R.S. Guthrie - Detective Bobby Mac 02 - L O S T (17 page)

Then I saw it. Lying on the ground, just a few yards away.

The Crucifix of Ardincaple.

I lunged for it. Just as my hand wrapped around the hilt, a throng of crazed  demons charged me, ready to take me apart. Father Rule was yelling to them, working them into a frenzied hunger. I came to my feet, blood flowing from the wound on my shoulder, the crucifix in my hand, and as I brought the weapon to bear the demons stopped suddenly, terrified of the talisman I held before me.

I kept it there, holding them back. Rule yelled to Annir to kill me now and the beast started moving slowly toward me. I could now see reluctance in those hateful eyes and maybe, what? Fear?

Annir was not as certain as his master was; worried perhaps that the weapon of my ancestors still held some power.

“KILL HIM,” Rule commanded.

Obeying his master, Annir moved quickly toward me, fangs and claws bared. I pulled back the dagger, preparing to strike down the evil thing.

I put all my fears out of my mind, allowing my mind to free itself and to connect with the power I had summoned before. I willed the hero inside to spring forth and bring the weapon of MacAulay to life.

Nothing happened.

Annir was nearly upon me and the crucifix was cold and dead in my hand!

There was a sudden movement from behind me and the Crucifix of Ardincaple was at once gone from my hand. What happened next was a blur. Light exploded all around us, casting faux daylight across the mountaintop. The throng of hideous monsters all dropped to their knees in fear, disfigured, hairy arms shielding their eyes from the blinding light of God.

Someone was using the crucifix, fighting Annir toe-to-toe, the weapon having once again transformed into a mighty broadsword.

Tilson Wayne swung the sword, cutting piece after piece from the howling Annir. Rule beckoned and the prostrate demons began rising again, more afraid of their master than the great talisman in Wayne’s hands. They rushed him by the dozen. Annir was already dead at the warrior’s feet. Wayne turned to face the attackers coming fast to kill him.

One after one, the demons reached Tilson Wayne, and one by one he cut them down. The beasts exploded into brilliant clouds of fire and ash as the Crucifix of Ardincaple took their lives.

I turned to make sure Amanda was all right and saw three hunched, misshapen demons running toward her, ready to pounce.

“Tilly,” I cried, and raised an open hand in the air.

Wayne had fought off the final onslaught and reacted instantly. He threw the sword toward me. Time slowed in my mind. I saw the beautiful weapon of my ancestors clearly as it flew through the air, end over end, and I caught it firmly in my grasp.

The power of Ardincaple instantly burst forth into my veins. I felt a thousand feet tall. I spun and decapitated the first demon, then dropped low, avoiding the outstretched claws of the second, cutting its legs from under it. The third demon froze after seeing its brethren explode into nothingness and I lunged forward, burying the blade deep into its black core. The last demon cried out and burst into flame.

The scores of demons at the fringes of Deer Song Peak faded back like cowards into the night. Only Father Rule remained.

I walked over to Tilson Wayne and stared him in the face.

He pointed a finger at Rule.

“Over half a century ago, demon, you stole my birthright from me.”

“Who are you?” Rule said, confused and afraid for the first time.

“You don’t remember me? Perhaps my father: Percival Wayne.”

Recognition flickered in the beast’s black eyes.

“Impossible.”

“And my mother. Say her name, demon.”

“You cannot be here,” Rule said.

“Say it,” Tilson Wayne said to Rule. “I want you to say her name so that they all hear it before you die.”

Rule said nothing.

“Bobby?” Wayne said, eyes still on Rule. “Say her name.”

I looked across space at my brother, who was opposite Father Rule now.

“Agnes
Macaulay
.” 

Wayne put his hand out flat, palm up, fingers spread. I placed the Crucifix of Ardincaple back in his grip. He walked toward Father Rule.

“
This
, is my destiny,” he told the demon priest. “YOU are my destiny.”

Wayne stepped between Jax and Rule.

“No,” Rule said. “You’re wrong.”

The monster rushed him, and just as Wayne was about to cut him down, Rule ducked, sliding along the hard ground, then sprang back up to his feet and kept running, straight toward my brother.

Realization hit me like a locomotive.

“NO,” I screamed as Rule threw open his arms and caught Jax, lifting him into the air and running them both off the edge of the cliff, down into three thousand feet of terminal night.

I ran to the edge, out of my mind.

My brother was gone.

There was nowhere for the two of them to have landed—nowhere but for several thousand feet below.

There was no more sound. I couldn’t speak. The demon hordes had retreated back to the bowels of Hell from where they came. It was as if time had frozen—I wasn’t sure I ever wanted it to begin again. Then I remembered Amanda. I spun around and she was on her feet, tears streaming down her ashen face.

