The Paladin (7 page)

"Lived here long?" Zack asked.

"A few months," she said. "Ever since my fiancée, Justin, passed away."

"Was that the guy you hooked up with after Will lost his money?"

"Umm, how is Sara?" asked Brenda ignoring a painful detour in the conversation. "I haven't seen her in years."

"Mean and ornery, like always. By the way, she told me about the restraining order you got against Will. Brenda, none of this makes any sense. If you didn't want him around, why give him a memorial?"

"It's complicated," she said settling on the sofa. "It was Daddy who took out that order, not me. I have always loved Will."

"Look, Brenda, let's cut the shit. What do you want?

Brenda rose from the couch, "Can I get you a drink? Water, soda…anything?"

"I'm out of here," he said rising to his feet.

"Zack, you can't go!" she exclaimed.

"Watch me."

Brenda leaped at Zack and wrapped her arms about him.

"What the hell?" he said.

Brenda covered his lips with hers.

Sure, he hadn't seen her in years; sure, he blamed her for coming between him and his best friend; however, he was never one to let an opportunity for sex with a gorgeous doll like Brenda get away. She was soft and warm and her expensive perfume made his head swim. His questions could wait for later. Much later.

"Let's continue this in the other room," she said softly, taking him by the hand.

The bedroom door was eight feet away. Before they had crossed five, Zack was down to a pair of boxers while Brenda was reduced to a lacy black bra and matching panties.

Zack glanced into Brenda's gorgeous blue eyes, and instead of desire, he saw a look of profound sadness. The look sliced through the fog of lust that had enveloped his mind.

"That's it!" he said letting go of her hand. "What the hell is going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean!" he said as he retrieved his pants from the floor. "I haven't laid eyes on you in years and then low and behold, out of the blue you call me, and then proceed to jump my bones."

"I—I wanted to see you—"

"Bullshit! We both know that I'm not your type. I don't have two cents to rub together."

"It's not what you think…I…it's just that…"

Tears welled up in her eyes and suddenly she began to cry uncontrollably.

"Oh God! This isn't fair," he said. Zack could not stand to see a woman cry.

Moving away from the bedroom door, Zack guided her back to the couch. He went into the small kitchenette and brought back a glass of water and a box of tissues.

"Thanks," she said accepting the water.

Zack sat beside her and crossed his arms, "So, what's up?"

"It's bad, Zack, real bad." Brenda said wiping her eyes. "I need your help and Daddy thought that—"

"Your daddy's behind this?" he yelled. "Then whatever it is, the answer is no. Hell no!"

Zack pulled on his shirt wrong side out and retrieved his pants.

"Zack, please, they have my momma."

"What?"

"Momma's been kidnapped. They beat up Daddy and trashed his office. They said he only had a few days or they would kill her."

Zack was stunned. "I ain’t the law, and like I said before, I ain't got two cents to rub together."

"That's the thing, they don't want money."

"What do they want?"

Still dabbing her eyes, Brenda rose from the sofa and went into the bedroom. She returned shortly with a photograph and handed it to Zack.

"I don't understand," he said. "It's a picture of that bastard, Silas."

"Behind him, on the mantle; the white jar. That's what they want."

"You're kidding me. They kidnapped someone over a stupid jar?"

"That's what Daddy told me," she said. "Maybe it's valuable…I don't know. I just want my momma back. Will you please help me?"

"What about Will's memorial? Is it just a hoax too?"

"No, it's real. Daddy said that was the kidnapper's idea. It was meant to lure you here."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" he said. "Do you think so little of me that you thought you had to screw me before I would help you?"

"I didn't want to. It was Daddy's idea. I guess he figured because of the bad blood between us that we had to smooth things over first."

"That does sound like his greasy reasoning. Get him on the phone. I want to talk to him."

Brenda retrieved a small pink cell phone and hit a speed dial. Zack took the phone before the connection was made.

***

John Mills was unlocking the door to his office when his phone began to chime, "How Great Thou Art." He smiled when the caller ID showed that it was Brenda.

