Grievous Angels

Grievous Angels

By Brian C. Poole

Copyright © 2013 by Brian C. Poole

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is license for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you.

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover photography copyright ©2013 OLS Photography by Odeh L. Stevens, used with permission.

Cover design by Brandi Doane/eBook Cover Designs

Dedicated to the memory of my father, Henry J. Poole.

Chapter One

The frigid wind blew off Puget Sound and cut through the gaps in the cramped wooden cabin that Stella Moretti shared with her young son. The lines around Stella’s mouth hardened into a grimace as she stared into the darkness from the front porch, pulling her sweater tight around her.

She carelessly pulled a strand of limp hair from her face, its natural dark color prematurely streaked with a grey that matched the creases on her face, lines that seemed excessive for a woman barely in her thirties. Her eyes receded into pits of blackness as she scanned the ever darkening sky, the wind rattling her gaunt figure. With a last scan of the horizon, Stella turned and walked into the cabin, securing the deadbolt on the door behind her.

James sat curled in a battered armchair in the small living room, his face buried in a dog-eared paperback. Only seven, James already preferred the company of books to almost anything else, driven largely by mother and son’s isolation. Stella provided all the schooling he received and his time outside the cabin was limited and strictly supervised. His dusty brown hair and light complexion were a constant reminder to Stella of James’ father, a man she was sure hated her, because he didn’t understand why she’d made the choices she had.

Stella couldn’t explain the sensation that gnawed at the pit of her stomach or the tension that suffused her limbs. She’d sit for a moment, then pop up, glancing out the window or standing in the middle of the room, cocking her ears to catch something, though quite what even she wasn’t sure. Her fingers picked at the cuffs of her sweater, as she’d fret by the window a little more, then briefly retake a seat. James paid no attention to his mother’s nervous wandering. He rarely did.

Stella planted herself next to the front window, peering into the dimness through the gap in the blinds. Her eyes focused on a shadow that seemed to move unnaturally, gradually taking shape and gliding slowly nearer. Stella swallowed a violent gulp of air and turned stonily to her heedless son.

James, she said in a throaty whisper that barely roused his attention. James, listen to me.

Frowning, James peeked above the pages of his book, his cool eyes defying his mother to read any emotion in them.

You have to go to the hiding place, she said quietly, with as much calm as she could muster. Now.

Why?

Don’t backtalk, just do what I tell you, she said. Go now and don’t come out, no matter what you hear. Understand?

James nodded, his eyes widening slightly as fear spread across his mother’s face like a map of creases and shadows.

Mom?

I love you, sweetie, she said, quickly crossing the faded rug and embracing him briefly. Now go.

James pulled back an area rug and Stella pushed a button on the wall that looked like any other knot in the rustic wood; it opened a hidden trapdoor that was seamless to the naked eye. The trapdoor opened into a cramped crawlspace with little air and no light. James shot a worried look at his mother, whose pleading expression urged him into the hole. He climbed in, pulling the trapdoor shut behind him. Stella quickly replaced the rug.

Stella pulled a tiny cellular phone from the pocket of her sweater and punched in a number. The phone rang only once and she didn’t wait for a greeting once she’d connected.

They’re here, we’re in the Puget Sound house. Send help. She ended the call, flicked the phone shut and shoved it back into her pocket. It didn’t matter if anyone found the phone, they would be unable to trace the number she’d dialed to its source, cloaked as it was in layers of routing and electronic dead ends.

Stella crossed back to the window, her acute hearing picking up a rustling outside the cabin. She peered outside again, trying to detect a sign of approach when the rear door of her cabin shattered, riveting her attention as her front door burst off its hinges. Stella ran to the middle of the room, her vision darting one way, then another, as black-clad figures poured in through the two doors, trapping her in the middle of the small building.

Who are you? she demanded, her eyes shifting back and forth along the circle of a dozen silent figures surrounding her. What do you want?

You know what we want, Stella, a deep voice said from her porch. A man clad in black fatigues, his face obscured by a full mask, strolled inside and broke through the circle that surrounded the wild-eyed woman.

Go to hell, Stella hissed.

Eventually, the man said. Where’s James?

I don’t know, she said, her eyes fixed and unyielding.

I don’t believe you, the man sighed, pulling back his mask to reveal handsome features, capped by a shock of jet black hair. You wouldn’t not know where he is.

The St. Annes took him, she said. They didn’t tell me where.

And left you here alone? I find that hard to believe.

