Dominion

By Bobby Ray Hollon

While searching for suspects in the bombing of an abortion clinic, Sgt. Frank Matthews and his partner find themselves at the farm of Harlan Jackson, a Vietnam vet and Christian survivalist. After a search of his barn turns up something the police were not expecting, Harlan is taken in for questioning, along with the beautiful and mysterious young girl living with him who goes only by the name Hayden.

Washington, considering the bombing an act of domestic terrorism, dispatches Special Agents Rick Waltrip and Jim Hanson of the FBI to investigate. The Feds soon become more interested in the girl than Harlan, and the two of them are taken to a secret government installation in Utah under the guise of National Security.

All the while, the girl is being tracked by a man who goes by the name of Silas, who in reality is not a man at all but a ruthless and evil being who will stop at nothing to find Hayden and prevent her from accomplishing what she was sent to do.

Hayden has managed to stay ahead of him up to this point, but now hes closing in. And fast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503591943

Bobby Ray Hollon

Bobby Ray Hollon was born and raised in South Lyon, Michigan. In addition to “Dominion,” he is also the author of “Mukatao,” available on Amazon. He continues to live in South Lyon with his two teenage children, Emma and Benjamin.

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DOMINION

Bobby Ray Hollon

Copyright © 2015 by Bobby Ray Hollon.

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: 07/31//2015

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dedicated to my sweet niece, Payton Leigh Hollon, who left us far too early, and dwells with the Angels now. You are truly missed honey. Love you!

Your Uncle B.

Payton Leigh Hollon Nov 10, 1995

Dec 20, 2014

The Nephilim were on the earth in those days-and also afterward-when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. These were the mighty men of old, men of renown.

GENESIS 6: V-4

CHAPTER ONE

The phone had been ringing off the hook at the Silver Springs Police station in northern Idaho ever since the first news reports came out. Every wacko out there was claiming responsibility for the bombing that had nearly leveled the Planned Parenthood clinic on Summit Street. The bomb had gone off early that morning before the clinic was open for business. John Parkins, the night security guard there, had been at the epicenter of the blast and was blown to pieces.

It was standard police procedure in a case like this to keep a record of everyone who called in, even the jokester who had given his name as Artie Fishal, (which to his credit was at least more original than Seymore Butts), but as far as Sergeant Frank Matthews was concerned, the only call worth following up on had been an anonymous tip.

Harlan Jackson certainly fit the profile. Vietnam vet, loner, right wing Christian survivalist. It had been easy enough to find him on the police data base. He had been arrested once for disorderly conduct years ago, but aside from that he had no criminal record. Harlan lived pretty much off the grid it seemed. His last known address was down a remote stretch of gravel road in neighboring Sherman Township. Frank and his partner, Curtis King were headed there now. Frank was driving.

Got some news for ya’ partner, Curtis said, as Frank turned off the main road and onto the washboard that would take them to Harlan’s place. Wanita’s pregnant again.

Again? Frank asked. You need to put a muzzle on that thing. How many does this make now, five?

This’ll be three, like you didn’t know, Curtis said with a smile.

Well, the way you people go at it, it’ll be five before you know it, Frank said.

You people? Curtis asked. Meaning us coloreds I ’spose. I guess all that fried chicken and wahmelon jus’ make us SO hawny missuh’ Mat’yews!

Frank laughed. Curtis’s plantation slave imitation always got a chuckle out of him. The two of them had met when they were in the police academy together and they became good friends before they became partners. There was no one else on the force that Frank would rather have watching his back, and Curtis felt the same way.

Frank had been best man at Curtis and Wanita’s wedding eight years ago. He had still been with Karen then. They had been talking about marriage themselves, but in the end, Karen knew she couldn’t handle being married to a police officer. Every night spent wondering whether or not her husband would be coming home. She had told Frank he would have to make a choice. He had chosen his job.

Slow down at this mailbox so I can get a look at the address, Curtis said. This might be it.

There were no other cars on the road, so Frank brought the patrol car to a stop right before the mailbox. Three of the five numbers for the address were missing, but the name JACKSON, written in faded red paint, was still legible.

Frank pulled into the gravel driveway just past the mailbox and headed down it. The driveway twisted and turned through the woods for nearly a quarter mile before they reached the house. It was an old two story farmhouse, a little run down, but looked well maintained. Parked directly in front of the porch was an old Ford pickup truck. A faded bumper sticker on the tailgate asked the question, IS YOUR CHURCH B.A.T.F. APPROVED? Frank pulled the patrol car in behind it and parked.

The two of them got out of the car together. Frank looked around the yard as Curtis headed up the walk towards the front door. The place had obviously been a farm at one time, but aside from the small vegetable garden someone had going out back, it looked like the property’s farming days were over. The cow pasture off of the barn was empty and looked like it had been for some time. Hanging on the split rail fence of the empty pasture were several hides that had been scraped, and were now drying. Muskrat, coyote, bobcat.

On the opposite end of the pasture from the barn stood a tool shed. Hanging from nails driven into the fascia boards along the eaves were dozens of steel traps. As rustic as the whole scene was however, somehow it managed to pull it off without looking cluttered.

While Curtis knocked on the door to see if anyone was home, Frank headed across the yard towards the barn. The front of the barn had a large sliding door which was pulled shut and latched. Frank walked around to the back.

Hello, he said, as he turned the corner. Anybody here?

He got no answer. The place seemed deserted. The back door of the barn was open so he took a look inside. Like the rest of the farm, it didn’t look like the barn saw much use anymore either.

The early morning sun cast beams of light through the cracks in the roof and reflected off the cobwebs overhead, making the silk strands look like thin silver wires, while tiny dust motes drifted lazily in the stillness. Judging by all the holes in the dirt floor, it looked like the local groundhog population had established a pretty good foothold there.

