The Paladin's Message Read online

  As the closing hymn was resonating amidst the vast, open space of the church, the members of the congregation began making their way out toward the lobby. Jim followed and waited in line as the regulars stopped to greet the pastor and commence quick, small-talk with him, careful not to let the conversations get too lengthy as they feared being caught in the typical traffic jam of patrons attempting to vacate the parking lot all at the same time. Just as it was about his turn to greet Father Paul, Jim’s eyes were drawn to a younger priest standing several yards to his right, also greeting members of the exiting congregation. Though, what caught his eye was not the second priest, but the young man who was greeting him: the same fruitcake who bought his drinks at McDougal’s the night before.

  Jim felt his feet beneath him start to head in that direction, for what purpose he did not know; it seemed like an automatic reaction that he was unaware of, but just as he took his first step to his right, he felt a gentle hand touch his left shoulder. He turned back to realize that he was being greeted by the pastor. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at Mass before, brother,” Father Paul said with a warm smile.

  Jim did not immediately respond to the pastor; he was temporarily distracted by the sight of the young man he encountered at the bar, so Father Paul continued, “God be with you, and welcome to St. Elizabeth’s. We hope to have you back again.” He nodded and turned to greet the next patron in line. “Hello, Doris!” he said to the woman behind Jim.

  “Thank you for the wonderful homily, Father,” Doris answered. “I was wondering if you could give a quick word to the man upstairs in regard to my niece. She’s having surgery tomorrow to get a hernia removed, and she’s a little nervous.”

  “Of course,” the pastor smiled. “God is with all of his children, even during the smallest challen...”

  “Excuse me, Father Paul?” Jim cut in, not wanting his quick distraction to cost him his ten seconds with the pastor. “Sorry to interrupt ma’am, but it’s important that I speak with Father Paul immediately.” Both the priest and the woman turned their attention to him; the latter, going by Doris, regarded him with an unfriendly look. He ignored her disapproving stare as he extended a handshake to the priest, who was still smiling but with a raised eyebrow. “My name is Jim Panco. Megan’s dad.”

  Almost instantly, both the pastor’s and Doris’s differentiating faces became mirrors; both with eyes of sympathy and understanding, though Doris quietly slipped away from the two, averting her eyes from the man, feeling too awkward with not knowing what she could say to him that would seem appropriate. Jim did not notice; he was only interested in speaking with Father Paul, one of the last people to have seen his daughter before she went missing.

  “Mr. Panco,” the pastor began, “I’m truly sorry for your struggles. All my thoughts and prayers are with you and Megan.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Jim answered with a weak smile, though the priest’s words did not bring him any comfort. In fact, he couldn’t shake the strange idea that the man’s words were almost routine and rehearsed; less genuine than they should have been. But with regard to the emotional strain he was experiencing, he didn’t doubt that his own instincts with such matters were unreliable, or at least a bit off.

  “If there is anything I can do,” Father Paul continued.

  “Do you have time to talk? I know I didn’t make an appointment or anything, but…”

  “Of course,” the pastor replied immediately. “Father Christopher is celebrating the 9:30, so I’ll have a little time in which we can speak privately in the rectory. Just give me about ten minutes while we wait for the 8:00 crowd to clear out…”

  Those ten minutes were another lifetime for Jim. The meeting with the pastor, which lasted about thirty minutes, had come and gone in an instant. While waiting, he had scanned the lobby, looking for the young fruitcake who had stopped to chat with the other priest, whom Jim suspected was Father Christopher. And though he had spotted the younger priest continuing to greet outgoing patrons, the young man from the bar was nowhere to be found. Small world, Jim had decided.

