The Parker Trilogy

by Tony Faggioli

  Father Soltera was beyond shocked and falling headfirst into dismay. This is what’s been watching us from up there, beyond the tree line, this whole time!

  Even more startling was the fact that Tabitha seemed as terrified as he did. She looked up, then around, as if she was searching for an escape route. But why, if both she and this thing were evil?

  Something told him that this demon was too stupid to discriminate between him and Tabitha. It had evidently claimed this place and would kill anyone who tried to come through.

  The creature shrieked and spread its wings out wide, forty feet across, almost upon them now. That seemed to be all Tabitha could take. Glancing at Father Soltera, she sneered, tugged free of the roots, then spun and headed back into the woods. The Wood Demon thrust a wing at a dead log on the ground, pierced it with a spine of bone and launched it at Tabitha. It barely missed her as she ducked back into the tree line.

  Father Soltera moved to chase after Tabitha, but the creature cut him off. Thrusting forwards, it let loose a raw growl.

  There was no way he could win this fight. He thought of retreating, of running back to get Michiko, but that would mean completely surrendering his pursuit of Tabitha.

  And Father Soltera was tired of running.

  It seemed like he’d been running from the moment he’d arrived here. He felt nothing but terror.

  He looked around. This place was all about fear. Yes. Manifestations of his own deepest fears.

  First, The Hanging Forest and his fear of death. Even before the cancer, funerals always left him with a feeling of futility. Then came The Gossamer Lady with her dire wolves and his fear of lust. Then came the island and Gabriella and his fear of falling in love. And now, here again, was just one more fear. The fear of being small, weak and powerless. A fear that stalks you through the dark woods of your subconscious, telling you that you’re not capable, that you’re not strong enough to face the monumental challenges of life. Instead, you’ll spend your miserable little days on this earth trembling beneath the weight of it all. Fear. This giant creature was made of it.

  Father Soltera was sick and tired of it.

  Hadn’t he told his flock, so many times, that fear was the opposite of faith? His heart swelled. Yes, he had. And at some point, you must walk that walk, not just talk that talk. Because it really was that easy, if you were willing to let it be that easy.

  Father Soltera smiled wearily and muttered, “Because the choice is always ours.”

  He was here, in this spot, alone, for a reason. As for Tabitha? He had to have faith that could still get to her and stop her somehow.

  But first, he had to deal with this horrid beast before him.

  The woods stilled as The Wood Demon moved sideways across a thicket, the branches and thin trunks of the trees there groaning beneath its weight before releasing a sound wave of cracking wood. If he got too close it would simply crush him. It was . . . a giant.

  And this reminded Father Soltera of one moment in scripture. Just one.

  Had not little David, all by himself, uttered a prayer as he stepped out to face Goliath? Amid all those who didn’t think he had a chance . . . what did David do?

  “He ran towards Goliath,” he said under his breath.

  And so, too, did Father Soltera with his Goliath. With this demon intent on stopping him from getting out of here. Old man or not, he already had what he needed: his faith.

  And so it was that he ran at The Wood Demon with a prayer (God, please be our rock and our shield) and a bit of Ephesians, the Word of the God, the same God that he had served his entire life and, he was sure of it now, would serve until his dying breath.

  Advancing, Father Soltera screamed, “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

  The effect was instant; the words he uttered had caused The Wood Demon pain. It howled with a rage so loud that it shook the trees violently. Its dead wings flapping uselessly, The Wood Demon suddenly let loose a staccato of click-calls that pierced Father Soltera’s ears. And then it charged him, flinging its skeletal wings forwards, trying to clamp down on him with them, the thud of bone hitting the earth filling the air as they just missed him.

  It lunged backwards as it prepared to swing itself forwards at him again.

  Father Soltera smiled.

  His sling was his voice and his stones were The Word.

  “Therefore, put on the full armor of God,” Father Soltera continued, “so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand firm.”

  Again, The Wood Demon recoiled. Spreading its wings wide, it launched the barbed tips towards him. Most of them missed, but one struck him in the shoulder, gouging into his flesh.

  It hurt. He still pushed on. This time, with a grimace.

  Michiko had left. He could feel it.

  Which meant she believed in him. That he could do it.

  The creature was fully upon him. Father Soltera didn’t flinch. Instead, he gritted his teeth, did not look away, and began to recite more and more scripture. Words, alive, powerful, lethal, began to strike the creature as if they were flaming arrows.

  “The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer!”

  Bits of The Wood Demon caught on fire. Tiny embers at first. Screeching, it slammed its wings to the ground. The force reverberated across the forest floor, casting leaves up in a cloud storm and knocking Father Soltera onto his back.

  He rolled over, got up, and continued.

  “He will never leave you, nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

  The embers on the creature caught and blossomed, provoking more cries of agony. Opening its mouth, it roared, and the soundwave cut into the tree trunks all around. The trees began to fall, helter-skelter, on all sides. Two to Father Soltera’s left, one to his right, their boom so forceful that he was lifted off his feet.

  But he was not struck, nor did he fall again.

  Instead, he stood firm. “Don’t fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine!”