"Well, that didn't take too long," Mills said into the phone. "Guess his stamina wasn't up to snuff. I hope it wasn't too disgusting."

"Disgusting hell, were engaged!" said Zack. "Does this mean I can call you
Daddy
?"

"Wha—wha—Zack, I— I—"

"Look here, you sleazy bastard, Brenda told me a wild cock-and-bull story, but I wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth, or in this case, the horse's ass."

"Now, son, there's no need to be rude—"

"The hell there isn't! Now get to explaining, and you had better be convincing or I'm going back to Georgia."

"OK, OK, just don't do anything rash. Some thugs have kidnapped my wife, and they said if I went to the police they would kill her. Son, they want that canister and they want it bad."

"It doesn't make a damn bit of sense," said Zack. "What is so important about that jar?"

"I don't know and I don't care. They have my Eve, don't you understand? Why else would I corrupt my own daughter if I wasn't desperate?

Mills smiled in spite of himself. He could think of a dozen things offhand he would corrupt Brenda for.

"OK. I'll see what I can do," Zack said.

"I don't know how to thank you."

"Give Will a nice send off."

Mills started to speak but Zack had hung up. Tossing his phone on the desk, he began to laugh. "Thank you, Zack Cole, for being just as stupid as my dear daughter."

***

Zack clicked off the pink phone and handed back to Brenda.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"First thing—and I can't believe I am saying this—put on your clothes, we're going to take a drive."

"Where to?"

"To see the only person who might possibly know where that damn jar might be."

"Who?" she asked.

"We have to see, Sara."

7

Four streets east of Sara's house, Harold White turned his Mercedes down a hedge-lined avenue. Although he was at the center of the small picturesque town, the white columned house sat isolated, free from prying eyes.

He pulled into the long, narrow driveway that ended at a small white garage.

Looking to his left, he noticed Mrs. Anderson sitting at a small table, shuffling a deck of cards.

Harold slid his Sig Sauer free and checked the magazine. Shoving the pistol into the fitted holster, he opened the car door and stepped out.

Moving to the rear of the vehicle, he quickly and efficiently extracted John Beck's wheelchair from the trunk. Opening the passenger door, he reunited Beck with his chair.

"Thank you, Mr. White," said Beck as he settled himself. "I'll take it from here."

Dana Kirby adjusted her skirt and followed closely behind.

"Why, Mr. Beck, what a pleasant surprise," said the elderly woman. "Please, you and your people come join me on the porch."

"Mr. White, stay with the car," said Beck.

Dana visibly paled.

"Sir, please can't Harold come along?"

"There is nothing to fear, Miss Kirby," said Beck.

"Yes, sir."

Harold walked before Beck and Dana to the black iron gate that jutted from the thick, well-manicured hedge.

Made up of odd, vile symbols that, to the unenlightened seemed no more than fanciful artwork, the warm metal gave Harold an involuntary chill when it made contact with his hand. It seemed as if the metal writhed under his hand. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the lever down and pulled the gate open.

As Beck and Dana moved past him into the beautiful garden, Dana paused and looked at Harold. He saw that her beautiful dark eyes were bright with fear.

"I'll be right here if you need me," he whispered.

The garden that Beck and Dana moved through was beautiful in the extreme; however, beauty was not its purpose. Every item, from the curving walkways, to the plants, even the lawn ornaments, made the modest house a spiritual fortress, both concealing and protecting the schoolteacher from those who sought her.

Mrs. Jean Anne Anderson taught fifth grade in the Bryson City School system for thirty-five years before her retirement in 1989. Over that time, her warmth and bright personality made her easily the most popular teacher the city had ever known. At her retirement dinner, hundreds of former students attended to honor the beloved teacher.

Had anyone thought to compare school attendance records with the records of the local mental health facility, they would have been shocked to see that the great majority of her students were violent mental illness cases.

Along with her job in the school system, she also served for the past forty-two years as Sunday school superintendent and fill-in organist at the Pine Crest Baptist Church. Mrs. Anderson had been praised as a pillar of the community and a great servant of God. Mrs. Anderson found the adoration to be hilarious.