  Father Paul’s rectory office had displayed a presence of organization. The trinkets, artifacts, and other typical decorations on the white painted, wood shelving, which was built into the rear wall behind the pastor’s dark, cherry wood desk seemed to be set into place as if they were assigned to their designated shelves the way new recruits at any military branch’s basic training facility were assigned bunks in a barracks. There was not a speck of dust upon any of the furniture, and Jim could detect a strong lingering of lemon scented dust spray that monopolized over the normal aromas of incense and candles, the latter of which were meticulously stationed upon a dark, medieval bookshelf to his right. The bookshelf did not extend in height past his shoulders, but its width expanded profoundly along the mustard-green drywall. It was completely occupied with volumes of different literary and religious works, all bound in hard leathers, the titles all in gold, fancy-styled lettering; no shelf offered vacancy for any future purchased works.

  The brown rug that blanketed the office was thin, allowing an easier maneuverability for the pastor’s wooden desk chair, which donned wheels on the bottom of its sturdy legs and provided a comfortable padding of leather for his back that matched the color of the walls. Jim could tell that the rug was also vacuumed as regularly as the furniture was dusted. The long windows, partially shaded by thick, cream curtains boasted the cleanliness of crystal, as there was not one smear tainting them. The upkeep of the room’s tidiness was most likely a daily chore, though he doubted the good priest tended to such a thing personally.

  Mostly everything Jim noticed about the office consisted of what he would expect to find in a pastor’s rectory. There were only two aspects that seemed out of place to him. The first was the Styrofoam ceiling with its rectangular panels that only broke in pattern for the equally sized and shaped florescent lights that were placed after every three panels vertically, and two panels horizontally. It was more fitting for a school classroom, and did not compliment the artistic interior of the room. It was like a well-groomed scholar dressed in a sophisticated and aristocratic fashion from neck to toe, but then made a suicidal fashion statement by quickly slapping a worn and faded baseball cap on his head. Jim suspected that Father Paul also disapproved of the ceiling as tacky, because he opted to light the office with standing and furniture lamps, all brass with dark wood bases and white, pleated lampshades. The florescent lights embedded within the panels of the “unfit” ceiling remained off.

  The other aspect, more curious and unlikely in the rectory, was the statue on the desk. A wolf-like creature being impaled by a malicious looking blade, held fast by a knight in ebony armor. The art suggested a man of valor defeating an abomination, but the discordance of the sculpture residing in the office of an apparent man of God stimulated an uneasy feeling whenever Jim’s eyes fell upon it. Though it was small and insignificant; just a statue belonging to a man with an evident taste for exotic artwork, he didn’t like it.

  Regardless, it was no concern to Jim, so he didn’t mention it in conversation with the priest. Whether by nature or prior military training, Jim Panco was an observant man, so he habitually took mental notes of everything he noticed in any place he ventured whether it was of importance or not, but all the while he never forgot his purpose. If he stopped into a corner deli during his lunch hour, he would unconsciously take note of the cleanliness, arrangement of tables, chairs, condiments, and such; he would observe the behavior and mannerisms of employees and customers, note the crowdedness of the place, and of course spot the location of the restrooms, exits, and windows. Yet consciously, he stayed on task to order his turkey club on whole wheat. This morning, his purpose had been to talk to Father Paul about his missing daughter, not to critique his choice of decorative artifacts.

  The conversation hadn’t been as informative as Jim would have liked, not that he was expecting the priest to tell him anything he didn’t already know abou
t the details of Megan’s abduction. Father Paul had begun by excessively complimenting Megan’s character, personality, moral structure, and dedication to the church. He had spoken highly of her to Jim, informing him that he would be proud of his daughter, who always gave so much of her time to help others, and finally he had assured him that he was completely distraught with the current situation.

  “It’s been keeping me up nights, as I’m sure it has you,” he had said with shakiness in his voice. “I keep praying that we’ll receive good news from the authorities, that she’ll come back safely. Such a blessed young lady. One of the kindest souls I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.”

