Chapter One
The typical Oregon winter night was dark and stormy. In the patrol car headlights, Tim could see the wind blowing waves of rain across the road in front of him. His windshield wipers were on high and still unable to keep the water from making it almost impossible to see. A voice boomed into the police radio.
“Alpha One. Armed robbery in progress—3472 Main Street. Silent alarm coming from the liquor store.” In the small town of Dallas, there was no need for police jargon that one would typically hear in a big city police car. They used “free speech” radio talk.
Tim grabbed the microphone clipped on his shoulder as he hit the overhead blue and red flashers. “Ten-Four. Alpha One responding. I need backup.”
“Roger, Alpha One. Backup will respond ASAP. Alpha Two is working an injury accident on Hwy. 22. I’ll call over to the Sheriff’s office to see if anyone can help you out,” the radio voice boomed into the speaker.
Tim turned on his siren and cranked the patrol car to the left at the next intersection then toward Main Street. Three blocks before the liquor store, he silenced the siren.
Traffic was very light. Most sane people were home huddled around the fireplace drinking hot chocolate. Only the insane were out on a night like tonight. He doused the overhead lights and clicked off his headlamps as he cruised to a stop alongside the liquor store building. He put on his uniform cap, tore loose the Velcro on the holster holding his service weapon, and slowly opened his car door. He pulled out the Glock pistol, chambered a bullet, and ran to the side of the store.
He lay as flat as he could against the brick wall and slowly inched toward the corner of the building. The rain was unrelenting. He was drenched in a few seconds but felt nothing as the adrenaline rushed through his veins.
As trained to do, he held his revolver in both hands, the cold steel lying vertically along his face just inches from his nose. As Tim inched his way to the corner, he slid the revolver down slightly and carefully stretched his neck around the building toward the front door of the liquor store.
Through the beat of the rain on the building overhang, he heard the door to the liquor store open. He then quickly jerked back his head. He looked around the empty streets and realized no backup was coming. He took two deep breaths and ran out from the safety of the building to confront the suspected armed robber. He ran toward the darkened figure backing out of the storefront.
Tim took mental notes of the subject. About 5’6”, slender build, head covered by a black, hooded sweatshirt. “Police. Hold it right there,” Tim shouted.
The hooded subject turned to see the police officer. Tim yelled again, “Police—freeze.”
The subject raised the gun and pointed it directly at Tim’s face. Tim could see the hole in the end of the barrel and could wait no longer. He shot the subject. Shoot or be shot—just as he was trained to do.
The hood twisted on the subject’s head as he was flung backwards by the impact of Tim’s bullet. The subject’s gun fired—a reflex, no doubt, from being shot. The bullet soared harmlessly out into the night sky as the subject fell to the ground, his gun skidding along the sidewalk.
Tim ran over to the now-stilled body and pulled back the hood that had fallen over most of the perpetrator’s face. The rain had soaked the cotton sweatshirt tight to the subject. Tim peeled the cloth off the face. Staring blankly back at him was the face of a very young man. Too young to even be in a liquor store let alone be robbing one. Tim felt the man’s neck to find a pulse. None. His subject was dead. Tim had shot him in self-defense, but looking at this young face staring back at him would leave an impression Tim would never shake.
After nine months of intense therapy, Tim was given a disability discharge from police service. After 14 years on the Dallas police force, Tim’s career in law enforcement was over. The young man he shot and killed in the liquor store robbery was only 13 years old.
Chapter Two
“Are you ready to go?” Tim whispered into Erin’s ear as she hunched over her computer deleting all the junk email.
“Go?” she asked while putting check marks next to the unwanted garbage on her screen. “Go where? I thought we were staying home today.” Delete—all junk mail now gone.
“Coffee,” he answered.
“Coffee?” she asked. “You want to go into town just for a mocha?”
“Yes,” he quipped. “I need my espresso.”
Erin slowly rose up from her computer, took Tim by the shoulders and pushed him into a soft leather chair, looked him square in the eyes and said, “Tim, we moved out here to the remote wilderness so we could relax, enjoy ourselves, and get you healed up.
“We don’t have to commute to work everyday,” she continued. “We have a beautiful house with this fantastic view,” she said sweeping her arms toward the windows overlooking the beautiful Oregon Mountains. “We should be able to stay home once in awhile just to enjoy this view, don’t you think?”
