Protector of Lost Souls

By Mic Taylor

Jami Solnotos life was like any others. That is until the day she met a mysterious man, who she was unable to get out of her head, leaving her with a need to seek him out and discover who he truly was. What she was unaware of was that what she would find out would change her life forever, throwing her in the path of danger, and placing her between good and evil. But sometimes, in life, those are the risks worth taking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524541828

Mic Taylor

Born in Spokane, Washington, Mic Taylor moved to Western Washington at a young age. Growing up in the Northwest, he started writing poetry at a young age, in which he discovered his love for literature. Living in various locations on the West Coast and working all manners of jobs, he found his stimulation for his writing and met the people who inspired the creation of the characters in his writings. He still resides in the middle of the metropolis known as Seattle with his wife and continues to search for those encounters that will lead him to his next story.

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Copyright © 2016 by Mic Taylor.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5245-4183-5

      eBook         978-1-5245-4182-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/12/2016

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

For my wife.

My life’s foundation, and the savior of my heart and soul.

CHAPTER 1

Madam, how dare you squelched Randolph Weiss. "How dare you question me of things you know nothing of. Things I’ve kept to myself that not even my closest of friends know anything about!

The doctor firmly stated, Mr. Weiss, it is you who sought my help, not the other way around. If this is becoming too much for you, then we can stop for the time being, and resume the next time we meet.

The clock on the desk of the doctor ticked by noisily, as if counting down the seconds to a major event. It was a warm, and sunny Monday afternoon, particularly warm for the eighteenth of March.

Randolph Weiss had just begun his journey back into his past. A past that many were interested to know the details of, and one of which Randolph would die to be relieved of.

I can continue but I’ll not be questioned in that tone again. You’re merely here to answer my questions, not pose those of your own, especially since you know nothing of what has happened, nor anything that is going to happen. This is of most importance. You must understand that. Replied Randolph.

The doctor wondered what could it be, that could happen in the future that kept Randolph so guarded.

I am here to assist you in any way that I possibly can Randolph. The doctor stated. I’ll do my best not to pry too deeply into your life, and know that if we’ve gone too far, all you need do is to say so, however you must fully understand that some prying, to get a better understanding and to be able to see, and help you, is in order for me to be of assistance.

Randolph Weiss, born Reinhart, was brought into a world of poverty. The second son to Fredoricka and Merrick Weiss, he was raised much like the rest of the boys in his town. He saw his family claw and scratch to stay afloat, fight to stay alive, only to go nowhere. He was truly the product of his upbringing.

He and his very few friends would pretend they were just like those that held their boots over the heads of their parents and kept them from rising to their own greatness, achieving their own dreams, keeping them in such an impoverished state, making life the struggle that it had become, and seeming that, that always was how it was to be. No hope or future in sight, just the meager existence they had become accustomed to.

They would battle outlying barons for their lands with their wooden sticks fashioned into swords, storming the walls of their castles, looting and pillaging them, however those castles weren’t castles at all but merely rundown buildings fashioned into fortresses, and the barons were drug lords using their personal ideas of power to keep the citizens of the village fearful to even walk the streets. Bloodshed was a common occurrence and Randolph’s eyes were opened to death at a very early age.

Randolph, tell me something of your childhood. Give me an understanding of how young Randolph came up in this world. Tell me, what was your father like? This began the line of questioning by the doctor.

Randolph quietly said, He was strict beyond definition, and we had rules to which we were expected to adhere to. And we learned, very young, never to question those rules.

Could you be just a bit more specific? asked the doctor. Tell me, what kind of rules were you expected to live by Randolph?

God dammit! An outraged Randolph burst. What the hell do you expect to hear from me? Stories of abuse? Is that it? That he beat us? That he beat us all? Nobody has ever shown any concern about how we dealt with our day to day toils. How we shouldered our strife. My father was a drunk! Plain and to the point. The man couldn’t live without his booze. Couldn’t even function! He’d go to work before I got out of bed in the morning, and wouldn’t return home until we were already in bed, and mother always saw to it that we were out of harm’s way and safely in bed. Always drunk, too drunk to even walk, but he always made it home. My lord, we wouldn’t even know he’d arrived home until we’d hear either some object crash against the wall, or hear his fist against my mother’s face!

What Randolph had failed to mention was that the work his father did was for the exact people that had kept him and his entire family impoverished for all those years. Selling the very same drugs that had kept so many from reaching any kind of height in their lives.

Randolph, please. A calm and composed doctor replied. I need for you to try to remain calm. This is important. This is all part of the process of dealing with our pasts.

Remain calm? Randolph inquired as if to say are you fucking kidding me? This was a subject that Randolph often evaded. One that he’d successfully evaded until recent events had landed him here, for the shear thought of that man made him ill to the stomach, and left him wanting to take his rage out on another.