They said they needed to take him on a retreat, that there was no place for me there.

Another dark-clad figure entered the house and walked to the man in the center.

There’s no sign of him.

The leader nodded and said Fan your team out further before turning back to Stella. He offered a smile that revealed perfect, gleaming teeth and then knocked her to the ground with a vicious backhand.

Tell us where he is, the man sighed, barely raising his voice.

I don’t know, Stella choked, sprawling on the faded rug, blood trickling into her mouth from her split lip.

Her tormenter nodded affably and then drove his steel-toed boot into the side of her head, opening a nasty gash. Stella crumpled onto her side, holding a hand to her throbbing temple, trying to stem the flow of blood.

This is so unnecessary, the man said evenly. Just tell me where he is.

He’s gone, the St. Annes…

He kicked her in the mouth before she could finish her lie. Tears streamed down her cheek, but she choked back the scream that was trying to escape her ravaged throat.

There are much worse things we could do to you, he said, kneeling down, gripping Stella’s hair and yanking her head upward until they were facing one another.

From his hiding place, James heard every word, every blow and every muffled cry of pain. Everything in him wanted to burst forth from his place of concealment, but his mother had made him swear he would never disobey her. And as brave as James wanted to be, fear kept him immobile, silent and rooted to his spot.

Above the floor, the leader of the small band watched with dispassion as his men took turns raining blows down on Stella, who resolutely refused to cry or talk. In a strange way, he admired her. His lieutenant returned from outside.

We’ve searched a five-mile perimeter and found nothing. We’ve discovered no hiding areas attached to or near the house. The boy isn’t here.

He nodded and walked over to Stella, bloodied, dazed and limply dangling in the grips of two of her tormenters.

Last chance, he said to her.

She wouldn’t even look at him.

He sighed and took her face in her hands, forcing her to look up at him. You’ve caused us quite a bit of trouble. Finding you has been beyond difficult and now you won’t tell us where James is. It’s so pointless.

With a quick movement of his hands, he snapped her neck. Stella’s body slumped to the floor as the life fled it.

Stella’s murderer headed for the door, his unit following him. They hiked to their vehicles down the road, climbed aboard and drove off into the night.

James wasn’t sure how long he waited to emerge from his hiding place after the sounds stopped. He knew he was supposed to wait until his mother told him to come out, but the anticipation was too much. He tripped the mechanism that unlocked the trapdoor and pushed it upward, struggling against the rug until it opened. James climbed out into the dark room and saw his mother lying on the floor.

James crawled over to her and grazed his fingers along her cheek. She felt cool and wouldn’t respond to his touch. He didn’t make a sound but crawled up next to his mother and let tears quietly glide down his cheeks.

At first he assumed the ringing was part of some rather dull dream, but the third buzz of the cellular telephone on his bedside table pulled Ben Callahan back to the world of bleary consciousness. He fumbled a hand to the receiver while Lindsay Elliot stirred beside him.

Hello, he croaked out, pulling himself over on his side, cradling the offending appliance. Ben blinked several times, trying to force his eyes open in the dark.

Is this Benjamin Callahan? a cool voice on the other end of the line asked.

Who the hell is this?

You are Mr. Callahan?

Jesus, yes, Ben spat, who the hell are you? It’s after one.

I apologize, Mr. Callahan, it’s a bit earlier where I am. My name is Roland Diaz, I’m a detective with the Seattle police department.

Seattle? Ben asked, his mind still straining to force its way toward organized thought. He flicked on the dim lamp on the bedside table, as Lindsay’s eyes fluttered open next to him.

It’s about your son.

Ben bolted upright, the sheet falling off his bare chest.

You’ve found James?

Yes, sir, we…

How is he?

Physically unharmed, but not very communicative. We…

Where did you find him? How?

He was at a small cabin on Puget Sound. He dialed ‘911’ on his mother’s phone and the local unit found them. They transferred him here when it became clear they couldn’t establish who he was.

I don’t understand, what did his mother tell you? Lindsay was fully awake beside him now, sitting up and trying to pick up what she could of the conversation.

I’m afraid his mother wasn’t able to tell us anything. We found her body in the cabin, there’d been a break-in…

But James is unhurt? Ben felt all the oxygen abandon his lungs.

Yes, sir, James didn’t appear to have suffered any physical damage. We have him at a social services facility in downtown Seattle. We ran his photo through the database and found that he was listed as having been abducted by his mother, with contact info for you.