  The flames spread, up and over The Wood Demon. The creature wobbled, then advanced. But only barely so, its face twisted in total confusion.

  How many poor souls, Father Soltera wondered, have come through here, trying to get to The Stairway, only to be killed by this creature?

  As if in answer to this question, as more of The Wood Demon’s bark began to burn away, bits of charred white began to show through.

  Bone. That’s bone!

  And as more of it burned, more and more bone became visible.

  It teetered. Then, letting out a final groan, it toppled, now completely ablaze. As it struck the dry wood and leaves on the ground it erupted into an inferno.

  Father Soltera watched the flames and sighed with relief.

  Just like the boy with that giant.

  Not much of a fight.

  It made sense, really. Almost all the fight with fear was within yourself.

  Realizing that there was no time to relish in his victory, Father Soltera yanked at the roots until he was free and ran to the area of the woods he’d seen Tabitha disappear into.

  The Gray Man had left the library quickly, saying it was too dangerous for him to stay and he would try to meet Hector in his cell again later. So once Hector had finished cleaning the library he returned to his cell, where sure enough The Gray Man was waiting, staring at the floor as if contemplating something.

  “You okay?” Hector asked.

  Yes. Just thinking of how best to proceed.

  “Let’s just get to it.”

  The Gray Man walked over and took hold of Hector’s wrists. Hector felt the power in his hands.

>   Let the blue gather in your palms. This will allow you to concentrate the beams when you release them.

  “Okay,” Hector replied. He didn’t admit it, but he was tired. He tried half a dozen times to get the blue warmth that came from his core to flow to his wrists. Each time, it made it partway up his forearms before it faded.

  Focus, The Gray Man said.

  “I’m trying to. I can’t get it!”

  Keep at it.

  His image was starting to crackle and break up again, which only distracted Hector more.

  The forces here are even more aware of my presence now. Your little friend is helping to orchestrate it.

  “Why doesn’t he just come and attack you?”

  The Gray Man smiled grimly. You mean, after I nearly killed him the last time he saw me?

  “But doesn’t he have a lot more help here?”

  Yes. And if it came to that he could launch an all-out offensive. But he’s outranked in power. He would need a higher demon to help him. Until then, it’s all a matter of blocking my signal and keeping me away from you as much as he can. Now. Again. Focus.

  Hector did. This time, the blue made it to his wrists before fading. “Better, right?”

  Yes. But not good enough for proper combat.

  “Did the other dude have this much trouble . . . what was his name?”

  The Gray Man shook his head. Kyle Fasano. No. He had a rough start, but he was a natural. It came to him . . . stunningly fast, actually.

  “Why?”

  I do not know.

  Hector’s arms were aching and going numb from all the surging and receding power. “Give me a sec, man,” he said. Taking a step back, he shook the pins and needles out of them.

  The Gray Man sighed in frustration. We don’t have much time.

  “I know, bro. But it hurts. I’m sorry I’m not as good as the Fasano guy.”

  It is not about being better or worse than anyone else. Each of you has your own path.

  “Each of us?”

  Each millionth.

  “What does that mean?”

  The Gray Man went snowy, then blipped in and out of the cell a few times before his image became fixed again. It means one becomes a millionth, evolves as a millionth, and then either advances on the path or not.

  Hector stretched and leaned a hand out against the cot. “So? Were you a millionth?”

  Yes.

  “For what?”

  Never mind.

  “Okay. But . . . you chose to advance, I take it? Whatever that means?”

  Yes. When my mission was done, I decided that I had no reason not to. So, I chose as you say. I advanced.

  “Was that a long time ago?”

  Yes.

  “How long?”

  It doesn’t matter.

  “At least tell me why I’m your last.”

  The Gray Man walked over to Hector, his gray suit seeming to glow softly, as he motioned for him to sit. Hector complied as The Gray Man leaned against the wall directly opposite him and folded his arms. Looking at the ground, he murmured. Hector, Hector, Hector.

  “What?”

  Nothing. I should’ve known. You were always a curious child. You and all your books. Wanting to escape, yes, but also wanting to learn. Such vast . . . wasted . . . potential. But not anymore.

  “Why?”

  Because you have been, are being, redeemed. And as for why you’re my last? I’ve simply reached a point where I want to move on.

  Hector thought hard for a second. “You mean . . .?”

  Yes. I’m through being an agent between here and there. I wanted to help other tortured souls like myself. Some I have been able to help, some I haven’t. Eventually, I was called to train other millionths, and that I’ve done as well, as best I could. But just like each life on earth has a span, so too does the life of a millionth.

  His image went translucent. He looked around, then back to Hector. It’s really quite simple, my boy. Some of us who get to go to heaven go straight there; others take a detour. I wanted to stay behind, to help others, you see, who maybe might not get there without that help.

  Hector shook his head. “Why would anyone wait to go to heaven? I mean, I never even thought about the place because, well, the life I was leading, man? I figured I never had a chance of getting there anyway.”

  The Gray Man smiled. Exactly. But now you have that chance, don’t you?