“OK. I confess. I really wanted to stop at that big barn sale on top of the hill on the way into town. Coffee was just an excuse.”
“Ah yes—a big barn sale on the hill. Why didn’t you just say that? I can be ready in three minutes.”
It was hard for both of them, she knew, to be idle at a young and vibrant age. It was extremely hard to go from running hard to having no place to run at all. The first year they moved into their new mountain retreat, they had plenty to keep them occupied—fixing the house and grounds to suit their needs.
They learned how to live in the country and how much trouble it is to run into town 30 miles to get two screws. Fast food and giving in to spontaneous cravings was not part of their diet anymore as the nearest Taco Bell was a 45-minute drive. They learned how to live with nine feet of rain falling in a nine-month period of time ushered in by 80 mile-an-hour winds. They learned where trouble spots were as roof shingles blew off time after time and barn doors collapsed inward with mighty gusts of wind.
They learned that 4-wheel drive vehicles were a requirement when you have a foot of snow on the ground for a month at a time. But most of all, they learned they really loved one another. They loved being with each other and just enjoyed being together,
The barn sale sign said “Huge Sale Ahead” and they were right. The sale spread inside and outside a huge barn. Tim and Erin perused the outside first and found an ice chest, golf balls, Tupperware containers, and other things they couldn’t live without. They looked at everything inside the barn and had quite a pile of items at the cashier when Erin noticed a corner crammed with used books.
“I have to go through the books, Tim,” she said as she headed to the book corner. Erin collected old books. She had found several books over a hundred years old at these rural junk sales. Erin couldn’t resist an old book even though she was not particularly interested in its content.
Erin slowly read through the piles and boxes of used books with no success. She had nearly given up hope of finding anything for her collection when she spotted a small leather bound book, or booklet is more like it, in the bottom of a box. The leather cover of this booklet snapped shut in the front and was quite unique.
Erin unsnapped her treasure and fanned through the pages. She had no idea what was on those pages—signs and symbols—or something. Her first thought was Hebrew. It must be some kind of a Hebrew missal. Seeing that Tim was impatiently waiting on her, she quickly went to the copyright page and found the date was 1894. That was good enough for her even though she had no idea what was in it.
Erin laid the book on top of their other purchases and Tim asked, “What do you want with that old thing?”
“Part of my collection,” she answered. “I think its Hebrew or something. I don’t have anything like it. I have never seen anything like it.”
When they arrived home, they put away their treasures. Erin laid the little leather bound booklet on a bookshelf, intending to read it later and then promptly forgot about it.
Chapter Three
Erin saw it out the corner of her eye, something black, something not supposed to be there. She stopped her stride in mid-air then slowly lowered her foot to the ground. She turned toward the window. There was a man staring back at her.
A quick assessment of her situation told her something was terribly wrong. The man outside her window never moved. He just stared at Erin through the window. The man was tall, probably over 6 foot, medium build, black suit, a black hat atop a short haircut. He looked to be thirty to thirty-five years of age, Caucasian. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood straight out. She couldn’t get her breath. What should she do?
As they stood looking eyeball-to-eyeball, Erin was wondering where her dog, Rocky, was. Why wasn’t he barking? He always barked at people or vehicles that come onto their property. Then she remembered that Rocky and Tim had gone out into the woods after breakfast to do whatever they do in the woods together. So Erin was alone. No one was around to help her. She quickly tried to decide if she should go out on the porch and ask this stranger what he wanted or arm herself first. She decided to grab a gun for protection. There was something very strange about this situation.
Erin knew Tim had his service 9mm Glock handgun somewhere in his dresser drawers. As if in slow motion, as to not disturb this stranger looking in the window, she proceeded to the bedroom. She quietly opened the drawers one at a time, rummaging through underwear and socks, feeling blindly for Tim’s revolver.
In the third drawer, her hand brushed over the Cordura holster of the Glock. She brought it out and ripped open the Velcro strap that held the gun snuggly in its holster. Erin had never shot this gun before, but she knew you needed to pull back the slide on top of the revolver before shooting. She wasn’t sure how to tell if the gun was loaded, but she assumed it was. She had little time to do anything else. She slipped the gun in the top of her pants and fluffed her sweatshirt around it to make it less conspicuous.
Erin walked past the window again; hoping the man had gone back where he came from. No luck. He was still standing outside the window, looking in at her. She grabbed her cell phone and unlocked the front door, stepping out onto the porch, more confident now that she had this cold, metal gun sticking in her pants, pointed toward her crouch, quite confident it was loaded.
