"Evil Awaits": Book One of The Sainted Trilogy

By Michael Medico

The Sainted Trilogy is the supernatural suspense thriller and love story written as a trilogy to fully cover the scope and depth of themes illustrated in the story beginning with Book One "Evil Awaits". 

When you are eight years old

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harbour Point Publishing
• Release date: Nov 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087911779

Michael Medico

Michael Medico was born in New York City where he attended Power Memorial Academy. On graduation Mike joined the U.S. Navy and served stateside during the Viet Nam War. After being honorably discharged from the service, he attended Pace University and graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in marketing and advertising. Michael spent the first ten years of his career at various advertising agencies until he founded a direct marketing advertising agency and served as its CEO for 35 years. He has written numerous articles published in various trade journals and has been a featured participant on business panel discussions and industry workshops. During his career in direct response, Michael has managed many successful television direct marketing campaigns for a wide range of products and brands. Michael has also been featured on the cover of Response Magazine and earned a triple platinum album award from Arista Records for his participation in the marketing Arista Records 'Ultimate' Music series. After the completion of The Sainted Trilogy, Michael spent some months adapting and completing The Sainted Trilogy as a four season/39-episode series for cable or streaming. In addition to 'The Sainted Trilogy', Michael has written the political satire titled 'Absolutely. Positively, Genuine, Real Fake News' that was also adapted as a Broadway Musical; a short story titled, 'The Death of My Father' and he is currently working on two new novels. Michael and his wife Joan have two sons, Anthony and Richard, daughters-in-law, Shannon and Christina and 6 grandchildren. Mike and Joan spend time between their homes in Northport, NY and Florida.

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© 2018 Harbour Point Publishing

Harbour Point Publishing, LLC

Northport, New York 1168

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Printed in the United States by Harbour Point Publishers, Northport, NY

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

The Sainted Trilogy, Harbour Point Publishers.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Evil Awaits, Book One of The Sainted Trilogy

(Formerly titled The Sainted)

Medico, Michael p. cm.

Fiction—General 2. Fiction—Thriller 3. Fiction—Horror Fiction, I. Title.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-0879-1149-6

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-0879-1177-9

Copyright © 2015 by Michael Medico December 2015

Second Edition Printing

Dedication

To my wife, family and friends,

the joys in my life

"In this holy flirtation with the world,

God occasionally drops a handkerchief.

These handkerchiefs are called saints."

—Frederick Buechner

"They say there’s a heaven for those who will wait.

Some say its better, but I say it ain’t

I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.

The sinners are much more fun…"

—Billy Joel

Oh, no they’re not.

—Chris Pella

Preface

Gracciano-Vecchio, Italy, 1268…The midwife finds her way through the dark streets on her mission is to greet the newest citizen of her small town. It is late at night and Donisa sees there are no lights coming from the houses and the small shops that line the stone and dirt paths. Even though it is dark, she knows the streets better than most; after all, she grew up in Gracciano-Vecchio.

As Donisa hurries to her help deliver the newborn, she can’t help but think how she loves this town and the beautiful regions of Toscana. Gracciano-Vecchio is a small, sleepy hamlet compared to Montepulciano with its monastery and brothels. She makes the sign of the cross at the mention of those houses of shame, but these regions have been home her entire life, and she is happiest here. Her family, the Zacci’s, has been farmers and shopkeepers for more than six generations, and for this Donisa has the roots that she is thankful to the Lord for. How they treasure her and how they make sure she is cared for and blessed with an abiding love of the Lord, family, the land and of life itself.

She continues to hurry along the muddy paths as these thoughts of her past and her family makes her smile. Donisa turns the corner and the de Segni Mansion comes into view. It is by far the grandest home in all of Gracciano-Vecchio with its ornate balconies and beautiful gardens. The de Segni family is very well known in the region as devout and benevolent. Senor de Segni’s wealth is great, but so is his faith and charity, and he is held in high regard by the entire town. When Donisa arrives at her destination, she knocks on the door. As late as it is, she knows the whole household will be up, eagerly awaiting her arrival.