While she firmly believed in God, she was as far from a being a Christian as night is from day. To her, God was a hated enemy she would oppose until the day He cast her into the fires of Hell. Mrs. Anderson was an honest to God spell-casting, potion-brewing, evil witch.

***

Mrs. Anderson was dressed in a sleeveless, shapeless flower-print dress. Upon her silver-crowned head sat a wide-brimmed sun hat. The benign-looking elderly woman sat before a small round table covered with a dark red silk cloth. Absorbed as she was with an ancient deck of tarot cards, she didn't look up at Beck and Dana, but motioned for them to take a seat.

"Why, Mr. Beck," said the schoolteacher, "it has been years since you have visited my humble home. I am truly honored. It is a real pleasure to see you as well, Miss Kirby. Beck, is she here to assist you, or is she for me?"

Dana shuddered as Mrs. Anderson gave her a brief, soul-freezing glance.

"Leave her alone, witch," said Beck. "Now, what do you want?"

"The time is at hand," she said. "You must tread carefully if you are to see your beloved
creature
again."

"I have done as you advised and sent Miss Kirby and Mr. White to pay Preacher Mills a visit."

"I wish I could have seen the look on his face," she said. "I'll bet he soiled himself."

"He wasn't happy," said Dana, "but he was more than eager to be of assistance."

"Good. Like tipping the first in a long line of dominoes, you have set into motion the events that will culminate in setting Celeste Beck free."

"At last," Beck said softly.

Mrs. Anderson flipped over an ornate knight card and groaned. "Should have seen that coming," she said as she looked up from her cards.

"What is it," Beck said.

"Be warned, Beck: the Paladin is coming."

"Excuse me?" said Beck. "What are you talking about? Who is the Paladin?"

"Did you think you could just get your wife back without opposition? The one who used Silas Cole to stop you has sent another."

"I was under the impression that Cole acted alone," said Beck. "Why haven't you told me this before?"

"Slipped my mind, I suppose."

"Look here, witch," he said, "the only reason you are walking around free is because of me. I protect and keep you safe, so don't play games with me. Now, who was behind Silas Cole?"

"To be perfectly honest, I don't know; there is too much interference. To be able to hide from me takes an enormous amount of power. All I do know is that he has dispatched his champion to stop you. Beck, you must find the Paladin and kill him. The Paladin is the tip of the spear. Don't hesitate or he will bring destruction to you all."

"So, he is here to kill Mr. Beck?" asked Dana.

"Of course not," she said with a scornful laugh. "Beck is dead already. He has no more than a few months at most. No, the Paladin is here to keep the jinn in the bottle, so to speak. Whether Beck is alive or not, the spawn of the Nephilim will be found."

"Where can I find this Paladin?" asked Beck.

"I don't know. He is too far away."

"Can't you be more specific?" he said. "I hate all this vague voodoo shit."

"That's the best I can do for now. I am done. You may go."

"I am afraid not," said Beck. "You aren’t done by a long shot."

"What do you mean?"

"You have named your own poison, witch. Why should I waste my people running around this God-forsaken town looking for a needle in a haystack when you can do it for us?"

"I neither have the time nor inclination to hunt the Paladin," she said. "He isn't a threat to me."

"My, my, haven't we gotten uppity over the years?" he said. "We both know that I have you by the short hairs and that you are mine. I own you and if you think that my death will bring your release…well, think again. Should this little operation fail, whether your fault, my fault, or no one's fault, I guarantee that those from whom I protect you will know where to find you."

"You wouldn't dare!" she cried.

"We both know the answer to that," said Beck.

Mrs. Anderson sat back in her chair and nervously drummed a finger on the table.

"I need pen and paper," she said at last.

Dana withdrew a legal pad and ballpoint pen from her computer case and placed them on the table. The items flew across the table's surface making Dana jump.

Beck chuckled at the cheap theatrics.

With the pad of paper before her, Mrs. Anderson took the pen in her left hand and placed it point down on the paper, then spun it like a top. Her head lolled backwards and she began chanting quickly, yet softly.