The Paladin's Message (The Keepers of White Book 2) Read online

  The Keepers of White

  Book Two:

  The Paladin’s Message

  Richard Crofton

  ©2017

  ©2017 copyright, Palm Coast

  All Rights Reserved – RICHARD CROFTON

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise) without written consent from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Though certain facilities and locations may be mentioned, any reference to such does not necessarily contain factual information. Events and situations herein should be considered fictional and any resemblance to actual person(s), living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  LCCN:

  ISBN:

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to extend my undying gratitude to the following loved ones, friends, and acquaintances for their support and assistance in the creation of this work:

  First and foremost, my wife and biggest cheerleader, Elisha, for giving me strength, and for always believing in me.

  To Jonathan Heebner, a graphic design major and graduate from the Art Institute of Philadelphia, for his incredible creation of this book’s cover, and for assisting me with designing my blog. And to Ellisa Clare, who initially walked me through setting up my blog when I was clueless.

  To my newfound friends and fellow indie authors: Amanda Donnelly, Edmund Kelly, Carol Ann King, K. J. Simmill, Dee Cooper, Karen Glista, Tanor Costa, Joy Yehle, and Elizabeth Comiskey. We’ve grown and learned so much from working together.

  Other special thanks goes to my parents, Gary and Diane, Donna Arsenault, Mary Harayda, Tim Hassler, and especially to Jo Beach, Mike Link, Bill Gartzke and his son, Alex, for their constant encouragement, feedback, and support. And to my sensei, Master Dave, for teaching me the value of tenacity.

  And lastly, to you the reader. A thousand thanks for journeying through the pages of this work.

  The Author’s Message

  DO NOT READ THIS BOOK… YET.

  As the title informs, this is the second book in The Keepers of White series. In the first, subtitled Agents of Shadow, I had left an author’s note at the end, explaining the structure of this story. When I had finished my manuscript, I’d found that the total word count far exceeded what would be considered appropriate to compile the entire story into one, singular book. With reluctance, I was forced to break it up into three, and I use the word “reluctance” because separately, the books may seem somewhat incomplete. But in the end, I felt it was the lesser of two evils to do so.

  The Paladin’s Message picks up immediately where Book I: Agents of Shadow left off. With that said, I’ve inserted this note to strongly urge you, the reader, that if you haven’t already done so, pick up or download a copy of Agents of Shadow, and read that first before venturing on through The Paladin’s Message. Choosing not to do so could very well cause confusion, or many more unanswered questions than originally intended. It would be like watching Return of the Jedi before The Empire Strikes Back, totally killing for you one of the most epic surprises in film history. Okay, it wouldn’t be that sacrilegious, but you get the idea.

  If you happen to be a satisfied, returning fan of Agents of Shadow, and you’ve already read its pages, having been anxiously awaiting the release of this one, I apologize for having stolen the few minutes of your life just now, as none of this note applies to you. In that case, forgive this interruption, and by all means, continue your journey through the world of The Keepers of White.

  Lastly, thank you to all for choosing to ride on this paranormal rollercoaster. May reading it gave you the same thrill as it gave me when writing it.

  -R.C.

  Dedication

  For Jay. Given our long-lasting friendship, there are probably 40K reasons for dedicating my second novel to you. But in truth, I did so just because I believe, as we share similar interests, this is your kind of story.

  “Beware the wrath of a patient adversary.”

  - John Dryden

  Paladin – “a class of warrior that is fully devoted to kindness and ridding the universe of evil. They are very religious and have an extremely strict honor code, as well as a soft spot for children and animals. In combat, a Paladin with a cause is almost impossible to defeat.”

  - www.urbandictionary.com

  Part I

  The Fifth Cycle Nears

  Chapter I

  Miles Harrison sat at his desk, fighting fatigue. He had slept little, even after having the day off. When you’re a cop who’s dedicated to the job, your days off can be more stressful than when you’re on the clock. A detective like Harrison always worried about what still needed to be done, what wasn’t getting done during his absence, and how much work would be piled on his desk when he got back. There was no escaping those thoughts; as long as he was a badge, they would always be sitting in the back of his mind, and when he was able to close a case, something else that needed attention would always replace it. For committed officers of the law, though sick and personal leave is adequately given, rest and relaxation of the mind itself is nearly impossible.

  Instead of taking the much needed break on his day off, he had called the station to see if the profile artist had met with the Panco girl, hoping he could pick up a copy of the sketch and perhaps drive around town in case he happened to spot anyone who resembled the man who had robbed her at gunpoint, relieving her of twenty dollars, and her cherished necklace. However, he had been informed that she hadn’t shown up yet. He found this peculiar; the girl seemed intent on getting her necklace back, especially considering the sentimental worth it represented for her, but he guessed her day job may have had something to do with it. Nevertheless, he had driven around town without a sketch, still hoping for a bite on his line. He hadn’t even gotten a nibble.

