Noble Church: Sundown

Chapter One

 

The forest was dense, shrouded in mist and thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Trees loomed over Essence Maxwell like ancient sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky, their roots gnarled and tangled beneath her feet. The ground was uneven, but she ran—God, she ran—chasing the anguished screams that tore through the wilderness.

“Mommy!”

Douglas.

His voice was guttural, colored with terror and pain. It ripped through her like jagged glass, slicing through her resolve, igniting something deep within her, something primal. There were leaves in her hair, her sweatshirt clung to her body, her jeans wet with sweat, but she didn't care. She pushed on. She had to reach him.

Onward she went, dodging twisted limbs of trees, her breath ragged, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest. The more she ran, the fainter his screams became. Essence pushed harder, forcing her legs to move faster, her lungs burning.

“Douglas! I’m coming, baby! Hold on for me!”

But his cries grew distant, slipping away like grains of sand between her fingers. The harder she ran, the farther away he seemed, as though the forest itself conspired against her.

Then—silence.

A deafening, soul-crushing silence.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head in frantic denial. “No, no, no, no!”

Dusk descended, the sky bleeding into pale purples and fiery oranges, painting the world in hues of sorrow. Panic clawed at her throat as she forced herself to run faster, her knees nearly buckling beneath her.

Then she saw it, a clearing.

Her breath hitched.

There, in the center of the open field, stood a lone tree. Its massive, ancient form cast long, sinister shadows across the forest floor. The air was heavy, and cold.

Her eyes scanned the branches and there, hanging from the thickest, sturdiest branch, was her son.

Douglas.

His lifeless body hung, suspended by a thick rope knotted tightly around his broken neck. His torso was torn open, viscera spilling onto the ground beneath him, his intestines coiled like a grotesque offering to the earth. Blood stained his skin, his clothes—what little remained of them. His face was frozen in a silent scream, his mouth agape, his wide eyes, once-bright now void of light.

A wretched, keening wail tore from Essence’s throat, her knees giving out as she crumpled to the ground. The pain was unbearable, as though the universe itself had reached into her chest and crushed her heart in its merciless grip.

“Douglas!” she shrieked; her voice raw with agony. “DOUGLAS!”

And then—

Darkness.

Essence gasped as her body jerked violently awake, her frail frame drenched in cold sweat. Her nightgown clung to her skin, suffocating, unbearable. Her breathing was ragged, her heart hammering wildly in her chest, as though it might burst.

She blinked, disoriented, her surroundings hazy through the remnants of her nightmare. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across her lavish master suite, the air thick with the remnants of terror.

It had been a dream. A nightmare.

But it wasn’t just a dream.

It was a memory.

A memory that haunted her on occasion now, one that refused to loosen its grip no matter how much time passed.

With trembling fingers, she pressed the call button on her nightstand. Moments later, the door to her suite opened, and her nurse, a quiet and efficient woman named Helen, entered without hesitation.

Without a word, Helen moved to Essence’s side and helped her out of her drenched nightgown, replacing it with a fresh, dry one. Then she maneuvered the wheelchair beside the bed, her movements precise yet gentle.

Essence allowed herself to be lifted into the chair, her limbs too weak and feeble to move on their own. Helen stripped the bed, replacing the damp linens with fresh, crisp sheets before helping Essence back into the vast expanse of her bed.

Once she was settled, Helen’s calm voice broke the silence. “Would you like anything else, Mrs. Maxwell?”

Essence swallowed. Her throat raw as she met the nurse’s gaze. Her voice was steady despite the storm raging inside her.

“My phone.”

Helen nodded, retrieving the device from the nightstand and placing it in Essence’s waiting hand and before leaving she poured Essence a glass of water from her bedside pitcher. She then left suite without a word.

Essence’s fingers moved with practiced precision, scrolling through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for.

Broome & Crowe.

She tapped the number, lifted the phone to her ear, and waited.

Straight to voicemail.

She inhaled sharply, then exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to remain composed.

The beep sounded, and she spoke, her voice cold and commanding.

“This is Essence Maxwell. Have my attorney call me back the moment you get this.”

She ended the call, lowering the phone onto her lap.

Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the night still loomed, quiet and indifferent.

Her son’s screams still echoed in her ears.

Essence Maxwell did not believe in ghosts.

But some hauntings were not of the dead.

Some hauntings lived within the soul.

And she would not—could not—rest until she made those responsible pay.

Chapter Two

 

The training room smelled of sweat, old leather, and the faint metallic tinge of blood that clung to the air like it was supposed to be       there. The din of the underground boxing venue echoed beyond the steel door, the muffled roar of the crowd beckoning the promise of violence and glory in equal measure. Nobel Church leaned against the ropes, his muscular arms crossed, watching Bobby with an assessing gaze as the big man finished wrapping his hands.

“You ready?” Church asked, his voice level but carrying the weight of expectation.

