Gather the Sentient (5 page)

CHAPTER

7

JOSE

Monday, August 29

Phoenix

“I’m scared, Dad,” the sandy-haired boy whispered from his prone position on the gurney.  His worried father walked beside him, clutching the boy’s hand which peeked out from beneath the thin sheet draped across his torso.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he responded, glancing at Jose for validation.

Jose stopped just beyond the nurses’ station and pressed the button to call the elevator to take them to radiology.  “Oh, yeah,” he confirmed.  “You’re gonna be better than fine.  We get half a dozen broken bones through here every day, so they get lots of practice putting legs back together.  I bet they’ll have yours fixed up in no time.”  The elevator doors opened, and he wheeled the boy inside, carefully maneuvering over the gap in the floor so as not to cause any pain.  “I broke my arm in seventh grade and had it x-rayed right in the room where we’re headed.  And look at me now,” he added, holding up his left arm.  “Good as new.”

The boy smiled and returned his attention to his father who shot Jose an appreciative glance.  “If I need a cast, can we get some metallic Sharpies so everyone can sign it?”

His father raised an eyebrow at Jose as the doors slid open on the fourth floor.  “Breaking your leg seems like a pretty extreme way to get those markers you’ve been asking for, don’t you think?” he teased.

“Dad!  I didn’t fall off my bike on purpose,” he said, rolling his eyes, and then added without missing a beat, “but can we?”

Jose laughed along with the boy’s father as the radiology technician met them in the hallway.

“Good luck,” he called to them as they rounded the corner out of sight.

Although they were expecting him back in the ER, instead of going back to the ground floor right away, he decided to take a short detour via the ICU. As the car descended to the second floor, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling about the boy.  Helping patients feel safe and comfortable was an unexpected perk of his job.  In addition to giving him unprecedented access to the ICU, being an orderly also provided daily interaction with average patients each day.  He’d learned over the years how to quickly build a rapport with them, not only to gain their trust, but also to ease their anxiety over being hospitalized.  Now, however, it was time to get down to business.

He usually didn’t venture to the ICU during the day, but he wasn’t scheduled for a night shift until much later in the week, and he was afraid if he waited until then, he wouldn’t get a chance to see Chloe before her release.

After healing her the weekend before, he’d kept tabs on her improving condition and had only recently discovered her attending physician was preparing for her discharge.  He considered visiting the patients he cured a narcissistic indulgence, but try as he might, he couldn’t keep himself away.  He felt drawn to them and couldn’t bear not knowing how his decisions played out.  Had he chosen the right person?  Did they realize the value of the gift they’d been given?  This desire to follow up had all started with Baxter, who, after many nights of not knowing where he was or what he was doing, was finally adopted by Jose’s family, after he convinced his parents the dog deserved more than a life on the streets.  Since then, Jose had always felt the need to see things through to the end.

He strode confidently off the elevator into the ICU, a clipboard tucked under his arm.  He found carrying a clipboard made him look official, and other staff generally left him alone when he had it.  The hallway was deserted and no one stopped him as he ducked into Chloe’s room.

She was lying in her bed, under a tray covered with magazines and empty snack wrappers.  She was watching something on the television, but cut her eyes to the door as Jose crossed the threshold.

“Hi,” she said warmly.  “Are you here to take vitals because Selma was just here about 10 minutes ago and said everything looked good.”

A bandage still covered her temple, concealing what Jose assumed was the remains of the gash to her head from the fall.  The ventilation machine was no longer in the room, and Chloe’s cheeks were flushed with life.  He approached, settling into the chair beside the bed with the hope of confirming his assumptions.

“Oh, yes.  Everything’s fine,” he said, preparing to recount the same liturgy he always used on his chosen patients.  “I’m just here to ask a few questions about your medical care here at the hospital before your release.  Is that something you feel like you could do?”

“Of course,” she replied, straightening herself up against the headboard and turning off the TV.  “What is it you’d like to know?”

He pulled his clipboard out from under his arm and plucked his pencil from behind his ear.  He asked her several questions about the nursing staff and the quality of the meals.  And then he got to the actual reason for his visit.

“What do you think aided in your healing process the most?” he asked, pencil poised above the paper.

