* * *
Exactly fifty-seven minutes later, Steven’s “gift” phone announced a call from “Riley, Lane.” I was puzzled, because Lane was heading straight home and home was a lot closer than an hour away. I snatched the damn thing up before it rang a second time. “Lane?”
“I’m glad you’re finally answering the phone.” There was that chuckle again.
“Oh… it’s only
you”
“You were expecting one of your
other
boyfriends?”
Boyfriend? A dozen butterflies took flight inside my chest. “Lane, how can we go from casual friends to first date to boyfriend all on the same day? Have you been reading
Cosmopolitan
or something?”
“Well, actually I was hoping to move from boyfriend to the next higher notch. You should hear the promises your body whispers to me when you’re not paying attention. You want me, Sydney, as bad as I want you, so why pretend otherwise? Yes, I’m your boyfriend as of today, you’re my girlfriend, and while we’re at it you’re Shae’s girlfriend, too. Now let’s talk about tomorrow and that next notch.”
“Maybe I just think we should get to know each other better. You know, things like… like your background and where you went to school and, well, just lots of general stuff. Otherwise you’re just moving too fast.”
“With you, I have to move fast. I keep getting this feeling that… that I’m about to lose you.” All the teasing left his voice. He paused. “Umm, Sydney, at the risk of sounding too fast, are you open to one question?”
“Not unless you tell me what the question is about first.”
He cleared his throat. “That letter, the one you wrote to Shae. Was it supposed to be a joke?”
Whew! Nothing about Heaven, memory loss, or secrets? This I can handle.
“Joke as in funny or joke as in Shae saw through my excuse?” I plopped into my favorite chair.
His tone seemed a little guarded. “Joke as in we couldn’t read it because it was written in some… some other language. It was more like pictographs… or… or symbols.”
I sat up. “Symbols? Lane, how could you have confused my letter with something else? I gave it to you in a sealed envelope.”
“Which was still sealed. It was definitely your letter.”
“Well, you saw me write it and you didn’t mention anything about symbols then, so how can it be the same letter?”
“Actually, I
didn’t
see you write it. You were sitting at that little desk, remember, with your back to me? You read the words out loud as you were writing them, and that’s how I knew what you’d said.”
He wasn’t making any sense at all, which made me wonder about his motives. What new gimmick might he have come up with this time? Of course he could read it. How silly! What he was trying to say was… no, he’d said, “we couldn’t read it,” which meant he was including Shae. She might not be able to read big words, or maybe any words at all, but he could have read them to her. Did he mean she couldn’t understand what I’d written? I’d kept my language simple enough. I stood and started pacing with the phone to my ear. “I… I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us. The writing was really strange. Everything was a series of lines and curves with diamond shapes capping the ends. You drew them with a very steady, very precise hand, almost like calligraphy. Even your signature… at least I think it was your signature. It was in the spot where a signature would go. One symbol was like a letter ‘U’ with a diamond attached on each side.”
The cardinal had hopped right onto my finger… could… could God have thrown more than one curve ball? I was certain I’d written the letter the same way I’d written anything else… and… and…. Oh, my God! Other than Shae’s letter, I
hadn’t
written anything else, not since I’d switched into Sydney’s body. I hadn’t even signed my name.
“Lane, are we still going to spend tomorrow together?”
“I sure hope so.” There was no hesitation in his voice.
“Will you bring the letter with you so I can see it for myself?”
“Well… actually, there’s more. Did I mention Shae was the one who opened it?”
“Yes, and…”
He paused. “She took one look and announced that the letter proved you were special. I mean, it took her no more than two or three seconds.”
“But she’s only six. Are you saying she can read?”
“She knows what writing looks like, even if she can’t read, but wait, it gets better. She wants to present it at school tomorrow, for show and share.”
“What’s that?”
“Show and share. The kids bring in things that are special to them, to share with their classmates.”
“And she’s taking a letter I’m not even convinced I wrote?”
“Yup… and I’m going to let her.”
“Why? For heaven’s sake, Lane, can’t you understand that I
couldn’t
have written what you’re describing? This is too weird.”
“Weird or not, I’m going to let her do it because this is about her, don’t you see? She wants to
talk
about it, in front of everyone, and if she does it’ll be the first time she’s spoken to anybody besides you and me. This is a
good
thing, Sydney. Her psychiatrist wants me to let her talk about anything she wants: Well, this is it. This is the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.”
“Yeah, but why does it have to be something associated with me? Why can’t she take in a stuffed animal or something?”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m
not
afraid.”
“Really? Okay, then let me ask you this. Is whatever you’re feeling more important than Shae’s recovery?”
“I just don’t think her recovery ought to depend on talking about me, that’s all. Just tell her to keep my name out of it.”
“I’ll let her know your wishes, but I can’t make any promises. Shae can be pretty stubborn. In the meantime, I’ll be by around nine o’clock tomorrow morning to pick you up. I have a surprise planned.”
“Be sure to bring that letter. Um, what kind of surprise?”
Another chuckle. “Well, now, if I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
Seattle
Eliam wanted desperately to ask questions, but he knew better. He hadn’t risen to the coveted lead position in the organization by displeasing his masters. His hot new threads, the killer watch on his wrist, the cherry-red Mustang convertible—all could be taken from him in a flash. They’d even thrown in a wallet with a fake driver’s license and a hefty wad of cash!
At first he’d been nervous about the gifts—nothin’ came for nothin’—but all they asked in return was for him to beat up a few losers and steal some petty cash from a church. No harm in that, even if he had to go to the services in order to locate the poor box and all that! They had their reasons, obviously not connected to whatever cash he could get. Now if it came to some of the gold stuff, that was different. That might be fun.