Donisa knocks on the door. The footsteps of a young maid servant can be heard running to the door. The young maid opens the door and Donisa enters, hurriedly removes her shawl and hands it to the girl as she asks, How is Senora de Segni doing? Is she almost ready?

The young girl is concerned for her mistress saying, The senora is in labor, and she is asking for you…, but before the servant girl finishes, Donisa is rushing down the long corridor to the senora’s room.

Donisa is greeted in the hallway, by Senor de Segni; a tall, ruggedly handsome man whose nobility is apparent as he commands great respect from all who know him. He is pacing the floor in anxious anticipation. He looks very worried, and his concern for his wife is evident in how he greets the midwife.

Where have you been? Do you know how much pain my wife is in?

Donisa thinks to herself, of course she knows how much pain the Senora is in. Hadn’t she delivered more than thirty beautiful children into God’s world alone and an equal number that are surely in Heaven into the arms of the Blessed Mother? What of her own six children, the miracles in her life?

Senor de Segni, please do not worry. Your wife will be fine, and your baby will light up your home as none other could! Now leave me to my work, and let me get her ready.

It is the custom of the time that the men would wait outside the bedchamber which has now become the birth room. But Senor de Segni is not one to be ordered to remain outside the chamber, especially at a time like this. He insists, I will not leave! I will be here at her side, and I will welcome my child into the world.

Donisa knows there is no arguing with this man, so she sets about the business of bringing new life into this house. As she opens the door to the bedroom, the midwife sees that Senora de Segni is lying on the bed waiting for the moment of her child’s birth. Donisa observes that Senora de Segni is in early labor but the pain has not detracted from her beauty. The Senora was born to wealth and comes from a family that owns many tracts of land surrounding Siena. She was betrothed to her husband, Senor di Segni, in what seemed a marriage of wealth to wealth. As it turns out, however, there seemed to be a bond between the two that was as immediate as it was unexpected, and for these past eight years, the couple lived in happiness with an enduring love that grew stronger each day.

The room that the Senora rests in is as warm and inviting as one could hope for and, given the family’s means, not unexpected. A fire is lit in the fireplace, and the warmth it generates comes in waves and seems to defeat the chill that is part of Toscana weather in early spring.

Donisa enters the room, and she quickly comes to the bedside of Senora de Segni. The senora’s eyes are closed so Donisa reaches out to the woman and holds her hand. When the Senora, in obvious pain, turns to sees that it is the midwife she grips her hand tightly. The Senora tries to smile as she says I am so happy to see you, Donisa.

Donisa tries to comfort the woman in her care. The midwife has a sixth sense when it comes to all things related to childbirth and she carefully examines the senora saying, I feel that the child will be coming very soon, within the hour.

Donisa has asked that a blanket, cloth and warm water to clean the baby be made ready and that the Senora is made as comfortable as can be expected, given her situation. A stillness settles over the house and all who reside there as her husband, the Senor, takes his place by his wife’s bedside and the entire household prays with the family as all prepare for the blessed event.

The peace of the moment is then broken by the first painful screams of labor, which comes in spasms, one after the other. The Senora holds tightly to Donisa’s hand, as the midwife gives orders to the Senora as she tries to free her body of the child in her womb. The sweat on her brow is wiped away by the midwife, and Donisa’s comforting words and exhortations seem to ease the apprehension that the senora is surely feeling.

Senor de Segni, who has been quiet until now, seems to turn frantic. He has been kneeling next to his wife and implores Donisa, Is there any comfort I can give? Will she be well? Donisa can only guess what dread and anxiety he must be feeling for his wife. She turns to face the distraught husband and she tries to assure him by telling him, All is well and going as God planned. We must be calm and have faith.

Another cry comes from his wife that tears at her husband’s soul and he is helpless to do anything to relieve his wife’s agony. The senora continues to scream as extreme pain of childbirth engulf her until, in a rush of relief, her screams are soon overtaken by a fountain of tears and a joyous cry that signals the birth of a child…a beautiful baby girl.

Donisa smiles through her tears as she cleans the newborn and wraps the beautiful baby girl in a blanket made of the finest Italian lace. The midwife gently hands the baby into the arms of her waiting mother. Both Senor and Senora de Segni look lovingly at the infant who appears awake and gazing up at them. So much has changed, so much is new to them; they are now complete… they are now a family.

