>
PROTECTED
Marcus V. Calvert
Copyright © 2012 Marcus Calvert
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.
The Publisher makes no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. Neither the publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any commercial damages.
2012-10-25
Dedication
To those who had a hand in this twisted thing being written (living or not), I thank you.
To anyone reading this piece of my life’s dream, I salute you.
Enjoy.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Ed Buchanan (my editor) for his expertise and blunt-force candor. I’d also like to thank Lincoln Adams (my cover artist) for his time, patience, and wicked-awesome skill. Thank you both, friends.
Also, I’d like to thank anyone brave/curious enough to read my first two books. It means a lot to me.
PENNIES FROM HELL
Father Theo Willard Tolson popped a lemon cough drop as he waited in the bank’s long, Friday evening line. At forty-nine, he was tall and broad-shouldered, with an honest, friendly face that made him look more like a farmer than a holy man. His black shoes, black cotton slacks, and red turtleneck sweater complemented his buttoned-down blue coat. His grayish-brown hair was jumbled, a consequence of passing through the strong Baltimore winds. Bothered more by his sinuses than by how his hair looked, Tolson stood with a stoic patience gained from eight years as a teacher at Cristo Rey Jesuit High School. He gently pressed his thick brown glasses closer to his blue eyes and took in his surroundings.
The two-story building was over a century old and had recently been remodeled. Its circular shape, cream-colored walls and gray marble floors gave it a quiet dignity. It even had an old-fashioned circular vault door at the far end of the bank. While currently closed, Tolson guessed that the door was probably four or five feet thick. Always home to a bank, the building had changed hands more than a dozen times since it first opened.
Only a year ago, it was a Bank of America branch. Now, it was an 8th National Bank & Trust. While Father Tolson never heard of them, their low introductory rates and quality service made them something of a local favorite. They impressed some of the Cristo Rey staff so much that the school opened multiple accounts. This was Tolson’s first time here and it was his last errand of the day.
Once he was out of here, the padre had every intention of taking some cold medicine before passing out in his warm bed. Grading three classes’ worth of midterms, performing two masses, and running multiple errands for the Alumni Committee had left Tolson dead-tired. Tomorrow’s schedule would be just as unforgiving. Bored with the slow-moving line, he began to size up everyone in the bank, one-by-one.
Tolson had developed this ability over two decades as a priest and language instructor. He had taught Latin, French, and Spanish in different schools around the world. His talent for sizing up classes allowed him to ferret out the troublemakers early on. Then he’d try to convince them it was better to work than goof off. With a quick glance, he could tell who was doing what and why with an eerie degree of accuracy. Whenever Father Tolson had to wait in public places, he loved to practice making intuitive assessments.
After a few minutes of observation, he noticed that two of the five bank tellers present were dating each other. The “goo-goo” eyes they occasionally slipped one another implied that the relationship was new, fiery, and secret. The male handled transactions like a seasoned pro, with expensive tastes in clothing that clashed with his mediocre appearance and thinning black hair.
But his lady counterpart – a twentysomething blonde with lovely curves – wasn’t quite so quick with her customers. Father Tolson pegged her as a new hire. The wedding band on the man’s finger was probably why they were dating on the sly. The three remaining tellers struck him as veterans who didn’t give him any interesting clues about their lives.
Tolson’s eyes strayed over to the large, uniformed guard at the door.
A black male in his apparent early thirties, he was easily 6’3” with the build of a steroid user. Tolson had never seen a rent-a-cop in such good shape. A blue-and-black uniform barely fit his well-muscled frame. In Tolson’s experience, the average guard was supplied by a mediocre security firm and paid very little money to work long hours with worse benefits. Most of them weren’t young or fit.
This one lacked the bored expression of a stationary bank guard. This one looked around with a dead-serious intensity, as if he was a Secret Service agent or something. Tolson tried to size him up. Ex-military, perhaps? Or a new hire who hadn’t yet realized how boring his job was? The priest couldn’t tell. Father Tolson, however, could sense something wrong about the guard … something that worried him.
The man had no shadow.
On a bright, October evening, the guard stood in full daylight and cast absolutely no shadow whatsoever! A pregnant woman entered past him and gave off a full-bellied shadow, as did the two customers who followed her in. The guard met Tolson’s gaze and the priest discreetly averted his eyes. Then, the Jesuit turned his head back toward the bank tellers. No shadows from them either! He eyed the people in line behind him. Their shadows were just fine.
Tolson sighed, took a mental step back, and wondered if he was just seeing things. He hoped that it was his tired eyes or a side-effect of his sinus infection. As the line moved forward, he moved with it. When it stopped, he stopped. The Jesuit closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he re-opened them and looked around.
Nothing had changed. He saw what he saw before. But this time, Tolson noticed something new. A young woman, who just cashed her check, headed for the door. As she left, Tolson’s eyes ran over her. Before she conducted her transaction, she had a shadow. Now she lacked one. Otherwise, her expression and movements were perfectly normal.
An absurd theory formed in his mind. What if the bank tellers were stealing people’s shadows, under the guise of regular bank transactions? But what value would someone’s shadow have? Two people were in line ahead of him. Tolson decided to escape this bank and never come back. He began to exit the line, only to realize that he couldn’t move!
It was as if someone else had taken over his body and brushed his will aside. Of its own accord, Tolson’s head turned back toward the huge guard – who simply grinned his way. The shadowless guard wagged his right index finger from side-to-side as if to say “naughty-naughty.” There was one customer in line ahead of him. Like a helpless puppet, Father Tolson pulled out a white envelope full of alumni checks. He then pulled a deposit slip from his left trouser pocket, while fighting to scream at the poor souls behind him to run for their lives.
“I can take you over here,” the new girl called out cheerfully.
Tolson walked over
