Crossroads Shadowland (10 page)

"Martin, what the hell are you up to?"

"If I were you, faggot, I'd
keep my mouth shut. Ringo's got an itchy
trigger finger and no telling when that snub-nose might go
off."

Rand snuck his hand around
the door handle and thought about his
options. The tires just swallowed the last block of suburbia
and nothing but a
row of abandoned
warehouses came into view.

A dilapidated street sign
flashed for a brief moment,
Industrial
Park
.
Might have
been industrial at one time, but the buildings had seen better
days
decades ago. Whatever Martin and his
bone-headed sidekick had in mind
didn't
bode well for him.

"I wouldn't try for that
door. Ringo will drop you before your shoulder
clears."

"What the hell do you
want?" Rand struggled to keep his voice calm. "If
you're looking for money, I got some bad news for
you."

"Money?" From the back seat, Ringo's
laughter rang out.

The car veered left and
came to a halt at the back entrance of a brick
structure, its metal door partially ripped from the
hinges.

Desolate. Deserted. Not a soul in sight.

Rand heard the back door of the car open
simultaneously with Martin's.

"Get out," Ringo said. "Oh,
you won't be needing that shoulder bag anymore."
Just like in the movies, Rand's life flashed
before him as he exited the
vehicle and
waited for their next move. Martin led the way into a
warehouse
that looked like it served as a
shelter for homeless people now. Not surprising
after Katrina's destruction several years ago.

An odious stench permeated
the empty room, rancid food, and the rank
smell of humans who hadn't benefited from a shower in ages.
Empty pallets
lined the walls, with more
scattered throughout. Vandals had been at play
here.

Daylight streamed through a
narrow block of smashed windows and
sections of wooden floor planks had been ripped out, no doubt
burned to
provide heat. Several
mattresses, thin and flea-infested, sat in one corner of
the room, more evidence transients had passed
through at some time. A leaky roof with stains bigger than mud
puddles caught his gaze when he looked up. Right now, the room
emanated heat like a furnace, but it could be the result of fear
wracking his body.

A surge of adrenaline
coursed though Rand's blood and his palms broke
out in a cold sweat when Martin snatched an electrical cord
from the floor and
took up a position
behind him. His shoulders groaned in pain when his wrists were
bound and his body dragged backwards toward a cement
pillar.

"This should do," Martin said.

Ringo set the gun on the
floor and advanced, his heinous grin preceding
the blow he delivered to his face. At the last second, Rand
instinctively turned
his head and took a
closed fist to the cheek. Pain shot into his brain and for a
minute his world spun.

"Cock-sucking faggot."
Martin's words wound through his dazed mind.
So that's what this was about? "Where's your hard-ass lover
now?"

Rand dragged his chin
around and looked Martin in the eye. "I don't
need a hard-ass against pussies like you." His knee jerked
upward and out and
caught Martin's groin
head-on. He tumbled to the floor, clutched his balls and
groaned like a sick calf.

Ringo charged like an
enraged ball, pummeling his face with both fists.
Bones cracked and warm, salty blood poured from
his nose and trickled into
his mouth. Rand
fought to remain conscious against the enveloping darkness.
They meant to kill him, he knew that now,
wouldn't dare to leave a witness.

Through a mind-numbing fog,
he saw Martin clamber to his feet. He
limped toward him, his contorted face a mask of hate. "No one
will ever find
you, and if they do it'll
be too late you sorry piece of shit."

Garbled words fell from
Rand's mouth. "Maybe not, but make no
mistake McGuire will find you."

A rib snapped and the
breath flew from his lungs after a series of
punches to his torso. He prayed he'd lapse into
unconsciousness…or die soon. Black lights converged and a gurgling
rasp spewed from his chest.
Choking, he
was choking on his own blood.

A white beacon swept over
the room. Ah, the angels had come at last. Through one eye he
watched an expression of shock cross Ringo's face, and
Martin's raised fist stopped in mid-air. Naked
fear passed through the man's
eyes as he
focused on an unknown entity over Rand's shoulder.

Feet shuffled and then the
sound of panicked screams running from the
building echoed around Rand. He felt a presence, unknown,
vague and
compassionate. "Too late, but
thank you for coming," his swollen lips ground
out. "Sorry, Frank," he whispered and felt his chin fall to
his chest.

Chapter Seven

Malevolence rode the wind.
Frank smelled the musty, rank scent when
the cab pulled up to the front gate of Lafayette and he
stepped into the night.

Sister Francoise slipped
out the back door of the LX10, her bold exit
bolstering his flagging courage. "I knew you could do it,
Frank." She looked up
at the full moon
chasing the stars across the sky and then glanced at the taxi
as
it pulled away. "Where is
Rand?"

Frank shifted his weight from one hip to the
other and stammered. "He- he took a flight back to Baltimore."

She searched his face, her
voice quiet. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll pray he
returns safely."

"Valmont said I have one
chance." Frank extended his arm with the
flashlight, an indication she should lead the way to Doucet's
grave. "Tell me
the words I have to recite
to grant him peace."

"How good is your Latin?'

Lighting their path with
the flashlight in one hand, Frank scratched his
head with the other. "Latin?"

"Uh-huh," she said with a nod.

"Tell me the words and I'll memorize them
before..."

