Although a million more questions formed in her mind, she couldn’t agree with him more. With a hesitant nod, she quickly made her way to the stairwell as he followed her halfway. Once she positioned herself at the bottom step, she turned and saw him ready the candle in his hand. “Ready?” he announced as he looked in her direction. She nodded again, and he tossed it well into the room.
The vapors of the gasoline reacted immediately, and it didn’t take long until the fire spread throughout the area, complimented with the whooshing sound of the spread, followed soon by crackling and popping. Michael, satisfied with the likeliness that everything would be consumed in flames, turned and made his way toward the stairwell.
Megan hardly noticed his approach; her eyes were fixated on the dancing flames within the room across the corridor. Though the heat began to radiate quickly to where she stood, her skin began to feel a shivering sensation. The scene before her froze her thoughts, as her mind began to replay the vision she experienced in Ryleigh’s bedroom. Again she saw her friend in torment as she burned alive. Again she heard the ungodly screams and cries for death. Again, the sadistic laughter of her once perfect boyfriend echoed in her ears.
My gift to you…
She shut her eyes, but when she did so the blurred, transparent flashback only became clearer, more real, and she gasped from the effect as if she were suddenly submerged in icy waters. Immediately, she opened her eyes again, which were now starting to well with fresh tears.
“You alright?” Michael asked with concern; though he was now beside her, his voice seemed miles away at the other end of a long tunnel. She almost didn’t feel the gentle shaking of her shoulders when he gripped them. But she slowly turned to meet his eyes with her own that were partially paralyzed with fear. “Megan,” he spoke more loudly, “what is it? What’s wrong?”
No longer ensnared by the sight of the dancing, deadly flames, her eyes now focused on him, and she came to. “It’s… n-nothing,” she struggled to answer as she blinked. Unconvinced, Michael stared into her eyes sternly, searching for any signs that might suggest she was going into shock. In a matter of seconds, Megan felt like herself again, and with a more confident tone she reassured him, “I’m fine. Can we just get out of here please?”
He wasted no more time upon hearing her request. Supporting her with his arm around the small of her back, he helped Megan up the steps and finally out through the cellar doors.
The tears that Megan held back from the quick replay of the terrible vision, now burst out and flowed down her flushed cheeks; for the first time in half a month, she breathed fresh air, smelled the welcoming scent of pines and blossoms of mid-spring, basked in the cool, refreshing chill of night. The chirping music of thousands of crickets soothed her healing eardrum. And then the stars. Billions of celestial sentinels invited her back to the world of the living. Everything she now perceived with her five senses reminded her of so many common, daily experiences within her environment that she never paid mind to before, but would never take for granted again.
Michael seemed to sense her overwhelmed state, perhaps even expected it, for he tightened his hold around her ever so slightly to keep her from collapsing; she might have fallen to the ground just so she could kiss the earth as survivors of shipwrecks do after enduring the merciless seas. “Just hold it together a little longer,” he reminded her with a soothing voice. “We’re almost…”
“State police!” a commanding voice boomed from a section of brush on their right side as a powerful beam of light suddenly blasted in Michael’s face. “Stop where you are! Hands up where I can see them!”
Chapter XXI
The couple both turned towards the direction of the man, squinting from the light in their eyes. “You again,” Michael responded, recognizing his voice as he raised his hands to head level.
“No sudden moves!” the man shouted. “You, with the sword! Reach back and pull it out slowly. Then toss it away. Try anything with it son, I drop you! Understand?”
“Detective Harrison?” Megan called, also recognizing his voice. “Is that you?”
He didn’t reply to her question. “Now the bag,” he continued to bark after Michael had carefully tossed his sword. “Take it off your shoulder and throw it.” Michael obeyed, and threw his backpack off to the side. “Now turn around! Take two steps away from each other and get down on your stomachs! Arms spread. Do it now!”
They both complied with his order. “Are we under arrest officer?” Michael asked innocently as he laid himself down and stretched his arms across the cold earth. “What are we being charged with?”
“Carrying an illegal weapon for starters,” he replied as he approached, “and from the smell, arson.” He turned his attention to Megan. “How do you know me, lady?”
“Detective,” Megan answered, “it’s me, Megan Panco! We met in your office the night I reported being mugged!”
Harrison paused for a moment. Upon hearing her name, he was overcome with excitement at possibly finding the missing girl, as well as confusion. The young woman before her fit the description, though she was much more ragged than in the photos he surveyed, which would make perfect sense if she were held against her will for two weeks. But her claim of having met him before was bogus. It stunned him to hear nevertheless, having thought he dreamed of her in his office reporting a crime. “Never met you,” he argued, more with his memories than with her. “Megan never reported a mugging. She had gone missing. You would know that if you were her.”
“It is me! And I had gone missing because I was abducted that same night. Don’t you remember me?”
“You stay right there,” he ordered her. “I’ll decide if you’re who you say.” He cautiously approached until he was just above Michael, keeping his pistol trained on him. “What’s your father’s name, Megan?”