She paused for a moment, considering the question while she eyed him skeptically from the bed.

“Is that really a question?” she scoffed.

He held his hands up, shrugging.  “I don’t write ‘em, I just ask ‘em,” he sang, although he couldn’t help but be impressed by her astute observation.

“Okay, then,” she said thoughtfully.  “I guess I was in really rough shape when I came in.  They tell me I was in a coma, and I overheard my mother telling my aunt on the phone yesterday the doctors told her when I got here they thought I was going to die.  So one minute I was dying, and the next minute I was awake and recovering.  That was it.  Apparently I haven’t been experiencing any of the symptoms typically associated with a head trauma.  They keep asking me about headaches and checking my speech.  They keep doing this eye thing with a light and asking memory questions, as if I wouldn’t know what year it was or what my brother’s name is.”  She rolled her eyes.  “Anyway, it seems to me that what aided my healing process was a miracle, you know?  I don’t think anything any of the doctors or nurses did made me better.  They just kept me alive and then, boom, I wasn’t dying anymore.”

Jose smiled at her, letting the truth of her words wash over him.

“Are you going to write that down?” she asked.

He shook himself out of his trance.  “Oh, yeah.  Of course.”  He jotted down a few random notes – ‘miracle,’ ‘alive,’ and ‘recovery.’  As he finished, she spoke again.

“Do you believe in miracles?” she whispered.

He lifted his eyes from the paper and gazed into hers.  The joy was unmistakable.

“I do,” he replied.

She ran her hand absentmindedly over the gauze on her head.  “I’m really happy to be alive.  I watched a TV show once about a man who cheated death and then he vowed to use his life in the service of good.”  She paused and began to pick at the edge of the bandage on her arm where her IV had once been.  “Maybe that’s what I’ll do too.  You know, help feed homeless kids or try really hard in science class so I can find a cure for cancer.”

He slipped his pencil behind his ear and stood up, satisfied Chloe wouldn’t waste her second chance.  “I think you should get back on your horse and make the best of your life,” he told her.  “Thanks for answering my questions and be careful out there, okay?”

She waved at him.  “I will,” she laughed.

CHAPTER

8

PATRICK

Monday, August 29

London

Everything was in place for Patrick’s first communication with Akantha.  Knowing she was wildly misunderstood in her own community, he hoped to inspire a sense of peace and understanding with regard to her assimilation into his group.  For the prophecy to be fulfilled, they would have to be together, each of the seven, in the same space.  This meant fostering her commitment to their cause and defusing her anger, at least as it pertained to them.

“It’s been too long, Patrick,” Wesley said as he strolled into the conference room on the 32
nd
floor of the Heron Building in London’s financial district, the space which served as headquarters for Patrick’s bevy of global corporations.

“Good to see you.”  He rose from his chair to greet Wesley with a handshake, overcome as always by the Australian’s massive frame. 

“Any hostility from the Brazilian Beast today?”

Patrick wasn’t amused by Wesley’s moniker for the newest member of their group, but chose not to make it an issue.  He’d learned early on he could take the man out of Australia but couldn’t take Australia out of the man.  “Since I’ve been able to hone in on her location and track her emotions, she’s been pretty stable.  We can’t be too careful though.  Let us not forget the unwieldy brute from Cambodia.”

Wesley scowled.  “I remember that monster.  That bloke nearly tore my head off.  I still can’t believe he didn’t turn out to be one of us, but I can’t say as I’m disappointed.  I definitely didn’t mind offing him though.”  He rubbed the back of his hand under his chin against the scruff of his week-old beard.  “Seems as though we might be nearing the end of our search now though.  If this girl’s really the one, we’ll be down to finding Number Seven.  Next thing I know I’ll be out of a job and all we’ll have left is ruling the world.”

“All we’ll have left?” Patrick snapped, leading Wesley to the seats at the far end of the conference room table.  “Ruling the world will be just the beginning.”  He was growing tired of Wesley’s short-sightedness and it was grating on his nerves.  For the sake of the day’s mission, however, he tried to squelch his annoyance and move on.  “I sense Lillian is on her way?”

“She’s in the building.”

“And Javier too?”

