Spirit Guardians

By Gildon Beall

A community physician and an orphaned Latino boy collaborate with ghosts to expose and thwart a serial murderer. Dr. Greg Withers wants to convert an abandoned mine to a bike park. He’s opposed by Norman Cricklewood, pastor of the Angelic Brotherhood church, who has used the area to bury murdered Latino immigrants. The resulting increase in numbers of spirits of the newly dead prompts famous Latino ghosts to inform Greg by haunting his dreams. Calvin, a dissolute baseball player hired by Cricklewood joins the witches hauntings to help Greg bring the pastor down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Nov 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781483485126

Book preview

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1

SERMON

Jesus loves you! Cricklewood screamed from his pulpit. A thousand voiced congregation responded, Jesus loves me!

You and I have the vision, the knowledge, the need to find salvation through Jesus. He continued.

Yes, Yes, Yes. came the thunderous response from the congregation filling the frame building.

Cricklewood, had been exciting his church congregation for the past 15 minutes, now he turned to his theme.

Your salvation depends on you. The paths to that salvation are described in the laws I have given you. There are copies with the hymnals in the pews.

Greg picked one up and read:

There are 5 things needed for you to become saints.

1. Regular attendance at services.

2. Study, learn, read the bible. Read my book Finding Salvation, dictated to me by the angels. Copies may be purchased in the Church office.

3. Love and respect your fellow saints and abjure contact with sinners.

4. Give generously to the cause.

5. Go out and recruit new saints to the cause of righteousness.

Norman Cricklewood, PhD, DD

From the pulpit, Cricklewood read and expanded on these paths. He concluded with, It is absolutely vital that you offer others the opportunity to drink at the well of the spirit so that all may be saved at the time we are called. And now let us sing our last hymn, Onward, Christian Soldiers."

As the strains of, Christ the royal master, leads against the foe, forward into battle see his banner’s go ended, Cricklewood descended to his subjects and accepted their obeisance. Greg watched the performance and smiled with amusement as the tiny man disappeared into the crowd of parishioners attempting to touch his vermilion robe.

The minister dominated the room just as he had done at the city council meeting last week. There, wearing a business suit instead of the flowing robe, he had marched to the microphone on his elevator shoes to denounce Greg’s plan to create a community skate park in the old mine pit on the edge of town. Lewdness, profanity and drugs are inevitable. He said, The Lord will not tolerate this abomination nor should we, the citizens of Estella Beach. A group of men and women that had accompanied their pastor to the meeting burst into applause along with shouts of, Save us, Jesus.

Greg later adjusted the mike to his 6 foot height and pointed out that using the recreation budget to upgrade waste ground to a park was a means to combat the societal evils Reverend Cricklewood abhorred. The council, although unsure as to how the skaters had become an abomination, knew better than to challenge Estella Beach’s leading citizen-cleric and tabled the proposal to revisit the subject later.

That event had induced Greg to spoil his Sunday with a visit to Cricklewood’s Angelic Brotherhood Church to learn more about the group and its leader. Now, after the sermon, as he approached a gaggle of people around Cricklewood, the Pastor detached himself from the crowd, raised his stubby arm to the level of Greg’s chin and shouted, Leave us, Satan! Leave us! Strong hands grasped Greg and forced him through the doors of the church and into the parking lot.

2

UNDER THE FREEWAY

Quiet, damnit. the man in the navy peajacket whispered to his companion in the blue raincoat who nodded in agreement and pointed. "There, that guy over by himself’, he breathed. They were under the freeway where 3 men lay on the dirt in the 3 AM darkness of a moonless night. The two intruders approached the body that was apart from the others. Raincoat nudged it with his foot. The man sat up. Que pasa! he muttered. Necissita a dormir.

Si, sleep, Pancho, Peajacket murmured as he placed a chloroform soaked cloth over the man’s mouth and nose which Raincoat duct taped along with his wrists and ankles.

The two bundled their anesthetized victim into a black vinyl bag. Their practiced stealth did not disturb the other sleepers as they carried the bag to the panel truck. Placing the bag in the back they piled into the seat next to the diminutive driver. Any problems? the driver asked.

No, piece of cake, said Peajacket. There are two other guys in there. We can come back for more.

Not for awhile, the driver said. We must be careful.

Are we taking him to the usual place? said raincoat. Yes the driver answered. The usual place. I hope you brought your shovels.

3

MISLAYED CHILDREN

Greg Withers was the doctor in charge at the Estella Beach Community Clinic. His assistant, Bernice helped when she was there. It was a busy clinic, supported unenthusiastically by the City, for needy folks, mostly without any health insurance. Greg’s work varied and was not all medical, going from one small crisis to the next. For instance on Friday evening, Greg, doing his extracurricular civic duty, had been refereeing a youth soccer match when an altercation broke out between parents on the sidelines. He blew his whistle several times and ran over to the squabbling group where voices were raised but no blows struck. Greg separated the disputants to opposite sides of the field and resumed the game. His confidence and pleasant demeanor together with his size and obvious physical fitness banked the competitive fires of the parents.