She almost answered immediately, guessing that he wanted verification that she was telling the truth, but she hesitated, now feeling a sense of paranoia, not knowing who might be connected to the cultist organization that she may have to hide from for the rest of her life. Her head was facing Michael, who was looking back at her from the same prone position. The beam of the detective’s flashlight provided enough luminescence that she could see him giving her a discreet nod.
“Jim,” she finally answered.
“Turn your head,” he ordered. “Face the other way, now.” Apparently, Michael’s nod wasn’t discreet enough. She did as she was told. “Where does he live? Your father.”
“Meadville, Pennsylvania. He’s a self-employed electrician there.”
“When did you last speak to him?”
She thought for a moment. “Not for months.”
Harrison was, for the most part, satisfied with her answers. Yet he was still disturbed by her claiming they’d met before. But that mystery would have to wait. His priority was finding a way to call for a squad to get these two into custody. “Who abducted you Megan? This guy?”
“No, it was…”
You’ll put him in danger if you tell.
The thought was so loud in her head, she could almost hear it as if it were tangible. Michael’s connection with her must not have been completely severed yet, for the thought felt like a voice that was identical to the suggestion she felt earlier to get behind the altar when the shooting had started in the altar room below. “I don’t know who they were. They wore masks. This man here saved me!”
“They?” Harrison noted. “More than one? Where are they now?”
“Gone,” Michael answered.
“Was I talking to you, shitbag?” Harrison shot out harshly. “You keep your mouth shut until I address you!”
“Sorry officer,” Michael said snidely. “I wasn’t sure which one of us you were addressing when you asked that question.
“You’ll know when I address you, shitbag. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
“Now Megan,” Harrison began again, “you tell me where they are; the ones who kidnapped
you.”
“Like he said, detective,” she answered immediately. “They’re gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. I was locked in a room and didn’t see where they went.”
Good girl…
“If they’re not here anymore, then who owns these vehicles parked here?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated.
“You don’t recognize these Escalades? How did you get here then?”
“I was drugged, detective. I don’t remember.”
“Who drugged you?”
“I don’t know. They wore masks.”
“You know lying won’t get you anywhere, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer him.
“Aren’t you supposed to save the interrogation until after you’ve officially arrested us and taken us downtown?” Michael cut in, hoping to quell the pressure he was trying to put on Megan.
“What’d I just say, shitbag? I didn’t address you yet!”
“Well I’m addressing you,” he answered defiantly.
The detective fell for his distraction. “Don’t worry. Squad’s on the way. You’ll be downtown soon enough.”
Michael grunted a short laugh. “Now who’s lying?”
Harrison would have loved nothing more than to pistol-whip the man against the back of his head. He had dealt with one too many frustrations tonight. “You’re the biker who left me high and dry on the road back there.”
“I told you this was beyond you,” Michael replied.
“You don’t get to make that call,” Harrison retorted. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“What’s your name, friend?”
“Shitbag.”
Harrison snarled. “You’re gonna be doing some serious time if you don’t cooperate with me.”
Michael said nothing.
“What is your name, young man?” Harrison repeated.
When he refused to answer again, Harrison turned to the girl. “Megan, I know you don’t wanna be mixed up in all of this. Now unless you want to be serving as much time as this clown here, I suggest you tell me what I want to know. Who is this guy?”
Meekly, Megan replied in almost a whisper, “I don’t know.”
“If I’m not mistaken, detective,” Michael spoke again, “we have the right to remain silent.”
Harrison paused as he narrowed his eyes in contempt for the man on the ground below him. “You got that right, shitbag,” he confirmed. Then he lowered himself and pressed a thick knee against the small of his back as he kept his pistol trained on him with one hand, removing a set of handcuffs with the other after momentarily setting down his flashlight. “Bring your arms back behind you,” he commanded. “Do it slowly.”
Again, without protest, Michael cooperated and surrendered his hands behind him. Harrison quickly applied the cuffs with his one hand, easily. He then lifted himself from his back and stood above him. “You stay right where you are and don’t move an inch,” he directed as he attempted to fish in his jacket pocket for wire ties that he intended to use for Megan. For some reason, he was having difficulty moving his hands to achieve this, as if his arms were somewhat obstructed.
“What’s burning down in that storm cellar?” he questioned as the sulfurous odor penetrated his nostrils more strongly. Smoke was beginning to roll from the open storm doors. “Is anyone down there?” He started to struggle with his hand as he continued to reach for his jacket pocket. It seemed as if his left hand was forced to move as he made the attempt with his right.
“No,” Michael answered, “we’ve committed no crime, officer. None against humanity anyway.”
“If you say so,” Harrison spat back, unconvinced as he pulled with more force to grab for the wire ties. “You’re still under arrest, shitbag.”
“Just one question,” Michael said as Harrison continued to fumble with his hands, taking great pains not to drop his pistol. “How are you going to manage taking us into custody… when you just cuffed yourself?”