But she was alive.

And my girls were safe.

Relief washed over me. I felt something—the presence of God? Whatever it was, for the first time in over a year I could see my future on the horizon, and I could see hope.

But then came a crushing sorrow on my heart. The recognition of the sacrifice I’d made; the enormous cost of my future.

A future in which I would never see my brother again.

MEYER RECOVERED fully. Amanda was transported to Kootenai Medical Center in Coeur d’Alene. The doctors there ran a slew of tests on her and the babies. All seemed well. After a few days, she, too, was released, and the three of us drove back to Denver.

I did see Tilson Wayne one more time. I had taken Tina and Sketch to the dog park near our home. I was sitting on a bench, throwing a ball while the two of them made a game out of stealing it from each other.

“Things are good again,” Wayne said, suddenly appearing next to me. He looked younger, a version of him in his twenties, perhaps. Another part of his life he’d never know.

“I was wondering if I would see you again,” I told him.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s funny,” I said. “In life, I had not reached out to Jax in
years
. How can a person who was no longer a part of my life leave such an enormous void?”

“You were kidding yourself to think he wasn’t part of you any longer.”

“I suppose so.”

“How are they coping—his family, I mean?”

“It’s a nightmare for them. I think Trish is going to move the girls to Maine. Back with her family. There is too much sorrow and too many unanswerable questions in Idaho.”

“For you, too.”

“I’ve learned not to ask questions when I know there aren’t any answers that will do.”

“I told you once that the game is never over.”

“You didn’t have to tell me.”

“You knew it already.”

“You forget that I am a detective.”

“I came back because I wanted to thank you,” Wayne said.

“Thank me?”

“My purpose has finally been fulfilled. I can be at peace now. You were a big part of that.”

“Only because I failed. It was the failure of my own faith that caused all of this. My brother died because of it.”

 “No. You said it yourself: you are a detective. You know there’s a bigger picture here.”

“I
do
realize that, Tilson. But honestly, it doesn’t help me feel less culpable.”

“I understand. But I thank you anyway.”

“You are welcome, ghost.”

“Love those daughters of yours, Bobby Mac.”

Then the sun glared in my eyes and he was gone.

Before I had time to consider what he’d said, my cell phone rang in my pocket.

“Macaulay,” I answered.

“Detective.”

“Who is this?”

“How soon you forget. I thought we were friends.”

“Grant?”

“Call me Spence.”

“How did you get this number?”

“You’re in the police computer.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“They didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m sorry about your brother. He was a good man.”

“Where are you, Spence?”

“I needed to get away from Idaho for a while. Thought I would check out Denver. Such a nice town. And big.”

“Your daughter…”

“With me,” Spence said. “There’s still a bigger plan afoot.”

“How did you get out?”

“Come on, Mac. It was like Mayberry RFD up there.”

“Meet me somewhere, Spence. Just me. We can talk this out.”

“I’ll be in touch, Mac. Say hello to your lovely girlfriend for me.”

And he disconnected.

I sat there in stunned silence.

Spence Grant had escaped. He had Melissa.

Sketch brought me the ball. He stared at me expectantly, no greater care in the world, just a red ball and a majestic Colorado morning. His sister waited a few steps behind, tongue hanging, tail wagging.

Closing my eyes, I banished all the evil thoughts from my mind. I was just Bobby Mac. A man and his dogs. I opened my eyes and threw the ball as hard as I could across the dewy, glistening grass. Two rooster tails of water sprayed the air as the dogs ran to catch up.

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R.S. Guthrie has been writing fiction for several years.
Black Beast
  is the first in the series of
Detective Bobby Mac Thrillers
centered in Denver, Colorado.

L O S T
  is the second book in the popular Paranormal Mystery-Thriller series. Guthrie is writing a third book in the
Detective Bobby Mac Thrillers
,
Reckoning
.

Guthrie finished his magnum opus—the first in the
James Pruett Mystery Series
, set against the backdrop of contemporary Wyoming (where the author spent much of his childhood), entitled
Blood Land
. The story takes place in a fictional town in his home state and was published in 2012.

The second in the series,
Money Land
, was published in late 2012 and the third,
Honor Land
, has an expected release in the spring of 2013.

The author currently lives in Colorado with his beautiful wife, Amy, three Australian Shepherds, and a Chihuahua who thinks she is a forty-pound Aussie. It is a widely known fact that the canines rule the Guthrie household.

You can visit R.S. Guthrie at his author website (
http://www.rsguthrie.com
), his blog
Rob on Writing (Or…)
(
http://robonwriting.com
), or at his author charity showcase:
Read a Book, Make a Difference
website (
http://RABMAD.com
).