sonny! He had a gun to my head!”

  Father Paul sat beside Megan’s right and returned a caring hand to her shoulder. “You did the right thing by giving it to him, my dear. I know how much it hurts to part with your mother’s memorabilia, but as I said earlier, nothing is more important than life. Your mother, God rest her soul, would not want to see you harmed over such a thing.”

  Megan lifted her head from Sonny’s chest and tried to make eye contact with her sweet pastor, but she could only look on the floor at her feet. “But why would he want it? It doesn’t make any sense!”

  Father Paul spoke very gently, making great effort to bring her some small morsel of comfort. “God only knows what he was thinking, Megan. The man is clearly troubled. People like that, when they’ve lived a life of desperation and solitude for so long, tend to do things that don’t make sense. It’s possible, because of his lack of status in society, he feels powerless and wanted to feel like he had control over you. Perhaps it was as simple as you having something he didn’t. Maybe he just wanted anything you had that he could get money out of, even if it has no value; he probably figured he could scam some poor old woman into thinking otherwise and try to sell it. Or perhaps simply…he is just crazy. Which is why you’re very lucky to be alive and unharmed, Megan. We must be thankful for that.”

  Though she remained uncomforted by the priest’s words, Megan agreed that her disregard for safety this night could have ended with much more detrimental consequences. She was about to voice over her sniffs and sobs that Father Paul was right, but was interrupted by the entrance of a stout, well-dressed black man, holding a clipboard and pen in one hand, and a bottled water in the other. “Miss Panco?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes,” she answered, wiping the tears from her eyes with her hand.

  “I’m Detective Harrison; I’ll be taking your statement, along with anyone else who can describe the man who robbed you.” He handed the water to Megan and offered her a genuine smile. “You think you can do that now, or would you like some more time?”

  Megan regarded the detective with a weak nod and smile. He was of a medium height, not quite as tall as Father Paul, and nowhere near the six foot-four that Sonny reached, but through his light blue, dress shirt, accompanied with a pin-stripe tie, and charcoal slacks, she could tell he was one who made routine visits to the gym. He was clean-shaven with a smooth, dark face, and his entire presence represented a steadfast professionalism that was unexpected for a stereotypical county police officer. Even his badge, which was attached to the sleek belt that matched his pants, appeared to have been thoroughly and recently polished to a gleaming shine. Had she seen him in a public setting, she would have guessed him to be a fed.

  After he seated himself at the office desk, Detective Harrison began by getting everyone’s full name and asking Father Paul and Sonny’s relation to Megan, then took down phone numbers and addresses, followed by their ages and occupations. When the top portion of the form attached to the clipboard was completely filled, he asked Megan, “Closest living relative?”

  Megan answered in a broken, tired voice, without looking up at him; “My dad, but he lives all the way out near Erie.”

  “Did you want to call him?”

  She hesitated, but then shook her head.

  The police detective explained to everyone that he would be taking Megan’s statement privately, and asked that Father Paul and Sonny wait outside. He would take the priest’s statement immediately after. Although Sonny first protested against abandoning his girlfriend at a time in which she needed much support, he soon obliged after Father Paul coaxed him to calm down and Harrison assured him it was just standard procedure. When her two companions were sitting outside in the waiting area, the stout detective readdressed Megan; “You sure you don’t want to call your pop?”

  Her father had enough problems already. To tell him that she got mugged would lead into her telling him that the necklace was taken. To mention the necklace, she would have to mention it as “Mom’s necklace.” Her mother… his late wife. She didn’t want to add any more episodes to this already prolonged soap opera. “Yes,” she answered. “I’m sure.”

  Once she situated herself in his office, she noticed that the detective opened up a manila folder with a stack of yellow, lined paper inside. He took a pen from his jacket pocket and brought it to the top sheet. “Ok,” Detective Harrison placated, not wanting to press the issue. “If you’re ready, Miss Panco… can I call you Megan?” She nodded in approval. “If you’re ready, Megan, I want you to tell me everything about what happened tonight. Even if it’s something that doesn’t seem all that important, it could still be helpful, so try not to leave anything out, okay?”