Harrison was about to laugh at the absurdity until he glanced down at his own wrists; his eyes widened with perplexed shock. A second ago, he struggled to move his hands but saw nothing that should hinder them, but suddenly he was staring thunderstruck at the truth behind his plight; his handcuffs that he placed on the man’s wrists, now on his own.
Before Harrison could even begin to force his mind to think, before he could act to better his suddenly desperate situation, Michael quickly rolled over onto his back, and with incredible speed, moved his legs in a twisting motion, placing his right foot behind Harrison’s heel, then swinging his left foot hard against his thigh, forcing the detective to fall backwards. Harrison was unable to brace his fall as the cuffs upon his wrists kept his arms from stretching out. The impact stunned him for a brief second, and though he was uninjured by the fall, he was unable to keep a grip on his pistol.
As soon as he came to, Harrison rolled onto his stomach, hoping to push himself up with his bonded hands in order to get back on his feet more quickly, but he was too late. The stranger was on top of him, placing his own knee against the small of his back; an unexplained phenomenon that had literally caused the tables to turn. Harrison immediately tried to use the advantage of size and weight which he had over the young man, by bucking up to possibly throw him off balance. But before he could even ready himself to attempt such a feat, he felt the cold steel of a pistol’s barrel against the back of his head.
For a moment, all was still as Harrison completely ceased his attempts to struggle, and although he was still flabbergasted by the unexplained accidental self-cuffing, it didn’t take long for him to break the silence. “Assaulting a police officer? Now you’ve definitely committed a crime, kid.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice,” Michael replied. “Megan, bring me my bag please.”
Stunned by the turn of events, Megan, still sprawled flat on the ground, slowly rose from her position, and did her best to shake her mind into action. Once she gained her footing, she quickly did as Michael asked.
“Think about what you’re doing, son,” Harrison tried to talk his assailant down. “It’s not too late to do the right thing. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding. Let me take you to the station so we can clear this whole thing up.”
Michael did not take his pistol off the back of Harrison’s head. “Not an option,” he said. “You’re a good man, detective. But some of your colleagues aren’t. Too many of them who can’t be trusted.” Megan came to his side holding his backpack. With his free hand, he unzipped the front pouch and removed a syringe filled with a liquid that she didn’t recognize, nor did she want to know its origin.
“A conspiracy theorist?” Harrison scoffed. “Figures.”
“Don’t get involved with this, detective,” Michael warned. “There are some doors that can’t close once they’re opened.”
“Son, I don’t even know what this is,” Harrison answered. “But whatever it is, we’re past that point. You got me involved.”
“You did that yourself,” Michael argued. “But I suppose you’re going to do what you’re going to do. So there’s only one thing left to say: welcome to the rabbit’s hole, Detective Harrison.”
Before he could say anything in return, Harrison felt a sharp sting against the side of his neck. He immediately felt the effects as dizziness overcame him and his entire body began to numb. “Shhhit-baaag,” he mumbled as he quickly fell into unconsciousness.
When the detective had gone completely limp, Michael lifted himself up. “Let’s get him farther away from the storm door,” he suggested to Megan, “just to make sure he’s at a safe distance from the smoke.”
Megan looked toward the slanted doorway from which they climbed out minutes earlier. Black smoke was now forcing its way out into a swirling pillar, stretching up into the clear night sky. She dropped Michael’s pack and grabbed one of Harrison’s legs while he grabbed the other. Together they dragged his bod
y several yards away from the building.
“What is this place?” she asked him as they pulled the large man to safety.
“It appears to have been a one-room school building,” Michael said after taking a quick glance at the structure. “The Amish community still uses them, but I’m guessing this one’s been abandoned for some time. Most likely, the priest used funds from an unregistered account to purchase the property.”
“An unregistered account?”
“That, or an account under a different name, but one he still has access to. It could be set up in a way that he could easily deny having any connection to it. They have many resources that are untraceable or webbed up with so much red tape, it could leave the savviest accountant lying in the fetal position sucking his thumb… I think this is far enough.”
Megan gladly let go of Harrison’s leg. Even with Michael shouldering half of the weight, moving the detective was no easy task. He was not obese or even chunky. In fact, from what she remembered of him, and what she could perceive, he appeared to be in pristine physical condition. She assumed he was just one of those types of men who were solid from head to toe, holding much more mass than what people would guess. “He didn’t remember me,” she commented with a puzzled expression, looking down at him. “I was in his office for a while, giving my statement after you robbed me. He didn’t remember any of it.”
“Their doing,” Michael accused with conviction. “I’m sure the paperwork concerning your statement has disappeared as well… replaced by a missing person’s report.”
Megan contemplated what he was telling her. She no longer gaped in disbelief, even at the suggestion that these cultists who abducted her somehow tampered with the detective’s mind, somehow gave him a false memory. Her mind was beginning to accept it; she had seen enough in one day to dismiss any skeptical attitude she may have once produced.
The Paladin's Message (The Keepers of White Book 2) Page 35