In the middle of all this, someone had parked a Mustang GT, and not long ago by the looks of it. Frank wasn’t sure of the year, but he was guessing early nineties.

Frank turned around at the sound of footfalls behind him. It was Curtis.

Well, if he is home, he’s not answering the door, Curtis said. That truck in the driveway is the only vehicle registered to him, so he must have left with someone or he’s off in the woods somewhere. Wonder who’s car this is?

I don’t know, said Frank, but it’s got Mississippi plates.

Curtis took a notepad from his pocket and jotted down the plate number. The two of them left the barn together and headed back to the patrol car.

Once they were back on the road, while Frank radioed in to the station to inform the Captain that they hadn’t made contact with the person of interest, Curtis ran the Mustang’s plate number.

Holy shit, said Curtis, as the results came in.

What is it? Frank asked.

The car is registered to Susan Hartford, thirty seven years old, of Pope, Mississippi. Curtis said. Looks like we’re gonna’ be coming back out here with a warrant partner.

Why’s that?

She was reported as missing last Tuesday.

Frank and Curtis arrived back at Harlan’s residence that afternoon with a search warrant. This time they had backup. Frank and Curtis were in the lead vehicle, with officers Terrance Richards and Marty Benson following in a second car. When they pulled up in front of the farmhouse this time, Harlan was outside on the porch. He was sitting in the porch swing and lighting a corncob pipe as the two police cars came to a stop in the driveway. Harlan seemed to regard their presence with no more than a passing interest.

As the four cops exited their vehicles and began to take their positions, Harlan blew out the match he had used to light his pipe, and casually watched the scene that was unfolding. Terrance and Marty stayed in the driveway next to the patrol car they had ridden in, as Frank and Curtis walked towards the porch.

Good afternoon sir, Frank Matthews said, as he and Curtis approached the porch steps. Are you Harlan Jackson?

I am, said Harlan, still wearing that same disinterested expression towards his four armed visitors. You gonna tell me what this is about?

We’d just like to ask you a couple of questions, Frank said as he started up the steps. Curtis stopped about ten feet from the porch and stayed put.

The four of you needed to come out here so you could ask me a couple of questions? Harlan asked. What do you wanna’ know?

My partner and I stopped by earlier today, but no one was around, Frank said. We’re just following up on a lead in regards to the bombing of the Planned Parenthood clinic in Silver Springs this morning.

I don’t know any more about it than anyone else who watches the news. Harlan said.

No? What can you tell me about the car that’s parked in your barn? Frank asked.

Harlan’s expression visibly changed at that comment. For the first time in their conversation, Frank seemed to have the man’s full attention.

What business do you have pokin’ around in my barn? Harlan asked.

No one was poking around in your barn Frank answered. I only stepped inside to see if you were in there. What can you tell me about the vehicle?

It belongs to Susie Hartford, Harlan said. She left it here while she went off to take care of some business.

What kind of business? Frank asked.

Personal business.

How do you know Miss Hartford?

If you people suspect me of somethin’, why don’t you just come out and say it instead of dancing around? Harlan asked, sounding a little irritated.

You’re not a suspect, Frank said calmly. But there is an innocent man dead from a bomb that was planted in the Planned Parenthood clinic by someone. It’s my job to find out who is responsible, so I’m out asking around.

People die at those abortion mills every day, Harlan said. That’s not to say that I approve of planting bombs to blow folks up. Terrorism is murder every bit as much as abortion is. I did enough killing in Vietnam. I hope the Lord will forgive me for that. I don’t plan on doin’ anymore.

Well, that’s good to hear, Frank said. But that doesn’t change the fact that you have a car parked in your barn that belongs to a woman who was reported as missing last Tuesday.

She might be missin’ here, but she ain’t missin’ where she’s at. Harlan said.

What’s that supposed to mean? Frank asked.

I’ve said about all I’m gonna’ say until I talk to a lawyer, Harlan said. I spose’ you got a search warrant?

Yes we do, Frank said.

Well, then you might as well get started. Look around, you ain’t gonna’ find anything.

Harlan sat his pipe down on the arm of the porch swing and stood up. He opened the screen door of the house a crack and called inside. Hayden, are you decent? We got company.

Frank and Curtis followed Harlan inside while the other two officers headed for the barn. There was a young lady seated at the kitchen table munching on a bowl of Honeycomb. She looked up at them and smiled.

Hello, she said, and went back to her cereal.

Frank guessed she was about seventeen. She had big blue eyes and her hair was golden blonde and curly. Frank realized he was staring, but it was hard not to. The girl was extraordinarily pretty.

Must be his granddaughter, Frank thought. No wonder the guy’s so cranky. Probably worn out from chasing away every hormone crazed teenage boy within ten miles of the place.

Hello, Frank said back. Little late for breakfast isn’t it?

I just love this stuff, she said, looking up from her bowl and smiling again. She went back to eating with such enthusiasm, you’d think she had never had breakfast cereal before.

What’s your name honey? Frank asked.

Hayden, she answered between bites.

Your full name?

Just Hayden, she said.

I need your full name Hayden, Frank said, then turned to Harlan. Is she your granddaughter?

Hayden answered for him. That is my full name, and he’s not my grandfather, he’s my guardian.

Frank thought that he detected a trace of an accent in her voice, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Where are your parents? Frank asked her.

I don’t have any.

Are they deceased?

No.

I’m not following you, Frank said, not liking the way his line of questioning was going. So how did you end up here?

I just showed up here and Harlan took me in, she said, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Where are you from originally Hayden?