It is at this moment of absolute joy for the new parents that a heavenly sound fills the air. It is unlike any sound that anyone in the household has ever heard. With that sound, there appears a bright light that pours through every window like liquid gold, and it soon fills the bedroom and totally surrounds all who are there.

The light seems to come from above and below—from all sides as it slowly encircles the house, illuminating each room, making the surroundings brighter than any glorious summer day. The light radiates warmth, but no heat; one can look into the light and not be blinded. Senora and Senor de Segni are terrified for their child and for themselves. All in the household want to flee, but suspecting it is a sign from the Lord, the entire household kneels on the floor and continues to pray.

At that instant, bright burning torches appear and surround the bed where the mother and child lay. To all it is a sign, a sacred sign. Donisa knows, the parents know, that they have brought into the world a blessed child, welcomed by divine lights…a child of God, and her name

Chapter 1

Huntington, NY. They, whoever they are, call it the Gold Coast. All along the North Shore of Long Island, financiers, industrialists, entertainers and your run-of-the-mill rich folks built large estates, and they have called this beautiful setting home for decades. But even the wealthy have their problems, and over the years the large estates have given way to smaller, but stately homes and later subdivisions of multimillion-dollar McMansions with all the trimmings and taxes that go along with status these days.

My name is Chris Pella. I live in the town of Huntington and while not the toniest place among the moneyed, the town does have its charm and a fair share of people with enough wealth to live life on their own terms. Huntington, sometimes called The Little Apple, is located on the Long Island Sound with beautiful vistas of the surrounding communities all the way to Connecticut. The area also encompasses affluent towns of Lloyd Neck and Lloyd Harbor, Huntington Bay, Cold Spring Harbor, Dix Hills and many other communities rich and humble, large and small.

Huntington Harbor and the areas around it are a combination of New England tradition, Hampton’s chic and North Shore style. There is easy access to some of the best sailing around, and this is where I live. Power crafts and sail boats alike cruise the waters of the bays and harbors hat comb the area. These waterways provide easy access to ‘the Sound’, as locals call the Long Island Sound where you will always find all types of boats there to moor, swim, fish, water-ski or just party. You can also take your boat right up to Prime, a popular restaurant, and have the privilege of paying a premium for a drink while enjoying a spectacular view of the harbor.

The downtown Huntington itself has become somewhat of a magnet for upscale restaurants like Honu if you have the urge for tropical, exotic tastes or perhaps Mac’s for great steaks or Buenos Aires for food with a South American flair. If you’re feeling a bit more casual there’s always the Finnegan’s or Mundays or many of the other casual dining places located in the town. I enjoy eating out, and while my metabolism helps keep my weight down, my wallet tells me how often I can indulge.

Huntington has some wonderful and amazing venues for music, entertainment and the arts. The Paramount, one of the top venues for music in the whole country, hosts a variety of contemporary music, comic talent. The Cinema Arts Center is a mecca for the independent and international film crowd, the Heckscher Museum for fine art lovers and so much more. The town has become sort of a mecca for entertainment and dining, and if you don’t believe me, try and find a parking spot on any weekend night.

There are many parks, beaches, ice-skating rinks, country clubs, health clubs, public golf courses and even parades…well, you get the point. It seems there are more great things to do per capita than any town that I’ve ever been to, and it will always be my home. I love where I live, I like the people, and given that I started out as a ‘nice Italian boy from the Bronx’, I feel pretty lucky to have landed here.

I am an only child and I am named in honor of St. Christopher. As the story goes, St. Christopher was crossing a wide river when a small child asks to be carried across. St. Christopher lifts the child, but when he put the young boy on his shoulders, he finds the child to be astonishingly heavy. According to the legend, the child being held by St. Christopher was a young Christ carrying the weight of the whole world. I know his sainthood, even existence, has been called into question by some historians in the church, but my folks loved the name and the legend of St. Christopher and so do I.