The wind picked up and a
stream of clouds smothered the moon. A roar
louder than a freight train whipped through the cemetery.
Frank looked down
and realized they'd
arrived at Valmont's broken tombstone.

Out of the corner of his
eye, Frank saw Sister Francoise unclasp the
cross about her neck. With outstretched arms, she held it
before her
.
"Now
hang on a minute Sister. I
never agreed to
send you into that black portal."

"Frank―"

"I can't hear you Sister, wind is too loud.
But you can hear me, right? I took on this job. I get paid to do
this. It would be unethical to say nothing of immoral to send you
in."

"He'll listen to me. And God will be
traveling with me."

Frank shook his head. "I'm
going in and you'll wait here until I
return with Brent and Charlie."

She closed her eyes and
shook her head. "You said yourself we have only
one chance."

"Yes, and I'm taking that chance, not
you."

Behind the grave the portal
widened and groaned. A wild swirl of matter and debris
Frank assumed came from the gates of purgatory
blew forth. Above them, the clouds
moved
on and illuminated the cross in the Sister's hand in brilliant hues
of metallic
gold.

Her voice stern, her stance
confident, she turned her head briefly and
looked at him. "Stand aside, Frank, you don't want to piss
off a Sister of the
Order."

He would have laughed had the situation been
any less dire.

Forward she marched, the
cross shining like a beacon, her face lit by the
grace of God. "Damn," Frank said under his
breath. "Maybe my sorry ass is
redeemable."

Minutes ticked by while
Frank wore out a path in the overgrown weeds
and grass at his feet. How long did it take to commend one's
soul he
wondered? What if he never saw
Sister Francoise again? The thought made
his stomach roil, his heart wrench.

He hadn't spoken directly
to the boys' parents today, but left a vague
message he'd be tied up with a hot lead and would contact
them this evening,
no matter the time. He
pivoted at the end of his path, checked his watch with
the flashlight and patted his chest when his
heart flopped like a catfish tossed
on
shore. Shit, the Sister had gone through the portal twenty minutes
ago.
What if he had to phone the parents
with the horrific news that the hot lead turned out to be the worst
lead of his life?

If roles were reversed and
he'd gone through the gateway, the Sister
wouldn't be pacing. She'd be on her knees praying to the
Almighty. He couldn't
bring himself to
drop to the ground.

Rand's face floated before
him in a rush of angry words. What the hell had he said to him?
Something like if you can't live with it, don't let the door
hit you in the ass. . . or similar off-the-cuff
words spoken in anger. Had he lost
his
fucking mind? He couldn't live without Rand, not in New Orleans,
not in
Baltimore, not anywhere on
earth.

Another ten minutes passed
and Frank rethought his decision to kneel.
Maybe he could ask for help for the boys' sake, for the
Sister's sake. The
portico had closed the
moment she stepped through it. If it hadn't, he would
have taken things into his own hands and plowed
through, mule-headed sister or not. Rand's words tripped through
his mind.
'
You know
what your fucking problem is? You think you're an
island.'

"No, I don't, Rand. I'm not
an island. I'm not even a mud pool without
you."

Overhead, the trees
whistled and groaned. Frank spun around and
squinted through the darkness. The vague outline of an inky
hole appeared
and then expanded as Frank
stumbled toward it. Three forms the same height
appeared, but Frank couldn't make out their faces. Golden
light burned his
eyes.

He wasn't aware he'd been
holding his breath until he saw the cross,
heard her voice. "Please phone Brent and Charlie's parents
and tell them their boys are safe and sound."

"You did it, Sister!" He
rushed forward and lifted her off her feet with a
bear hug. "You did it!"

Beside her, the boys rubbed
their eyes, fell to the ground and clawed at
the grass as if they couldn't believe they'd returned. "Of
course, Frank. Did you
doubt
it?"

He set her on her feet and
cupped her face in his hands. "Nah, a little
bird once told me with God all things are
possible."

* * * * *

Frank accepted the ride Sister Francoise
offered from the cemetery. She rode in the passenger seat next to
her driver, and Frank in the back seat with Charlie and Brent. The
LX10 sped toward the Burrough household where the Chambers would be
waiting.

Soon he'd close the file on
this case, but the specifics would remain with
him forever. In the months ahead, other children would show
up missing.
Frank would sit across from
the as yet unknown, heartsick parents at a
kitchen table in small town or mammoth metropolis America,
and try to
reassure them he'd do his best
to bring their abducted kids home.

"Mr. McGuire?"

"Yeah, Charlie."

"I know the Sister said
he's at rest now, but I want to pay for fixing his
grave."

"That would be nice. It
would also be nice if you could come to terms with saying his name
one day." Frank looked out the window, the lights of
New Orleans flashing by in rapid succession.
"Valmont. . . Valmont Doucet."

"I stomped on his headstone," Brent said.
"Charlie tried to stop me."

"Well, it's behind us now
and best for all concerned if we looked ahead
to a bright future." Frank chuckled. "I mean the alternative
couldn't have been
much
bleaker."

Charlie leaned forward.
"Second house on your left, and damn, I'm
happy--"

Sister Francoise turned
sharply and gave him the infamous nun evil eye.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sure glad to see my
house."

Through the open doorway,
the smiles on their parents' faces spoke volumes and confirmed in
Frank's mind that the risks taken to retrieve the
boys were worth every minute.