The church request had squashed the demon theory he was trying so hard not to think about. It was the horned goat head—what kind of symbol was that?—and hearing that his sister had offered up his soul for hers. The whole thing still pissed him off. Not a cool joke, not at all, because she was bitchy enough to do that kind of thing.
Yeah, demons were by far the scariest of all things the Legnas could be, but he needn’t worry any more about that. The last thing any demon would want would be for one of their disciples to learn about God… right? That would be like the Steelers’ offensive coach teaching the Cowboys’ defensive line how to block against them, but if the Legnas weren’t demons, what were they—aliens? No, that wasn’t right, either. What kind of alien would want to mess around with churches? And hadn’t he learned in school that any visitors from space would be millions of years older than us and way more advanced. They wouldn’t come all the way to Earth just to learn from us.
Whatever.
Even if he hadn’t solved the mystery, they
were
kind of cool and they liked him, so they couldn’t be all that bad. Besides, if they were really evil, why hadn’t they branded him? If nothing else, they could’ve gotten off watching him squirm, but just as Theresa was about to put that hot poker on him, they’d stopped her. She’d gotten so close to doing it that he’d felt the heat. He’d never tell them that he’d peed himself a little. Let ‘em think he had ice in his veins.
It was hard to remember what happened after that, but no problem at all where Samyaza was concerned, laughing that weird laugh of his. He seemed to be the head mucky-muck.
“We see potential in you, Eliam Blackwood. Are you willing to attend church every day on our behalf?”
“Sure can, gov’nor. Anything you want, gov’nor.” Or was it supposed to be colonel? That sounded better. “Anything you want, Colonel Samyaza… Sir!”
He’d bowed his head reverently when Samyaza mentioned church, fighting to suppress a smile—they could sense stuff like that. Maybe he should Google “black eyes” and “mind reading.” Better yet, “black pinhead eyes,” ‘cause that’s what they were. Just little shiny dots you could only see when the light was just right. The rest looked just like jet black charcoal, reflecting nothing, like looking into a bottomless pit.
He still wanted to giggle every time he thought of the church thing. They thought he might balk? Was that it? If they’d only known the things he’d have agreed to do to avoid the humiliation of crapping himself, or screaming like a chick. He’d even have licked their butts if they’d asked him to, that is if they had butts. They were sitting on something, but so far the only things inside those robes were the two shiny, black dots.
“Focus, Eliam,” Crocell barked, “and stop your idle daydreaming. You were reporting on your assignment. After you followed Sarah Cummings home, then what? What did you learn about her? Did she see you?”
Yup, that one can definitely read minds! I’m not sure about the others though.
“I stayed out of sight. She’s kinda boring, if you really want to know the truth. Doesn’t do much of anything. Her preacher dad lectured her for a whole hour, using words like modesty and decorum, because her ankles were showing during his church service. I can’t imagine anyone listening to that crap every day, can you? I’d have bolted a long time ago.”
“Anything else?”
He’s definitely attracted to her
,
Samyaza, but wondering how he can get her to notice him when the right time comes. Are you receiving my thoughts?
Samyaza, sitting quietly during the report, raised a black-draped arm. “Befriend her, Eliam,” he ordered, as if it were an easy thing to do. “My instincts tell me she will be attracted to your strong personality.”
“She’s not allowed even to think about boys, let alone talk to any. They don’t even have a television in her house. I think the preacher creature secretly hates that he got a daughter instead of a son. If he had his way, he’d lock her up and throw away the key… but… but if there’s a way, I’ll find it and do as you say.”
Samyaza had come down from his stone perch during the answer, and was now approaching. This would be another of those moments impossible to remember later, almost like blacking out. One minute they’d be walking toward him. The next he’d be back in his room, waking up—that was the only word that came close—and he’d be thoroughly pissed off. Not just angry pissed, but a consuming “have to do something about it” pissed. Each time got a little worse, too. Last time, he’d lashed out at the person who happened to be nearest. Once the anger simmered down, his victim turned out to be the battered old lady cowering there at his feet. It made him feel awful, but at the same time he kinda liked venting that way. Talk about power! He must have hit her hard, and repeatedly, because his knuckles were bruised and even cut in places.
What would happen this time? Could it get worse than that?
He remembered to focus on a spot just above the black void where Samyaza’s head ought to be. “Sir, when are you going to mark me as your own? Haven’t I been faithful? Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
It was confusing, even to him, why he was practically begging to be tortured. He’d heard about people like that. What were they called? Pacifists? No, that wasn’t it. Masochists? Nope, that wasn’t it, either. How about weird? Yeah, that’d do until he thought of a better word. It was weird that he wanted a brand just because the other disciples had one.
That was the last thing he remembered. When he awoke, he was back at his place, wishing the preacher creature was within reach right then.
There
was a guy who deserved to be hurt, and hurt bad. Who did he think he was, anyway? Did he call what he was shoving down his daughter’s throat giving her a life? Giving, hell, he was taking it from her, stealing what was rightfully hers. She didn’t have a clue to what living was all about and never would as long as he was in the picture.
She needed someone to show her what the real thing was, someone to teach her.
Lost in thought, he’d walked right by Theresa, never noticing her. She’d seen him, of course, but there’d been no greeting, nothing to get his attention. He snagged the hallway corner with his right hand, painfully aware that he was missing his tattoo and more than conscious of hers. Why can’t she say hello to her own brother just once? Would it kill her to be nice?