I’m single, 35 years old and while I not being braggadocios, I’m generally considered good-looking by the women I date. I also like to think of myself as a good guy …certainly no Saint Christopher, just a good guy—maybe that could be my epitaph. I live in a two-bedroom condo that I’ve furnished in a traditional way, as I consider myself a traditional kind of guy. I dress in what I believe is referred to as preppy chic, and I love those shirts with the horses and alligators and the red, white and blue logos. So, you don’t get the wrong impression, I make sure I only buy stuff on sale, and I really know how to get great deals on clothes. Lord and Taylor, Macy’s and Bloomingdales at the mall seem to know what I am looking for because just as I think I need some new clothes, I get mailings with little cards that give me an extra 20% off the sale price… not too shabby.

I have two holdovers from my childhood and Catholic upbringing; I attend Mass every Sunday, and I say a prayer every night before going to bed. It seems old-fashioned in this secular world, but it affords me a kind of peace that I can’t imagine getting from the latest edition of Dancing with the Stars or The Bachelor.

I was born in the Bronx, and I never completely lost the accent so I lay it on thick when I get the opportunity to work it to my advantage. There was this one time I met a woman, Emily, who hails from England. We seemed to hit it off right away and after some small talk, I asked her out. On our first date she tells me she loves the way I speak and that most of the people in London love New York accents better than, say, a Texan accent. Emily also told me that she thought my Bronx accent was especially sexy. I never really gave any thought of my accent as anything more than what it is…and that is anything but sexy. Still, I took the compliment in the spirit that it was made and, later that night, had the best sex I’d had in a long time. I guess it pays to have a sexy voice.

Both sets of grandparents came from Italy and they had a number of paisans, friends and acquaintances who settled in the Bronx, so they followed them there. The section of the Bronx I grew up in became an enclave for these immigrants, and while they all wanted to became Americans, they enjoyed the fact that they were able to hold onto some connection with Italy and the towns they came from.

As I’m of Italian descent, you should know growing up Italian definitely has its perks. From the food, to the holidays, to the sense of family, I take pride in Italian culture and my heritage. I guess I owe that to my parents, grandparents and other close family and friends whom I often think about in the warmest of terms.

My parents are both gone now, but my memories of mom and dad are vivid and full of the experiences, large and small, that shape the way I act, think and live my life. My parents, Anthony and Gilda, were born here in America, but both sets of my grandparents are from Italy and settled in America when they were very young. My mother’s father became a tailor and my mom’s mother stayed home to take care of her family. Neither of them spoke English when they arrived in the US, but they learned to speak the language well enough. Over the years they studied about America and the important aspects of what they needed to know to become citizens. So, when they took the oath of citizenship, they told me it was one of the proudest days of their lives.

My mother and father grew up in the Bronx where they attended the local public schools. It was important to my grandparents that their children be brought up as proud Americans and learning English was something essential. Both my mother’s and father’s parents always considered living in this country to be very special and instilled in their children and grandchildren that they should be grateful to be in this country, the United States of America. Both sets of grandparents also made sure that my mother and father learned to speak Italian and to take pride in that tradition. Speaking Italian came in very handy when my parents and grandparents wanted to chat about private matters without me understanding what they were saying. Once I learned to speak Italian however, mom, dad and I were able to have some wonderful conversations over the years.

Every culture has their jokes and for my family, they seem to be funnier in Italian – I remember a porcelain ashtray in our home with a an old saying imprinted on it that said, Il espire che punta la mia suocera morì di avvelenamento, which I’ll translate, as I assume that many of you may not know or speak Italian. The joke on the ashtray says, The snake that bit my mother-in-law died of poisoning. Anyway, the joke could lose something in the translation, and although I never thought it was funny, the saying always got a laugh from the old folks in my family.

As I’ve told you, I grew up in an Italian section of the Bronx, and in my mind’s eye, ears and nose I can still hear the merchants, and see the old women shopping and smell the cheeses, meats and breads from the stores along Arthur Avenue. Each Sunday my father and I would make our way along the avenue to buy food for the feast our family would enjoy after Mass at the Immaculate Conception Church. My dad, Anthony (who never liked being called Tony), would buy a large chunk of the special Grana Padano, a cheese that would fill the air of Ferrari’s Italian Deli. The aroma alone would make our mouths water along with the cured meats, spicy Italian sausages, crusty semolina bread, large ripe tomatoes, sweet roasted peppers and black and green olives and so much more. It all came together as the antipasti that is served and eaten before the family sits down to the ‘real’ dinner.