  Jim had found himself regretting the past year of his life. He had started to wish that he had given more attention to, had taken more interest in his daughter after Cheryl’s death. The priest was telling him wonderful things about Megan’s dedication and involvement with the church, but it was all new to him. These were things he didn’t know about his own daughter, and it was no fault but his own. He wanted to explain his guilt, hell, if any time deemed appropriate to do so, it would have been then, face to face with a priest, but Jim was a man who never forgot his purpose for being somewhere: “Is there anything you remember about that night? About the man who supposedly took her?” he inquired.

  “Nothing more than what I told the police,” Father Paul answered. “He was a troubled man. The church handles the unfortunate quite often, and though he lacked social etiquette and sought attention in unorthodox ways, he didn’t behave any differently than most of the homeless patrons we encounter. So he seemed harmless... how could I… how could any of us had known…” The priest’s voice had trailed off in thought.

  “Father?” Jim had said when the priest remained silent for a few moments.

  Father Paul had made eye contact with him again. “Sorry, Mr. Panco. I can’t help but to feel that I’m responsible for all of this, and that I must beg for your forgiveness. I should have asked the man…”

  “Detective Harrison, the officer I met with, he said he went by the name Cliff…”

  “That’s right,” Father Paul had confirmed. “I should have asked him to leave. He seemed harmless, but I had that uneasy feeling in my gut about him. And I didn’t act on it. I’m truly sorry…”

  “Like you said Father, you couldn’t have known.”

  The old priest had straightened up and collected himself. “How selfish of me,” he had said with a smirk. “Here you are, comforting me for the turmoil I feel, when you should be the one receiving support. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

  Jim had broken eye contact with Father Paul at this moment. “Mixed emotions, I guess,” he admitted. “Course I’m worried sick. But part of me is upset with her too, to be honest. She shoulda known better than to pick up a stranger off the street. And I guess I’m mad at myself too. Mad because I know that now ain’t the time to be mad at her. But along with the questions of ‘where is she’ and ‘what can I do’ and ‘how can I find her,’ and ‘how can I go on if I don’t see her again,’ the question of ‘what was she thinkin’ is still in that mix… if that makes sense.”

  Father Paul had produced what appeared to be a sad smile. “I’m honored that you feel comfortable with me enough to confess your feelings. And it makes perfect sense, Mr. Panco, as well as Megan’s actions. That at least I can explain. You see, we have funded what’s called the Outreach Program in town. It’s set up to help the poor and unfortunate get back on their feet. Not only do we assist the homeless and unemployed, but also refugees from foreign nations, victims of domestic violence, drug and alcohol addicts, and many others. There are usually a number of the poor who tend to beg for money outside of the church lobby, but we encourage our parishioners, not to give alms as that doesn’t help, but instead to direct them to the office of the program. Through Outreach, we can help them recover from their struggles. We’ve had huge success with it; many who enter the program find jobs, rehabilitate, relocate, and become completely independent again.

  “Megan volunteered with Outreach often. Once in a while she’d work the soup kitchen, but she mainly helped with the administrative side of things. More importantly, she recruited more members to the program than any of our other volunteers. Knowing her kind nature, it’s possible she picked that man up in hopes of convincing him to register with us, though I would never have allowed her to do so in such a dangerous way had I known…”

  Jim had nodded. “Never knew she put so much time volunteerin’ for the church. And you said she attends Bible Study every Wednesday too?”

  “Yes,” Father Paul had affirmed. “She also occasionally spent her Saturday afternoons at our orphanage during story hour, reading to the children… if she wasn’t scheduled for work. I’ll tell you Mr. Panco, if there was ever anyone to be canonized a saint of Lancaster County, she’d be the one. She was such a godsend for the community.”

  Jim had shifted uneasily in his chair across from the priest; his face for a split instant revealed a disapproving glance at the priest, but it had disappeared just as quickly, and the look of worry and deep thought had returned. Father Paul had noticed and peered more deeply at the man, and Jim had suddenly gotten an eerie, uncanny feeling that the pastor could read his thoughts, though that was ridiculous. Even so, he had decided to continue speaking in order to dissolve the awkward moment; “Sounds like she keeps herself so busy; hard to believe she has time for a boyfriend. I understand she’s seeing someone…”

  The priest had stopped peering and sat up straight. “Yes. Sonny Williams. Remarkable young man, and a good fit for Megan. From what I know, he’s just as busy. He’s a student at Millersville and has a full schedule himself, so I don’t believe her involvement with the church was too excessive for him. Have you met Sonny?”