I’ve remained calm about that fucking excuse of a man for far too many years! Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like to walk into the kitchen, awakened out your slumber by the physical abuse you here downstairs, and see your fucking mother, the one who’s spent years taking care of you, showing you the only love in the world, lying in a helpless heap on the kitchen floor, knowing that there is nothing you can do but stand there, helpless? Her blood painted over every surface of that room, as if it were the new décor, and him, that worthless sack of shit just standing there, deciding which one of you was going to get it next. Knowing that it was a Russian roulette, and he was the loaded gun? Do not tell me to remain calm madam. Do not. I was beat harder than any child should ever have to endure, and I witnessed far more bloodshed than any one person should ever be exposed to. And that was all just the icing on everyday life. If I could’ve just once had the nerve to raise my hand against that man, I wouldn’t have beaten him like he did us, I would’ve killed him!

A quietness fell over the room, and the doctor turned off the audio recorder to allow Randolph to gather himself for a few minutes. Randolph took note of the recording device, and questioned it.

If you’d like, I can leave it off. Said the doctor.

What I would appreciate is for you to give me the tape. There need not be any recording of my life doctor.

She removed the tape from the recording device and handed it to Randolph.

Would you care for a glass of water Randolph? Asked the doctor.

Randolph replied, Please.

This wasn’t the first Client that the doctor had interviewed, however Randolph Weiss was proving to be the very most interesting, and the good doctor. was very eager to open Randolph Weiss like she’d never done before. To peel back the layers and walls that had been folded and closed for so long. The doctor had to be careful however, she needed to find what she was looking for without prying, or pushing him away, allowing him to wall up what she needed. She needed Randolph Weiss to give it to her on his own. The question was how. How do you get a person whose gone through what Randolph has, and done what he’s done, and managed to go through life completely off the radars of society and the prying eyes of the public?

See, what Randolph Weiss was aware of was that this wasn’t merely just a routine visit to a psychiatrist to work through the issues in his life. The doctor was placed in his life by a series of circumstances, and random encounters in which he was guided to seek her help. What he didn’t know was that this had been in the making for many, many years, in which many players had been involved to make this meet happen.

Are you ready to continue? Asked Randolph. I have a many things of importance to take care of today.

Randolph? The doctor started. I don’t mean to push the issue any harder, but really, there had to be some good that your father did. Were there any fond memories that you can recall?

Randolph merely looked at her with a look of displease on his face. Then the doctor saw it! The look. To the average person it would’ve gone unnoticed.

His eyes squinted with just a little of his own humor in them, and the corner of his mouth raised just enough to show the amusement he got out of the thought. It wasn’t the memories that most fathers and sons would create that brought the joy to Randolph heart, but more the memory of what had transpired in the last moments of Merrick’s life that had found that spot in Randolph’s heart that had rarely been touched by any living creature in his life.

The doctor hadn’t mentioned noticing anything but simply made a notation in her notebook, as well as in her mind. It was that glimmer she had been hoping to see since her first encounter with Mr. Weiss. It was that little piece that let her know she was making progress in the exploration through the life of Randolph Weiss.

He threw her this little bone just to see how she would react to receiving it, for Randolph hadn’t scheduled this as a patient looking for answers to what had troubled him through his years, he was searching. He needed answers to questions of a different matter and he was hoping that the doctor could help to answer some of those questions.

Randolph looked at the good doctor, changed his expression and said, No. There were never any fond memories between my father and I. The man deserved what he received, and I am confident in knowing he will spend his afterlife in eternal damnation.

This confused the doctor a little. She had touched that nerve, got him to feel something, and had opened that door for him to walk through and give the details of that day. She had heard the story, from sources, about what had happened, and how his fathers’ life had ended, but until she was able to here from a firsthand account of the events that had taken place on the cool October morning the story was inconclusive. She needed to know in order for her to go forward with her task.

Ok, Randolph, the doctor hoping to change the subject to calm him down, Tell me about your faith. You spoke of damnation. Do you believe in God? Do you believe in Heaven?

This made Randolph laugh a little. A kind of sinister laugh.

No, doctor, there is no God. The devil I’m for certain exists, but there is no God. This I know.

How? How can you be sure there is no God? No Heaven? You speak of this with such certainty. Said the doctor.

How can a God exist who would allow so many evils to go on in his name? How can a God sit idly by and watch so many struggle and not reach out to help his so called children? Look at the Crusades doctor, a mass genocide in the name of God. No, it wasn’t for God, it was for a church, a church that ruled most of the known world. A church that took this so called God and placed him as the reasoning for so much death. A kind of poster child. How could a God watch true love, ripped apart at the very seams? How can He watch and do nothing, as a wife is taken out of husband’s life, leaving him empty, and dark inside? Stripping him of all hopes. No, there is no God doctor, but the devil I know personally.

This was beginning to unsettle the doctor, and she was starting to get a deeper understanding of what she was working with. She was starting to understand that somewhere inside of the man who was Randolph Weiss, there was the devil. There was a darkness inside of the man who had come from nothing, and made a life out of the rubble that was his life. What she needed to know was how that monster came to be dormant for so many years. But the one thing that the doctor didn’t realize was that Randolph Weiss was no monster. Yes, the devil was in him, and had occasionally made his appearance, for the sake of justice, but he had never been a monster.