For Sunday dinner what else but pasta, covered with a thick, rich tomato sauce that is so good you took bread and lapped up all that was left. It was made from an honored family recipe that my mother learned from her mother who learned it from her mother and back for many generations. I remember that my mom would start cooking at 7 a.m. on Sunday because the sauce or gravy, as some like to call it, would need to cook and simmer for at least four hours. After coming home from mass, she would add the meatballs, beef braciola and sausages, then cook the sauce for another two hours so the flavors of the sauce with the meat would intensify. I enjoy cooking to this day and I still use my mom’s recipe for her sauce, and I never rush the process. I take just as much time as my mom did and the sauce called for. I like to alternate the different pastas I like to eat, so when I finally sit down, the memories of Sunday dinner with my family comes flooding back. I think that mom would approve of my cooking and the fact that I kept the tradition going and the thought makes me smile.

After my dad and I would leave Ferrari’s my father and I would go to the bakery next door and buy cannoli or éclairs or sfogliatelle for dessert. Our Sunday meals became a welcomed custom, one that gave us time to catch up as a family. Much of the time was also spent along with our extended family, and we would speak of all that is happening in our lives. The Sunday meals help me to understand my folks, their lives and dreams, what they expect of me, and what they expect of themselves. It was at these dinners that I learned about our family history, how my parents met, how grateful they are to have one another and how much love they feel for each other even after the passion subsides. Sunday meals have always been the time to slow down, eat to our hearts’ content and count our blessings. The Pella’s aren’t rich by a long shot, but you couldn’t tell by the food on the table and the happiness and comfort we feel in each other’s company.

As a young boy, I’d watch the old men playing bocce in the park and the women sitting on the stoops of their buildings talking, laughing and all the while never realizing there is anything more to life than what they enjoy every day. I guess this way of thinking and the genuineness of these people help me form a positive attitude about life even when reality hits me like a brick. For me, though, the greatest influences on my way of thinking were my parents. I really loved my mom and dad when they were alive as I still love them now. Anthony and Gilda were great parents and, as corny as it may seem coming from a guy my age, I always try to make them proud. My parents were generous, tough and funny and filled with so much love for me that it was kind of special and embarrassing at the same time.

My dad never graduated high school because his family was poor and he needed to go to work. At first, he was hired to do menial jobs and he worked as a laborer on a number of sites. Over the years, as he became more skilled, he was given more responsibilities and ultimately became a foreman on a number of construction projects during his lifetime. I’ll always remember that his hands were like sandpaper, his knees wracked with arthritis and the lines on his face were the road map of a tough, hardworking life. While he could have complained, and he had every right to, he never did. It was what he needed to do to provide for his family and to make a better life for me. It is America’s immigrant credo that their children would have a better life than they have, and he worked hard to make sure of that for us.

For Gilda it was different. Her parents recognized that she was a bright child and, although it would require great sacrifice, they made sure she would graduate high school and go onto college. When the time came, she enrolled in City College, received her degree in biology and embarked on a career as a laboratory technician. My mom had a keen mind and a structured, analytical way of thinking that made her the perfect person for her vocation. She loved working in the labs, running tests and analyzing the results, but always questioning those results until she was satisfied that they were valid and proper. For her it became a way to help doctors help patients, and she was very good at her job. Even when she met Dad, fell in love and they got married, she continued to work as a laboratory technician up until the time I was born. Once I was born, they both decided that my mother would quit her job and become a full-time mom. Gilda and Anthony did this at great personal sacrifice, and I believe it made all the difference in my life.

My dad never went further than the tenth grade before he had to quit school so he could work to help support his family. This was a lifelong regret for him, and it was for this reason that he worshipped at the altar of education. Unfortunately for me and because of his passion for education, it was preordained that I would have to go to college. I say unfortunately because I hated going to school. I was a decent student, but the thought of going to four more years of college after graduating high school gave me nightmares.