Bobby looked up, grinning, his thick brows furrowing slightly as he flexed his fingers into a fist. “You know I am.” He rolled his shoulders, exhaling through his nose. “Don’t get too comfortable, though. I can already taste those crab legs I’m gonna have after I knock this guy out.”

A soft laugh piped up from the corner of the room. Pearl, Bobby’s diminutive girlfriend, perched on a bench, swinging her legs with amusement. She had a presence about her that defied her small stature. Church glanced in her direction and was hit with a feeling this little Asian woman was not to be toyed with. She had a certain confidence about her he couldn’t quite place. She carried an air of confidence, comfortable with violence and blood, a confidence of silk and steel.

“Well, don’t keep me waiting then, champ,” she teased. Then, with a tilt of her head, she demanded, “Now gimme a kiss before we get thrown out.”

Bobby smirked, leaned down, and pressed his lips to hers, lingering just long enough to draw a satisfied hum from her before a gruff voice from the doorway interrupted them.

“Wrap it up. He’s got a fight to win,” the his trainer barked.

Church and Pearl found themselves ushered out. They joined the flood of spectators making noise and placing wagers on the way to their seats. As they settled in, the electric buzz of anticipation filled the air. Church leaned back and turned to Pearl.

“How’d you and Bobby meet again?”

Pearl smiled, her eyes flickering with a distant warmth. “After one of his fights. I was sent to him as a… gift by my then pimp.”

Church gave her a raised eyebrow look. That may explain her confidence around men and potential violence. She held up a hand before Church could speak.

“But the second I saw Bobby and when he locked eyes on me,” she continued, “it was like we already knew each other. Like we were being reunited after a lifetime apart. After that Bobby moved me in, and we’ve been together ever since.”

Church nodded slowly, processing her words.

“How long were you walking the blade?” he asked after a pause.

Pearl shook her head. “Never street-side. I was a hotel wench.”

Church’s expression darkened slightly. “And how long were you doing that?”

She sighed. “Six months.”

Church exhaled, then looked her dead in the eye. “I want you to understand something, Bobby’s a good friend of mine. And I protect my friends.” His voice was calm, measured, but firm. “Don’t hurt my friend.”

Pearl held his gaze. “I won’t.”

A deafening roar erupted through the venue as Bobby stepped into the ring. He was an absolute force at just twenty-three years old. He stood six feet six inches and was made of solid muscle. He tipped the scales at two hundred and eighty pounds. His opponent, while slightly shorter, had Bobby by at least thirty pounds, making for an intimidating matchup.

But Bobby moved like a man who already knew the outcome. He stalked forward, took his opponent’s measure, and then dismantled him with brutal efficiency. A few well-placed shots to the body were followed by an earth-shaking right hook to the opponent’s ribs. His opponent dropped his hands to defend his body which was a fight shortening mistake. Bobby quickly bent his knees, coiled like a pressed spring and unleashed a thunderous uppercut. It was over.

The crowd erupted, but Bobby barely celebrated. He simply glanced over at Church and Pearl, smiled, and then walked out of the ring like it was just another day at the office.

An hour later, they sat comfortably in a corner booth of an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet on the east side of Manhattan. The table was already piled high with plates of crab legs, shrimp, and lobster. Bobby cracked a shell open with practiced ease, dunking the meat into melted butter before glancing up at Church.

“Thanks for coming man.”

Church nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it. I was curious if you were going to use what I used to teach you.”

“The rib—uppercut?”

Church smiled and nodded. “You used it to deadly efficiency.”

“DEADLY efficiency,” Pearl repeated, sounding impressed.

 

Bobby sighed, stretching his shoulders before rubbing a hand over his face. “I got a problem, though.”

Church sat up. “What’s up?”

“I’m…we are getting evicted,” Bobby said, eyeing Pearl.

Church frowned. “Why?”

“Noise complaints.” Bobby shrugged, cracking another crab leg. “Sometimes I would work the heavy bag at my place if the gym’s closed. Guess I made too much noise. I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a good lawyer.”

Church nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime… you and Pearl can stay with me.”

Bobby’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “For real?”

“Yeah. I got a five-bedroom penthouse. As long as you two keep the noise down and clean up after yourselves, you can stay as long as you like. Not to mention there’s a gym on the mezzanine level.”

Bobby exhaled sharply, shaking his head in relief. “Man… you have no idea how much this helps. I took this fight to get enough money for a hotel room for a few nights for us.” He reached across the table, gripping Church’s hand in a firm shake before standing up.

“I gotta get more crab legs.”

Church smirked, watching his friend walk off with a renewed bounce in his step.

Pearl nudged him. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”

Church nodded slowly, watching Bobby at the buffet line. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know and now you two know it too.”

Something suddenly dawned on him while watching Bobby pile crab legs on his plate. He hoped Bobby would never need to learn just how far he was willing to go to protect the people he cared about.