“Yes.  Just down the hall.  You think this is gonna work?”

Patrick had been asking himself the same question for three days, wondering if Lillian’s abilities would be enough to keep her safe from Akantha’s pyrotechnics.  The Brazilian girl’s family had made it very clear she wouldn’t hesitate to maim or even kill if she was provoked.  Between their horror stories and the drawing Eshanti produced weeks ago of Lillian suffering from third degree burns, it was only natural for him to be concerned.  He only hoped Lillian would remain unharmed, for if she were to perish, the prophecy would surely fall to the other side.

Before he could respond to Wesley, Lillian herself materialized in the doorway.  It wasn’t unusual for the others to wonder which version of her they were seeing – the actual physical presence or the otherworldly version she was able to project at will.

“Howdy, boooy-eeeez,” she sang in her thick Texan drawl, as if the word was comprised of half a dozen syllables.  “Y’all miss me?”

Hearing her voice, Patrick was transported to the moment he’d first heard her speak.  The way he’d known immediately she was part of the group before ever setting eyes on her face.  She was Javier’s and his first find.  She was Number Three.

“We always miss you,” Patrick crooned, crossing the room in great strides to kiss her properly on each cheek.  “How have you been, my dear?”

“Right as rain.  Righter now that you think you found Number Six.  I just hope she’ll listen to me.”

“About that,” Wesley interrupted, greeting her with kisses of his own.  “We saw Eshanti’s drawing.  Are you sure Akantha won’t be able to harm you physically during the biolocation?”

Lillian threw back her head.  “You mean is she gonna fry me to a crispy critter?”

“Yes.  Exactly that.”

She draped her coat across the back of the chair in front of her and smoothed her fitted pencil skirt, which Patrick had to admit hugged her in all the right places.  “I can assure you, Gentlemen, as sure as the sun shines, I will be just fine.  She’ll see me and hear me, but she won’t be able to touch me.  You just gotta tell me what to say to that translator of hers to convince her we’re on her side, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Javier breezed into the office carrying a laptop and small projector.  “Hola, Ms. Lillian!” he said, winking as he slid past her to deposit the equipment on the table.  “Everything’s set up in Belem.  Akantha’s in a concrete holding facility and the translator is behind protective glass.  She’s been civil with him so far, but there’s no reason to take any risks.  The last thing we need is to have to find another interpreter, especially knowing the difficulties you had initially, Wesley.”

“No kidding,” he sighed.  “Finding someone who spoke fluent Bakairi outside of a tribal community wasn’t easy.  We can’t let anything happen to him.  We may need him for a while.”

Within minutes the team was assembled at the table, with Patrick at the head and Wesley and Javier on either side.  They positioned themselves with an unobstructed view of the video projection. Once they began streaming the live feed of Akantha and Lillian’s encounter, Patrick planned to orchestrate their conversation.  Lillian, for her part, sat by herself at the far end of the table, eyes closed, deep in thought.

“I’m ready,” she told them.

Seconds later she appeared on the screen from the remote location in Brazil.  She also remained with the others in London.

“She always freaks me out when she does that,” Wesley whispered to Patrick.

“I can still hear you,” Lillian quipped.  “Remember?”

Javier widened the camera’s focus and the group got their first look at the Amazonian woman they hoped to welcome into their group.  “Ay Dios Mio,” he swore under his breath.

Akantha’s face was emblazoned with striking red paint, save for her eyes, which narrowed defiantly at the sight of Lillian materializing out of nowhere on the other side of the room. Her earlobes were pierced with large wooden cores and an animal bone protruded from her nose.  Clearly not a woman to cross, Patrick was beguiled when instead of attacking Lillian outright, she lifted both hands in a defensive position, palms out in front of her chest. 

“Tell her not to be scared,” Patrick instructed, worrying just how much provocation it would take for her to light the place up.  “Tell her you’re not going to hurt her.”

Lillian related the message through the interpreter, but instead of pacifying the woman, Akantha’s hands began to glow like molten iron.

Patrick felt a rush of panic.  “Tell her you know about her power to control fire and that you have a power as well.  Tell her about your gift.  About what you can do.”