  She nodded again, gathered herself as she tried to recount all the events that occurred concerning the homeless man who went by the name of Cliff. Megan explained how she first noticed the man at Mass the previous Sunday, then went on to tell her story of what happened earlier that night. It was when she came to the point when Cliff pulled out the pistol to rob her, that she spoke with some difficulty, remembering how close she had come to losing her life.

  “I told him,” she trembled, “to just take my money and leave. I begged him not to take my mother’s necklace…”

  “And that’s when he said he would kill you if you didn’t give it to him?” Harrison asked for confirmation.

  “Yes,” she started. “Well no, not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  “He never said directly that he would kill me. He asked me if I wanted to die. I said no, then he told me that if I didn’t give it to him, that I would die.”

  Detective Harrison pressed for her to continue. “And then what happened?”

  “That’s it,” Megan shrugged. “I gave him my necklace. Then he opened the car door and ran off, but not before wiping the car handle with a cloth.”

  “Smart,” Harrison noted. “Something tells me you weren’t the first one he’s robbed this way.”

  “I think… I think you’re right. The whole thing was… well it seems like he planned it. Everything. I feel like he lured me in from the moment he first spoke to me at the Bible Study. Maybe even earlier.”

  “Earlier?”

  “I mentioned that I first noticed him at Mass this past Sunday. He was sitting a few pews behind me and… I thought for a second that he was looking at me. Maybe he targeted me even then. I know that seems far-fetched… for someone to go through all that trouble for a twenty and… a cheap cross.” Fresh tears wanted to come alive in her eyes, but she held them back. The thought of being stalked was now far more overbearing than her sadness.

  The detective picked up on her newfound terror and tried to put her mind at ease. “I’m sure he merely noticed you then, but he most likely was there to scope out dozens of potential targets.”

  “But he showed up at the Bible Study,” Megan answered with surprised realization. “He must’ve overheard Father Paul asking me if I would be attending when we were talking after Mass. Cliff was right near us, putting money in the poor box.”

  “You also mentioned that Father Paul made a general announcement about the meeting at the end of Mass. Megan, even if he overheard you, chances are he had already planned to attend in hopes of fishing out any good Catholic who would be kind enough to offer him help afterwards, so he could get them alone and rob them.”

  Megan pondered. “I don’t know… I can’t shake the feeling that he knew it would be me.”

  Harrison offered a soft smile. “Maybe he did once he started hearing you speak at the meeting. Guys like him are professionals at this. They’ve got a knack for picking out the most innocent people. But ask yourself, when he was limping on the side of the road, couldn’t any of the parishioners leaving that night have stopped to help him?”

  “I guess…”

  “Megan,” Detective Harrison spoke softly, “anyone could have been his victim. He was just wait
ing for the first person to offer him a helping hand. It just so happened to be y…”

  “It was a façade!” she interrupted. The thought suddenly popped into her brain as if she added everything up all at once.

  “What was?”

  “Everything! He didn’t have a limp, Detective. When he left my car, he ran off. He was fast. He faked the bum knee the whole night!”

  “All part of the plan to get sympathy points, Megan.”

  “It wasn’t just that, sir. There’s more.”

  Detective Harrison tilted his head and brought his pen to the notepad again. “Go ahead,” he prompted.

  “The way he talked,” she went on, “changed.”

  “Changed?”

  “Well, most of the evening he spoke with a crude… how do I explain it? He talked the way you would think a homeless person would talk.”

  “I understand,” Harrison commented. “And?”

  “Then, while he was in my car, he was chatting with me. And then at some point, his manner of speech changed. He had no slur in his speech, and his word use was suddenly more advanced. He sounded… educated. Sophisticated. His entire ‘homeless guy’ talk was fake!”

  “He may have a Split Personality Disorder.”

  “Detective Harrison,” Megan insisted, “I don’t think Cliff is homeless at all…”

  “Ok, we don’t want to make assumptions without investigating first.”

  “What about his gun? How many homeless men can afford a gun?”

  “Megan…”

  “Why? Why did he take my mother’s cross? That makes no sense! What if he is stalking me?” Megan’s head was trapped in a whirlwind of confusion and paranoia. There were too many emotional stimulants from this evening’s events for her to handle, and the frail dam with which she held back all hysteria had finally crumbled. Uncontrollable sobbing escaped her.