  Bringing his hands in front of him again, Hector called the blue forwards. Calmly, he guided it towards his palms, almost making it the whole way this time. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess I do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jim, the man who Clopton said would show up once the lobster tacos were ordered, joined them a half hour later. Wearing brown Bermuda shorts and a light green Tommy Bahama shirt, he looked like any other tourist, his aviator glasses hiding his eyes as he pulled up a chair and gave Parker and Melon each a fist bump. No handshakes. Nothing formal. Nothing to suggest that business of any kind was taking place, just three old chums in town to relive their college days and maybe do a little fishing. Jim was built like a swimmer, lean but in good shape, with a tan face and taut biceps.

  From there, their conversation was straight and to the point. “You guys have pulled a full house on this hand, I’ll tell ya,” Jim said with a small shake of his head as he removed his sunglasses.

  “How’s that?” Parker replied.

  “We got a vector on the Kincaid woman and the girl yesterday.”

  “How?”

  “Family and friends blew up local law enforcement from a Facebook status that Kincaid managed to post somehow.”

  Parker was incredulous. “No way.”

  “Way.”

  “Damn,” Melon said.

  “Yep. Even push-pinned it on the damned map for us.”

  Melon let out a small whistle as Parker looked at Jim inquisitively. “And?”

  “Well. We obviously couldn’t wait for you at that point. Clopton contacted me, I scrambled a team. Little dirt town called El Centenario, just outside of La Paz. Took three hours to get there and by the time we did, they were gone.”

  Parker exhaled. “Shit.”

  “Not to worry though. We had the phone’s SIM key by then. They’re traveling through some pretty rural areas of Mexico, meaning reception is brutally spotty. We lost them for a bit, but when we finally got them back online, they’d moved about fifty miles south-east, to an area outside a town called San Juan de los Planes. We were going to head there today before Clopton confirmed that you’d arrived.”

  “Why didn’t you just go after them straight from the last hot spot?” Parker asked, taking a sip of his beer. The waitress was looking at them, but not in any ominous way, and she certainly wasn’t flirting anymore. Jim motioned for a beer and she disappeared into the back.

  “They took a route through known cartel territory. They woulda had scouts the whole way in—we woulda been seen, for sure.”

  Melon was picking at the label on his beer. “So, how’s that any different now for us, if we go in?”

  “They’ve come to a stop at a small mostly abandoned ranch. We got a satellite pass. The property has one large home, mostly caved in, at the front of the property. But they’re in an adobe house with a side barn, built further inside the perimeter.”

  “Go on,” Parker said.

  “We don’t have a head count yet, but the satellite images initially showed four men, one who we think has the cell phone Kincaid used.”

  Melon looked at Parker first, then back to Jim. “She used one of their phones to post?”

  Jim nodded. “Yeah. Balls, huh?” he said as the waitress brought him his beer and set it on a coaster before heading off to a different table.

  “Balls for sure,” Melon replied.

  “Anyway. We also caught three women coming in and out of the house. Impossible to tell their age. But you didn’t draw the ace of spades until today.

  Parker smiled. “
Güero?”

  “Yep. Between you and me, Clopton was crazy torn on this one. Obviously, she was going to place highest priority on the Kincaid woman and the pregnant minor. But Güero wasn’t with them then.”

  “No?”

  “No. And we couldn’t figure out where he was. Our intel initially had him at a safe house outside Tijuana. But they shuffled the deck there with a six-car pickup, each car splitting off in different parts of the city. We couldn’t track them all, just two, and we guessed wrong on those two.”

  “Pretty sophisticated move, though,” Melon said suspiciously.

  “Exactly,” Jim said with a hard nod. “The guy’s file says he’s as paranoid as hell. So maybe it’s just that.”

  “Maybe?” Parker pressed.

  “Well. It wouldn’t surprise anyone if he had sources inside law enforcement all over the country. And he works for the cartel, which would have plenty of government help, too.”

  “Great,” Melon mumbled. Then he shrugged. “But yeah, no surprise.”

  Parker leaned forwards, grabbed a tortilla chip and dipped it in the salsa before taking a bite. “So . . . we’re dark down here?”

  “Me and my people aren’t. But you and he are, for sure. That’s how—”

  “Clopton wanted it. I know.”

  “Which means we have to go in alone,” Melon said.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Gee. That’s wonderful,” Melon said, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

  “But there’s a lot of good news here and I mean that.”

  Another group of tourists walked by, a few families with beach chairs and towels. Behind them was a pack of college kids, the girls in tiny bikinis and the boys, with tight bellies, in swim trunks. Parker smirked. It was good to be young. He looked back to Jim, who was no doubt ex-military like they were and who probably knew not to bullshit things. “Like?”

  “First, there’s a limited presence there. Güero came in a white Range Rover with three additional men, each of whom has set up a perimeter around the house. Then there’s the four dudes and three other women inside the house. That’s it, as far as we can tell. There’s one other car, which arrived there first, a black Escalade. Second, the dude with the cell phone we’ve been tracking? He snuck a call out to some girl in Cancun. Discussed the women he was ‘bodyguarding’ in the present tense, which means Kincaid and the girl are most likely still alive. Lastly, the cartel chatter is telling us that they’re losing patience with Güero.”