I can’t believe… can I come get him?

We were hoping you could come out, possibly assist the homicide division about his mother’s killing.

Where do I go?

Ben pulled a pen and piece of scrap paper from the drawer of the bedside table and scribbled the address and phone number Detective Diaz relayed, barely bothering to say goodbye before hanging up.

Ben slipped out of bed and pulled an overnight bag out of the closet. Lindsay sat up, watching her naked fiancé grasp the bag and goggle around the room.

They found him? she asked, trying to hold his gaze as he looked about the room.

In Seattle. Stella’s been… killed somehow.

My God…

I can’t believe this, they’ve found him. Two years… I…

Lindsay slipped out of bed and went to the chests of drawers against the wall. She pulled out clothes for herself and Ben. We’re going to need to be dressed to get on a plane, she said gently. An embarrassed smile creased his face.

Sorry, I’m just…

Shock is appropriate, she said, pulling on panties.

You don’t have to…

Where you go, I go.

He smiled, kissed her quickly and began getting dressed.

"You’ve failed me miserably, Drago, the voice hissed from the shadows. The dark haired assassin knelt within a narrow beam of light in the otherwise dark chamber, not moving so much as a facial muscle. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The boy wasn’t there, Drago said quietly.

And yet he turned up in Seattle not an hour after you left the cabin. He was there, but you didn’t find him. After all the trouble we suffered finding that damned woman, you didn’t have the sense to locate a hiding hole?

Drago maintained his equanimity despite his interrogator’s growing violence.

It was an error, he said simply, we searched, but the hole must have been well hidden. The St. Annes are rather skilled in crafting such features, leaving no visible signs of their existence.

Why didn’t you tear the place apart? Burn it to the ground to force the child out? One would think this was your first time in the field!

Drago made no reply, other than to bow his head slightly lower. The other man stepped to the edge of the dim corona surrounding Drago, his grey steel beard and hair framing an unforgiving face with dark eyes that seemed to absorb the light. The cruel lips sneered themselves into a horrifying semblance of a smile.

Fortunately for you I am not without mercy, he finally said, the rancor in his voice abating, the illusion of control frosting a false sheen of benevolence on his words. I know that you will not fail me again. The child is the key to everything, you know this, you of all people. You know how close we finally are, after so long. It’s all coming together, but without the boy…

I will get him for you, Drago said, finally lifting his face and meeting the pitiless gaze of his master. Have no doubt, I will get him.

Derek Saither considered his acolyte a moment, nodded and motioned for him to rise. Drago stood and his master put his hands on Drago’s shoulder.

If I’m angry, it’s only because I’ve come to rely on you above all others. I know you will bring him to me. Now leave me, I have much to do.

Drago nodded, slipped out of his master’s embrace and melted into the shadows behind him.

"It’s been two years since I’ve seen him, Ben Callahan said, his fingers drumming against his hip as he stood in the middle of the corridor of a downtown Seattle precinct. Two years…"

Lindsay Elliot said nothing, but sat on a bench close by as Ben paced in front of her, addressing his comments to Detective Diaz.

What happened? Diaz prodded.

I’m not really sure, Ben admitted. Stella and I, we… we were never really a couple. We were study partners in law school and it just… happened. Things were fine at first, but as James grew older she got more and more obsessed with church and with some conviction that she was protecting James from something. I thought maybe it had something to do with Lindsay and I getting engaged, but she swore it was something else. She tried to explain it, but she’d verge off into something that was ridiculous and I’d lose patience and… it just was tense for a while before she disappeared with him. No word, no note, nothing to tell me where she’d gone, where she’d taken James, if he was ok. I’ve spent two years looking for them, sick out of my mind.

From what I’ve been able to ascertain, James seems fine physically, though very quiet.

He found his dead mother, Ben snapped. Of course he’s quiet.

Ben… Lindsay soothed. Movement down the hall caught their eyes and they saw a prim woman in grey suit leading forward a boy who moved with obvious hesitation. Lindsay stood as Ben surged forward a bit, his eyes impossibly wide as he drank in the sight of his son.

James, he said, careful not to raise his voice. James looked up and recognition played across his blank features. James took a few tentative steps toward his father, until Ben could wait no longer and rushed down the hall, dropping to one knee as he pulled James to him, fighting back tears. James acquiesced to his father’s hug, but said nothing.

Are you alright? Ben asked, pulling back and looking the boy over. James offered a barely