  “Not yet,” Jim had replied. “I’ve only been here since Friday. Haven’t been able to get in touch with him. You haven’t seen him since Megan went missing, have you Father?”

  “I was with him when I was at the police station, giving my statement. Poor boy was frantic about not being able to get in touch with Megan. I’m not sure where he would be now, but I assume he’s doing the same thing you are; trying to find out anything and everything he can about her disappearance. I’m hoping he attends Mass today. I’d like to know how he’s holding up. He was very guilt ridden when I saw him. Kept going on about how this wouldn’t have happened if he were with her at Bible Study.” He had paused for a second, then added, “Does he even know you’re in town, Mr. Panco?”

  “Who knows?” Jim had shrugged. “I asked Detective Harrison to give him my number if he gets ahold of him, but I ain’t heard from him yet. Does he attend Mass often?”

  The priest had shaken his head. “Not usually. He’s accompanied Megan every so often, but inconsistently. I believe he’s got a full schedule of classes on Mondays, so he apparently spends most of his weekends completing coursework. I’ve mentioned to him more than once that setting aside one hour a week for the Lord isn’t something so demanding that would render him ill-prepared for school, but college kids are what they are. Rarely does keeping the Sabbath holy a priority for them.”

  “I see,” Jim had said blandly. “Well if you happen to see him, would you mind passing my number on to him?”

  “Of course,” Father Paul had agreed. “Though, it may be possible that he already met with Detective Harrison and therefore has your number. Perhaps he’s apprehensive about calling and possibly coming face to face with his girlfriend’s father, considering how he blamed himself so.”

  Jim had forced a smile. “If my daughter loves him, then I’m sure he’s a fine young man.”

  The priest’s return smile had also been forced. “He is indeed.”

  “Then he’s worth meetin’ with. I can tell you care a great deal for Megan, Father. And obviously he does too. So if there’s anyone I want to keep in touch with while she’s missin’, it’s you and this Sonny fella. We all want th
e same thing here.”

  “Absolutely,” Father Paul had nodded, his smile having displayed the most warmth yet. “I’ll be sure to pass that on to him if he shows.”

  “Thanks, Father. Is there anyone else that Megan might’ve been close to enough to confide in? Maybe the other priest here? Father Christopher you said was his name…”

  The pastor had shrugged. “Not that I know of. Megan was mainly involved with the collateral duties that I oversee. Father Chris is fairly new, having been ordained not two years ago. He’s a good man, but still a bit green, and not what I’d call close with the parishioners. He hasn’t taken on too many of the community programs yet. He’s only recently been charged with coordinating the Knights of Columbus meetings, but it’s really just a sponsor position. Those men have their organization under control just fine with or without him there. I’d say he’s more-so learning the ropes in that department than holding them. Other than that, he oversees the church choir, and I suppose you were able to tell from Mass that they need work.”

  Jim had let out a short, empty chuckle. “Megan’s never been a strong singer, and I guess she wouldn’t qualify as a Knight of Columbus.”

  Father Paul had opened his palms outward toward Jim as if to concur. “I don’t mean to downplay Father Chris’s role here; he tries his best. His heart’s in the right place, but unfortunately he hasn’t been blessed with many social graces. So I don’t think he really knew Megan very well, especially since she had no involvement in his collateral assignments. Her personality was more like mine, so it was I whom she confided in. Most parishioners, once they feel they connect with one priest, tend to seek only him for any church business. The others, they just shake hands with and say ‘hello.’ It’s common. At any rate, to answer your question, I never met or knew of any of Megan’s friends or coworkers, so the only one besides myself that I knew she was close to was Sonny.”