Now, on Monday morning there had been the usual patients with minor injuries and colds. Until noon Greg had to register patients and do vital signs, as well as exams and treatment. Janet, a flirtatious lady with mild asthma wanted him to look at a mole on her buttocks. I think it might be a melanoma, Doctor! He had her wait until afternoon when Bernice, his assistant arrived and could be in the room while he examined the freckle and reassured the patient.

Bernice had called earlier to say she’d be late. The washing machine broke and flooded the apartment. Maybe I can get there this afternoon. Greg sighed. She hung up immediately so his gloomy response, Seeya later. I guess. was unheard. It never ends he said aloud holding his head. He’d become wise to Bernice’s problem. She was hung over and couldn’t get herself together to get to work. She’d already been through broken water pipes, furnace failures, lost cats, and flat tires as excuses.

It was early afternoon when 50ish Bernice did arrive looking good: slim, dark-haired and skilful with patients. He really needed to have a long talk with her.

One of the more pleasurable of Greg’s many duties as an employee of the Community Center was to sit in on the senior writer’s guild meeting where members each week read their accounts of youthful romances and adventures. The group met in a room used for everything from choir practice to English as a Second Language. Many of the chairs were Kindergarten-sized so potential writers of generous dimensions brought their own folding camp chairs. On this summery October afternoon Greg’s mind wandered as one of them read her account of a fling with a balloonist who landed in her garden. The reading bogged down as she tried to refer to her feelings without mentioning sex so Greg gazed out the window at a Maple tree exhibiting its fall splendor. He was further distracted by watching Jonesy, their maintenance man, who was mowing the lawn. After the reading finished, Greg excused himself, left the room, and pushed open the door. Hey, Jonesy, how’s it going?

Adam Jones had been working for the Community Center longer than Greg. He took a proprietary interest in the place while moving his ponderous bulk around the building and grounds. Greg appreciated his work. As he told Carlota, He worries about the building so I can get on with worrying about our patients and finances. After sampling the fine breeze disturbing the red leaves Greg returned to his clinic work.

Bernice announced Juana, the last patient of the day. They had been caring for Juana for some time as her untreatable pancreatic cancer spread to her liver and lungs. Lacking money and legal immigration documents she was not eligible for the government’s subsidies the clinic used to pay for drugs that might slow the growth of her cancer. To ease her death Greg had been using morphine to relieve her pain and fear.

Juana, short and gray, shuffled into the examining room supported by a cane and a small boy. At the end of her life Juana had the responsibility of care for her grandson, Angel. The pair was in striking contrast. Angel was taller than his stooped, wrinkled Grandmother. He wore a clean white T shirt and Levis. Juana was garbed in a shapeless black dress with thick brown stockings stuffed into battered tennis shoes. Angel’s brown eyes sparkled with curiosity as he greeted Greg with a wide smile and settled his grandmother into a chair. It was clear that he had become the steady member of their family.

Hello, Dr. Withers, good to see you. Angel said but then his smile vanished. Abuela is very ill; she doesn’t sleep and can’t get any rest from her pain and trouble breathing. I cook stuff, but she won’t eat it.

Greg looked down at the boy, How old are you, Angel?

I’m ten, fourth grade, but I don’t go to school now that I’m taking care of Grandma. If you write the prescription for the pain medicine, I can get it filled for her and get her to take it.

Where are your Mother and Father? Why are you taking care of her?

Angel glanced at his grandmother as his eyes misted up. My Mama died last year after she got hit by a car. I don’t know where Papa is. He was working and then he just disappeared. We think La Migra got him. So it’s just me and Grandma.

And soon no Grandma, Greg thought.

Although Greg’s Spanish was adequate, Angel’s English was better so he translated his grandmother’s answers to Greg’s questions and the doctor’s instructions.

Greg helped Juana onto an examining table. Difficulty in breathing prevented her from lying flat. She had no fever, but her abdomen was painfully distended with fluid and tumor. She emitted a piercing groan at Greg’s feather light touch of her belly: a groan that gave Greg a shiver. Despite his long experience with suffering, he was shaken. Without comment, he sat down to record the exam and write a prescription for long acting morphine tablets.

So here’s the prescription for your grandmother, Angel. I can send someone to get it for you. The drug store may not let you have it.

That’s cool Doctor Greg but I can get the medicine. Senor Alvarez at the drug store knows me and will take care of it. But I don’t have any money to pay for it.

That’s ok; He can charge it to the clinic. Meaning of course, Dr. Withers he said to himself.

Do you need a ride, Angel?

No, we can take the bus and I’ve got my bike to go to the drug store.

At this point Juana struggled to sit up. She spoke to