Patrick watched with the others from the London office as Lillian, who was both with them and 5000 miles away, lowered herself onto a metal folding chair directly across from where Akantha was standing in the center of the room.  After positioning herself below her aggressor in a classic submissive posture, she lifted her chin and gazed at the Amazonian woman, doe-eyed, as she began her communication.

“I know what you can do with your hands.  I know you are powerful and worthy of my admiration.  But I’m here to tell you about the purpose of your gift.  The truth of your destiny.  You are part of something much bigger than yourself and we’re here to help you reach your full potential.”

Patrick held his breath while the interpreter shared Lillian’s words, but with the aggressive reaction Akantha was having, it seemed as though something was being lost in the translation.  The Brazilian glared at Lillian with all the hatred of someone who had never been truly accepted by another living soul.

“There are no words in her language to describe destiny or potential, as you’re describing them,” the interpreter lamented.  “I’m having a very difficult time helping her to understand.”

Patrick wished he could channel Lillian’s power and biolocate himself to Brazil in order to safely manage the operation on his own.  Accustomed to a position at the helm, taking a backseat to Lillian and the translator caused the involuntary twitch at the corner of his left eye to spasm.

He coached Lillian from the conference room.  “You need to be more general with her.  Remember, she’s spent 25 years living in a tribe along the Amazon with no contact to the outside world.  We need her to understand you’re gifted too and you revere her for her power.”

Lillian’s face broke into a smile.  “I’ve got it,” she said.  And then she vanished from the screen.

Patrick watched as Akantha reacted to her disappearance.  She crouched low, squatting like a caged beast, her hands outstretched toward the spot where Lillian had been standing only seconds before.  Her eyes were wild.  Panicked.

“What are you doing, Lillian?”

“Trust me,” she snapped.

Patrick’s fingers balled into fists in an uncharacteristic show of fury.  He hated being told what to do, especially by a woman.  As Akantha began to growl, a guttural sound, more animal than human, he considered the possibility of aborting the operation.  But just when he thought she was going to begin fraying at the seams, Lillian appeared again, in the farthest corner of the room, directly behind the interpreter.

Akantha screamed.

Lillian fell to her knees, tearing a wide slit up the back of her skirt as she genuflected before the Amazonian, immediately silencing her cries.  She kept her eyes lowered as she addressed the translator who stood dumbfounded on the periphery of the room.

“Tell her she is a god.  Tell her there are six other gods living here in the world, and I’ve been sent by the others to welcome her into our group.  Tell her we all have great powers, and I can disappear and reappear at will, and that I know she can manipulate flame.  Convince her I’m here to welcome her into our family.”

Patrick could feel the tension pulsing off the other men and knew his own anxiety was palpable to them as well.  None of them moved.  None of them dared to breathe while the interpreter translated Lillian’s message into a staccatoed gibberish only Akantha could understand.  When he finished, the woman lowered her hands for the first time since Lillian had first appeared and spoke.

“She wants to see you go away again and then come back.  She wants you to come close so she knows it isn’t a hoax.”

“It could be a trick to get you close enough to burn you,” Wesley whispered.

“She can’t hurt me,” Lillian reminded him.  “And besides, if you want her to join us, I’ve gotta try.”

Patrick knew she was right.  “Go ahead,” he told her, asserting his authority as though it was warranted.  He watched on the screen as she approached Akantha, cautiously, as a charmer nearing a snake.  She hesitated just beyond her reach, and then Lillian dissolved into the air for the third time. 

Akantha spoke.

“She’s asking for you to return,” the translator announced.  “She wants you to bring the other gods.”

Patrick glanced around the table as Lillian reappeared beside Akantha.  “Tell her we don’t have the ability to appear like you, but we’d like to meet her if she’ll agree to come here to London.  Tell her I’ll send my ‘magic’ bird for her to fly on across the ocean.”

As the interpreter translated the message, Akantha’s demeanor shifted from hostile to curious.  She reached out as if to touch Lillian but then pulled back, perhaps fearful of the potential consequences.  Her face softened and she addressed her fellow psychic in a voice free of malice or fear.  It gave Patrick hope.

“She says she’ll go to London, to meet the others.  She says she’s always known she was a god - she’s just been waiting for someone else to notice.”