The doctor looked at Randolph, and ventured to question about a topic in which she was already aware of the answer. Randolph, have you ever loved? She laughed a little, embarrassed for asking the question. "What I mean to say is, have you ever been in love?

Randolph looked her squarely in the eyes, as though he were looking into her soul. Yes. I have known love, and I’ve had the honor of sharing time with the only person in the world, that I would give my life for. However, that is a part of history, I’d wish not to discuss.

The doctor looked at him curiously. Perhaps another time Randolph, you’ll be of mood which permits you to talk about it.

Perhaps doctor, but not likely. Replied Randolph.

Randolph, you stated you had errands of great importance that you needed to attend to today, so I think that this is a good spot to end the day, and we can continue our journey tomorrow. Will that work for you?

That will work just fine. Said Randolph, and he rose from his seat in the chair directly across from the doctor.

See Randolph had chosen that location particularly. When he walked in the chair was at a forty-five-degree angle from the doctor’s chair with his left side toward the door opening to the office and directly across from the window. Randolph had a severe anxiety about what could happen when he wasn’t expecting it and took measures to prevent anything, and everything.

As Randolph walked to the door, he came to a subtle stop, half turned and said, Doctor Avery? Sometimes in life we make choices. Choices that could alter, not only our perception of life, but our life as a whole. Choices that bring our lives to certain points where we are forced to make decisions to ensure our own mortality. How have your choices affected your life doctor, and are you certain that your mortality is safe, not only in this life, but your next?

At this Randolph turned and walked out the door, before the doctor could even catch a breath to attempt a response. Dr. Avery, for the very first time, since starting her assigned leg in this interview process, was completely caught off-guard, and was now shaken entirely through by Mr. Randolph Weiss. He spoke as if he knew something about her life that could pose a threat.

As Randolph stepped out of the doorway and onto the walk leading up to the building where Dr. Avery’s office was located, he pulled a cigarette from his polished, sterling silver case and placed it in his mouth.

He had a certain confidence in him that most men rarely showed. He wasn’t cocky, he was just very sure of himself. It went with growing up the way he did. He could either show fear, and let the wolves feast upon his soul, or he could stand up and stay his ground, own himself, his emotions, his being.

Randolph lit his cigarette, took one short drag off of it before giving a quick glance up at a concerned Dr. Avery who watched from her office window, and stepped off the curb, and into his car.

Randolph knew that he’d given Dr. Avery enough to cause her some fear, and that was his entire intention for this first meeting. He had an idea of her motives, and was going to make sure he’d give her enough to keep her interested and digging for more. At the same instant he wanted to keep a level of fear in her that would keep her at bay, as well as keep her from making one of those decisions he’d spoke of before leaving.

As the car drove away, Randolph remembered a time in his life where he had instilled this type of fear in another and the affect it had brought.

It was back in his home town, and he was freshly learning to be his own person. He was completely alone for the first time, and was very frightened at what the world was to bring for him.

Randolph had been walking down one of the alley ways in a neighborhood that was known to be run by a notorious drug dealer. Shortly after turning down the street he’d noticed that two peculiar men had taken up position directly behind him.

Without acknowledging them he pulled a stiletto switchblade from his front pocket and opened it. He continued to walk while digging under his fingernails at the debris that had collected there.

After several strides he came to a stop, and without turning, he softy spoke, just loud enough for them to hear.

I’m aware of who you are, and of what you do. I’m also aware of what you intend to do. But before you make that decision, be aware of my intentions. It’s no doubt that you will attempt to take me, but know this, I will take you, and in the end none will come out of this the victor. Not me, not either of you, and certainly not your boss. So let it be the way it was and we all reside the victor.

At this the two strangers gave each other a nervous look, and decided that what Randolph had said had made sense to them, so they turned back toward the way they had come, and let Randolph be.

Randolph had known that the two strangers were nothing but soldiers to their boss, and were just out trying to get some recognition, and hadn’t taken into account as to the price that that recognition would cost them.

Randolph smiled at the thought of this memory and he thought about the numerous times in his life that he had used words in one fashion or another to work through a circumstance that he’d managed to become involved in.

Randolph Weiss had spent a good majority of his life in solitude. He read a lot, and had managed to acquire himself quite the collection of classics. His favorite was The Divine Comedy.

He compared his life to the Seven Circles of Hell, because to him a lot of his life had been a living hell. Struggling as a child, and being forced to grow up on his own at a very early age, with no role models, or anyone of sorts to look up to.

He’d read the works of Poe, Tennyson, and William Shakespeare and had admired their lives as poets, always able to catch the way he had felt throughout the years of his life, in their writings. Occasionally he’d lifted a work composed by Mark Twain and applauded his humorous adventures, and had even found himself envious of the lives he depicted in his stories.

As the car swung into a parking spot, Randolph rolled down the window and reached his hand out as an overly stuffed envelope found a home in his grasp. He gave a slight nod, and returned the window to its closed position.

See Randolph had never held a regular job, not