I hated everything about college, I hated the classes, I hated the professors, I hated the books, I even hated the cafeteria – but I loved my parents more, so after four years I graduated from the State University in Buffalo with a liberal arts degree, a business minor and a 3.1 GPA. Okay, maybe hated is too strong a word, but I was dragged kicking and screaming through college, and when I got my degree, I swore I would never step into a classroom again!

The State University at Buffalo is a very large institution and my graduating class had more than a thousand students. At my graduation ceremony, I made sure that my mom and dad got front row seats to the ceremony and, when I received my diploma, I saw my father sitting there smiling and beaming with pride. Anthony and Gilda are gone, but those memories of them are like an elixir to me. My recollections of our life together are filled with love and they bring me great comfort. These memories even help to relive the loneliness I sometimes feel now that my folks are in the Lord’s hands.

Once I graduated college, I set about doing what every 21-year-old does: look for a job, have as much fun as I can and I try to find my place in the world. But life has a way of throwing you curveballs, and much of what I would experience seems to be preordained.

Chapter 2

The reason I am telling you all this about my upbringing is because you may want to know a little about me and some of what shaped my life and my personality. I also think you should know that I can communicate with The Sainted.

What I am trying to tell you is that the saints speak to me, and I talk back to them. The Sainted appear to me through weird and puzzling visions that I will tell you about a little later. In these visions the men and women, who are revered by the faithful as saints, reveal incidents and experiences from their lives to provide me with guidance, inspiration and even warnings of evil things to come. Even though I can speak with the Sainted, I am far more eager to listen and learn what they have to tell me. Much more often than not, I am permitted to witness the many miracles they perform and through what I witness, I find myself staring and gaping in total amazement.

I know that you think all this Sainted talk sounds crazy, but you’ve got to believe that it’s the truth and it’s been this way most of my life. I was eight years old when my entire family, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins and all, moved to Huntington, Long Island from the Bronx. My relationship with the saints, however, didn’t start until I was about fourteen and it has been like that ever since. I don’t think it has anything to do with Long Island being the epicenter of some heavenly repository of saints, I think it’s just me. Some may call this special talent a curse or burden, but for me, it’s definitely a gift; my own personal miracle.

Imagine having St. Peter let you know whether you’re making it through the pearly gates or having St. Joseph show you how to build an armoire.

Just kidding, it’s not like that at all.

My interaction with The Sainted happens like this. I can be doing just about anything; I can be having a cup of coffee, walking down the street or looking at beautiful pleasure crafts from my condo overlooking the Huntington Harbor, and the visions will come to me without warning. I am still in the present, but everything seems to freeze in time. My surroundings change, and I am transported to whenever or wherever my saints want to take me.

As a fourteen-year-old kid, I guess I could have been out playing ball or trying to imagine what it would be like to kiss Joanie behind the backstop at the Mill Dam ballfield, but that’s not what was in the plan. So, what was in the plan? Well, the plan is to show me visions that reveal lessons in learning from their past experiences take me on amazing adventures in time and disclose mysteries that speak of the eternal battle between good and evil! Some of the visions are wonderful, some are terror filled, but no matter how strange the visions are, for me they became life altering. Later on in my story you will come to see what I mean about all that I’ve experience that has changed my life, but in spite of it all, I would not have given up the journey for all the treasure on earth.

My times with The Sainted began like this.

Winters can be tough on Long Island, and one year and, as the weather turned very cold, I got really sick. I lay in bed with the most horrible fever, chills, cough and sore throat that you can ever imagine. Because I was so sick my mother decided to keep me home from school. I guess I could have overplayed my condition, especially since I never liked going to school, but I didn’t need to pretend to be sick because this time I was really sick. I’m sure you know the kind of sick I’m talking about; light-headed, chills and sweats, the whole ball of wax, and I had it in spades.

My mother became very concerned about my condition and she kept taking my temperature and changing my sweaty pillow case. She called our doctor who prescribed some medicine but she had to go to the drugstore to pick up the prescription. Since I was fourteen at the time, I guess she felt that it will