  Returning home in the evening, after a quick stop at Cookie’s Diner to order an Italian sub for his dinner, he tried to call patience to his conscience to no avail. More than just the case with Megan Panco bothered him. Not only was he perturbed that Chief Biddle yet again refused to give the reins to Harrison, as if the chief didn’t have faith in his competence, but it also didn’t sit right with him that a simple robbery wasn’t placed in his hands alone. To be told he was working with a partner was even more unordinary. To top it off, Biddle was not at the station, so his intentions to protest the arrangement would have to be put on hold anyway.

  At least he’d be working with Gibbons, he thought as he took a couple gulps of his large coffee with a shot of espresso. They were often paired up, under more severe cases, and had developed a level of trust and camaraderie, but why the department coincidentally assigned two black detectives to work together was unknown to him. He suspected prejudice from the powers that be, though of course he had no proof.

  At any rate, he liked Gibbons, but at the moment his reunited partner was about to fall on his shit list, since he had not yet reported for duty. Chief Biddle handed him a list of witnesses the other night, and told him to be here, as one of them would arrive early to give her statement. Checking his appointment book and glancing at the clock on his wall, he suspected he would be conducting the first interview alone. Part of him was fine with this; he didn’t see the need for two detectives on this case, but if they were forced to work this case together, they needed to do it by the book from the get-go. Not a big deal, I guess, he thought to himself. Maybe he was just jealous that Gibbons was evidently sleeping in.

  He was disturbed from his thoughts when his desk phone rang. “Harrison,” he identified himself
as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

  “Detective,” a voice on the line announced, “a Mrs. Palmer is here for you. She has an appointment.”

  Harrison looked up at the clock again, even though he had just done so merely thirty seconds ago. “Alright, send her in.”

  The first things Harrison noticed about the woman were her legs. She was dressed rather professionally, but her classy attire still managed to show off quite a bit of skin below her skirt line. The rest of her stunning physical features became apparent to him the moment his eyes drifted upwards. Her light, brown hair with blond highlights complimented her sharp, green eyes. She was slender, but she had shape in all the right places. Three buttons on her blouse were undone, exposing a long, silky neck and just a bit of her voluptuous cleavage. Not bad, for a white woman, he thought to himself, and for some reason he felt compelled to stand and walk toward her to introduce himself… something he rarely did, especially when he was not in the best of moods. But for the moment, he had forgotten his exhaustion (perhaps the caffeine was kicking in) and became a little thankful that Gibbons was late for duty. The woman closed the door behind her.

  “Mrs. Palmer,” Harrison began, “I’m Detective Harrison. Thank you for coming in.”

  “Thank you for seeing me Detective,” she responded. “It’s Doctor Palmer. But please, call me Diana.” From the moment she walked into his office, she had been staring intensely at him, and now that he was shaking her hand, and was so close to her, the brightness of those green eyes seemed mesmerizing. As he stared at her, he could not find a single physical flaw on her. Her facial features: nose, smile, and chin, even her eyebrows were perfect. And her body… she could have been a model for any swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated. Harrison blinked at this thought, secretly embarrassed as he realized he was undressing her with his eyes.

  The woman’s eyes however, were still gazing deeply into his, and he forgot his surroundings momentarily. He had not even noticed that he was still shaking hands with her. “B-B-Before we start, is there anything I can get you?” Now he felt even more flushed. He never stuttered. Articulation was something he had always taken pride in. It would bother him beyond most things, when someone would complement him by telling him he spoke well. He always interpreted such a remark as them saying that he spoke well… for a black man. Why wouldn’t I speak well? he was always tempted to reply.

  Now, stuttering in the presence of Mrs... Dr. Palmer, he felt instead disappointed that he just blew his chances of receiving the same compliment from her.

  “Anything you can get me,” she smiled in a way that made him turn to putty, “such as?”

  Harrison had to focus on each word carefully. “Such as… coffee? Water?”

  “No thank you, detective. Just this.” In the flash of an instant the woman, still holding his hand, pulled the otherwise solid and stable Miles Harrison toward her, and planted her lips against his. Her tongue shot into his mouth like an arrow.

  In that instant, Harrison could not fathom for the life of him where he was, or even who he was. This strange occurrence was the furthest thing from his expectations when he reported for duty this morning. In his line of work, there was always a first for everything, but this was more than just a first; this was being teleported to another dimension, where nothing logical existed, and he was lost in it.

  Then there came the next instant; the one that brought reality back into him. He quickly pushed her off of him, still confused as to what was causing this behavior, and collected his bearings. “Ma’am!” he defied. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked innocently, with a look that showed genuine uncertainty, as if she had not just initiated that moment.

  Harrison hesitated for a second. Her facial expression was so honest; a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he had just imagined the whole thing. And he began to feel dizzy. “That was… highly inappropriate,” he said, slightly softening his tone.

  “I don’t follow, detective,” Dr. Palmer said, gazing even more deeply into his eyes. “What was?”