The stranger’s eyes followed Erin to the porch. He didn’t say a word. Erin spoke first, “May I help you?” She tried the polite approach first.
He said only six words; “I am here for the book.”
Those six words sent a chill up Erin’s spine. She was sure fear was showing on her face, so she decided to talk boldly to make it seem like she was in charge and he was the intruder, which was really the situation, so she gathered up her courage and raised her voice.
“A book? Look, you creep,” Erin tried to sound really tough. “You are trespassing on private property. By the way, my gate is locked, how did you get in?” She looked over her shoulder and saw no car. She knew what he was about to say.
“My car is parked at your gate. I climbed over and walked in,” he said in a monotone voice. “I want to cause you no harm. Just give me the book and I will be on my way.”
“Listen here sucker,” Erin said her voice getting even louder. “When a gate is closed and locked, when signs are posted all over the property not to trespass, that means we don’t want you or anyone else coming on to it. Get it?
“And besides,” she continued. “I don’t know what book you are talking about. I don’t have a book that belongs to you. I don’t even know who you are.”
He took one step toward the porch and Erin grabbed the gun from inside her pants. As she swung it toward him, she slid back the cocking mechanism. God, she hoped that gun was truly loaded.
He stopped when he saw Erin’s revolver. “You bought a book at a sale. You bought that book by mistake. That book was not to be sold, ever.”
Oh, she thought. He’s talking about the little leather-bound Hebrew missal. “What is so special about that book? And how do you know I bought it?” Erin quizzed.
“You are a profane. You are from the profane world and are not allowed to have the book that you possess. There was a man from our world that died. That book belonged to him. That book should die with him.”
“Oh, really,” she said. “Now, just what world is your world? Are you from outer space?” she mocked.
“It’s not for you to know these things,” he answered. “Just give me the book and I will be on my way and no one will get hurt.”
“It that a threat?” Erin yelled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I am the one with the gun pointed at you. If anyone is going to get hurt, it will be you.” She waved the gun and widened her stance, ready to defend herself.
“The book is one of two things that are of our world that are never to be shared with the profane. The other is an apron, a white lambskin apron. The book along with a sprig of evergreen is laid to rest, when we die, inside our coffin. The leather apron lay atop. I can tell you no more, as we are sworn to secrecy.” The stranger from another world stepped back.
“I cannot be responsible for what might happen to you,” he continued. “If you don’t give me the book, I cannot be responsible for horrible things that might happen.”
“You don‘t scare me,” Erin snorted. “Now get your ass off my property. I am going to ask you nicely to turn around and walk down the drive to the gate where you left your car. I will escort you, my gun pointed at your back.” She took two steps forward—an offensive move. She had to get rid of this guy.
As Erin walked past the dinner bell hanging from the porch, she rang it about a dozen times. She was hoping Tim and Rocky would hear it and come to help her with this joker. “That should bring neighbors from all around,” she lied. “That is a distress signal. There will be a crowd of people here any minute.”
Erin was hoping he was dumber than he looked. She would be lucky if Tim and Rocky heard it. The nearest neighbor was more than a half-mile away. In reality, it was just this stranger, Tim’s Glock, and Erin. She did like her odds, but was still uncertain if the gun was loaded.
The stranger turned and walked down the driveway. It was about a thousand feet to the gate. The gravel crunched under their feet as they slowly made their way down to his car.
When they approached the gate, the stranger climbed over it and turned to Erin. “I will ask you for the last time, give me the book. You are not allowed to possess it. It can be dangerous for you to possess it.”
Erin raised her Glock to his eye level. “Get out of here or I will blow your head clean off your shoulders.”
Erin heard Tim’s ATV behind her. What a beautiful sound. He had heard her dinner bell and knew something wasn’t right. He roared up beside Erin as the stranger got in his car. Rocky barked loudly, squeezed under the gate, and jumped onto the door of the car. Rocky was a black Labrador retriever and weighed about 100 pounds. When he barked, he bared his sharp teeth, growled at the man, and slobbering spittle all over his car window. The stranger gunned the car engine and spun his tires in a desperate attempt to get away from the dog.
Rocky escorted the car all the way to the main road. Erin turned to Tim; her Glock now hanging limply at her side and said, “You are not going to believe this.”