  He struggled to concentrate. If he could think straight, he would have sworn he was just drugged. A small warning inside his subconscious told him to reach for his sidearm, but the warning did not speak loudly enough. “You… you just… what were you doing?”

  As he spoke, he could no longer hear his own voice. He could no longer hear anything… until the strange woman replied. “I was coming to see you about the missing girl from my church. I’m sorry, Detective Harrison; did I get my schedule mixed up?”

  Suddenly, the wave of the drug-like experience passed as quickly as it had overcome him. He again knew where he was, and why the woman was here in his office. But he couldn’t remember what had just transpired. “Come again?” he asked. “No ma’am, you’re here at the right time. Please sit.”

  “Thank you,” she answered as she complied, gracefully seating herself at his desk.

  “Before we start,” he began, “is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water?” He wasn’t quite sure why he felt a hint of déjà vu after he’d asked her this. He was pretty sure he hadn’t offered her something to drink yet.

  “No thank you, detective. I would just like to give my statement. I’m very concerned about Megan. I pray to God she’s unharmed and that your men find her soon.”

  “I understa… wait, find her? Dr. Palmer, Megan Panco was here on Wednesday night to report that she was robbed. What do you mean, find her?”

  “I don’t understand, detective,” the woman spoke with concern. “I was called to come in. Your chief informed me that she had gone missing.”

  Harrison stared at her, perplexed.

  “I spoke with Father Paul. He said her boyfriend Sonny called him, sick with concern. According to Father Paul, she hasn’t been answering Sonny’s calls; said that he stopped by her place and her car wasn’t there. He called her at work, and they said she never showed up. The poor boy is in such a state of fretfulness. No one’s seen her since Wednesday night’s Bible Study session at church.”

  “Ma’am, I spoke with her after the session Wednesday night. She was here. I have my report right here from her statement…” Harrison looked down at the report on his desk as he sat. Then he stared at it. It was a Missing Person’s report. He read over it as if for the first time.

  Dr. Palmer continued as if she didn’t hear Harrison speak, as if he was not reading over the report, but listening to her intently: “I was at the Bible Study, and I can tell you that I didn’t like the look of that man one bit. Not because he was filthy, and reeked of urine and whiskey… he’s most likely homeless… but because he wasn’t right. His behavior, the things he talked about… you could tell right away that there was a disconnection of some sort. The man had an empty look in his eyes, and that emptiness had danger written all over it. I can’t begin to fathom what poor Megan was thinking by offering him a ride home. Father Paul said he saw him getting into her car after the session.

  “Anyway, he was tall… about six feet. He had light, brownish gray hair that was uncombed and matted… like he hadn’t washed it in months. I couldn’t see much of his hair, other than the fact that it was thick and shoulder length, because he had an old, red baseball cap on. It definitely was old because the color was faded. Some of his other features that I can remember were…”

  Harrison continued to read the report as Dr. Palmer went on and on about the suspect in question, giving him every detail that, unbeknownst to him, she had received via Father Paul. As he stared at the paper in front of him, her voice seemed to become muffled inside his ears, the way others’ voices sound when he’s at the range and wearing hearing protection. He started to feel a slight wave of dizziness again, but to him it was the first wave because he had no recollection of the actual first, more severe episode just minutes before. He closed his eyes to try to get his bearings…

  “…and his speech was slurred; he was drunk, no doubt. Thank
God I wasn’t close enough to smell his breath. Ironically enough, he had all of his teeth; at least I think so, though they looked stained to no end…”

  Slowly but consistently, the memory of his meeting with Megan Panco faded from his consciousness until it was nothing… not even a fragment of a dream. In his mind, he had never met the girl in his life. All he had was a photograph of her from the report, and all of her information that was collected.

  “…and he walked with a limp, like he had an old injury in his right knee…”

  He continued to study the report. Apparently the deputy on duty took a statement from a Sonny Williams the night before. Something still did not seem right about all of this, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Before he could question the woman who was babbling in front of him, a stronger sense of vertigo intruded his entire head.

  “…the man had no manners at all, but he was acting particularly sweet and gentlemanly toward Megan, I can tell you that much. I’ve no doubt he was targeting her for whatever God-forsaken purpose he had in mind…”

  The wave passed again. Whatever strange phenomenon Harrison had just experienced was gone, but with it, all of his doubt and uncertainty. In what seemed like a matter of seconds, the confusion he thought he felt was replaced with a clear, concise sense of direction. A young woman had gone missing, and they had a suspect: a possibly homeless man who went by the name of Cliff. And that was all Harrison knew.

  Dr. Palmer finished her description of the man. Harrison looked up at her, and somehow heard everything she had just said. “Thank you ma’am,” he nodded to her. “I’m going to need you to give that description to our profile artist.” He glanced up at his wall clock. “He should be here by now. In the meantime, if there is anything else you can remember, don’t hesitate to call me.” He handed her his card.