Victor said, “Hey Mom, are you okay?”
Evie smiled. “Of course,” she lied.
He kissed her cheek again. “I gotta go. Love you, Mom.”
He bounced out of the car lugging his green book bag. She watched as he climbed the steps and disappeared inside the school.
Other parents drove off, but Evie couldn’t.
Eventually Sister Anne appeared at the top of the steps like she did most mornings, with her arms folded and her hands tucked inside the cuffs of her habit. The women engaged in a not-so-friendly stare down. Victor wasn’t the only one who thought Evie was too overprotective.
Sister Anne was a wispy-thin woman with severely lined features. Evie had never seen her smile. After a few minutes, Sister Anne spun around with a trace of curt impatience, and entered the school. Evie wondered if the nun delighted in closing the huge red door practically in her face.
Usually Evie could easily be dismissed, but not today.
Victor was a sleep psychic just like Evie. She guessed they had acquired this nasty gift from her dad. Victor wasn’t good at deciphering his dreams, not yet, but he was better than her dad. And her dad was better than she. She wasn’t sure if Victor knew that he had this gift, because she never tried to encourage him.
She had to be honest with herself, especially now that she was grasping for understanding. The truth was that sometimes when Victor dreamt, he spoke directly to Olorun. This was an enormous gift. Her son actually had real conversations with the Supreme Creator. The mortal orishas were treated as goddesses, but they could never talk directly to Olorun, only to his son, their spiritual father, Obatala.
But Victor was the exception, again.
She had seen him do it the first time when Victor had just been a toddler. That evening hadn’t been unique. She had spent the evening watching television after putting Victor to bed. She wasn’t certain how long she’d sat in front of the television watching one banal sitcom after another, but after a while she was tired enough to go to bed. She’d gotten a cup of cocoa, her newspaper and shuffled off to her bedroom, only she hadn’t made it that far. Her usual habit was to check up on him, make sure that he was tucked in and kiss his forehead gently before she retired.
That night had been different.
Victor had been tucked under his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles blankets. His nightlight was on, but the true illuminance in the nursery came from her son. He was bathed in a golden light. It looked like an aura, only brighter.
Evie’s mind emptied as the newspaper slipped from under her arm and crumpled at her feet. She had felt the hot chocolate slosh and burn her ankles, never quite aware that she’d dropped the cup. Although she didn’t react to the pain, it did affirm that she was awake.
It was strange.
Obviously Victor slept, but he spoke and waited for a reply as if in steady conversation. Although Evie couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, she did see how the golden aura pulsated around him with the soothing tempo of a beating heart. His voice, which was clear and conversational, spoke in a language she didn’t recognize.
But to her horror, and perhaps shame, she did make out His name, Olorun.
When their conversation appeared to end, Victor opened his eyes and smiled at her. The pulsating light stopped, but his eyes were the same color as the sun.
Evie had felt cold. Even hot cocoa wouldn’t have been able to warm her insides. She had been frightened, not of her son, but for her cause. Her body had turned to lead and her feet into concrete. She had waited and watched as he drifted to sleep. She also wondered, What does Olorun want with my baby?
After that, sleep remained elusive for days. She’d spent most mornings at the Catholic Church where she asked the statue of Jesus to make them normal. And eventually, they were normal again.
Until now.
Something was happening and she couldn’t grasp it any more than she could wrestle smoke.
She stared at the school door as she smothered the urge to beat on them and demand Victor’s return. She could keep him safe.
But what about tomorrow? Or the day after that? Besides, she didn’t know what was coming or even when the what was coming.
Evie drove back to the shop feeling haunted and alone.
She arrived to find Armando leaning against the delivery van enjoying a leisurely smoke. He expelled a nicotine cloud from his majestic nostrils. He took one look at her, knitted his thick eyebrows and asked, “You okay?”
Evie grumbled something incoherent as she hurried past. She was glad there were no customers in the shop. Sissy was on the phone. It sounded as if she was negotiating a greenhouse delivery with one of Swanson’s imbecilic sons.
Evie scrambled to her windowless office. Once she hung up her coat and tossed her purse in the bottom drawer of her massive desk, she leaned back in the executive chair and allowed herself to breath. She wondered, Am I being silly?
In the vacuum of near silence, she heard the hum of the display coolers. The soothing sound helped to force her calmness. Her gaze lingered on the family photo that sat in an elaborate frame on the corner of her desk.
In the picture, she was posed in a high back chair. She wore a low-cut Versace dress and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Her ears sparkled from two-carat diamond studs. Victor wore a tailored dark suit, monogrammed white shirt, and gold cufflinks. A Scooby Doo tie pin clipped his blue and yellow tie. He stood behind his mother with a hand placed on her shoulder. Rascal sat regally at her feet. A bowlful of beer had kept him tranquil. It was a normal photograph of a normal happy family.
Evie’s inspection of the photograph was disturbed by a light rap on her office door. Before she could respond, Sissy entered. Evie marveled at how much Sissy had ballooned during her pregnancy. Sissy had jokingly compared herself to a killer whale. Despite her girth, she was still very pretty. She had tawny brown skin and brown eyes, a wide but slightly flat nose and full pouty lips. She wore dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail.
Evie smiled at her as she waddled up to the desk. Frankly, Evie thought her best friend looked adorable pregnant.
“What’s funny?”
“I hear you and Armando had a tough night last night…Belly.”
“Oh,” Sissy said, “You got jokes? You snuck back here like a thief and you’re laughing at me.”
Evie said, “No…not at you. I’m laughing with you!”
“That’s right. Clean that shit up,” Sissy snapped. “Hey comedian, I’m hungry. I’m going down the street to get me some food. You’d better get out here and watch your business til I get back.”
“What about Armando?”
Sissy sashayed to the door as she shot back, “He’s coming with me. Okay?”
Before Evelyn could comment, Sissy was gone.
“Gawd! When is that baby due?” Eight hours, when she could get eight hours of work out of her, was too much time spent with both Sissy and Armando. Evie felt sorry for the child. At least, she mused, the child would definitely be beautiful.
Evie began strumming long fingers on the desk just as evenly as her intuition was strumming her nerves. The minor interruptions hadn’t been enough to fully distract her from her fears.
She told herself that she wasn’t orisha, and that she couldn’t do the orisha thing, but really she didn’t have a choice. She needed to pretend to be the mortal orisha to ask for a favor.
She dialed his number.
“Hello?”
Her demeanor was instantly authoritative. “I need you to get to Victor’s school. Just watch over him today. When can you get there?” She paused as he answered without hesitation.
“Yes,” she answered, “That should be fine. Just don’t let him see you.”
Chapter 3 – Stolen
The schoolyard was ordinary. It had a standard jungle gym, two hopscotch courts and a basketball half court. A twelve-foot high chain fencing enclosed the front and back areas. It was also adjacent to the convent.
> The aftercare teachers were lay people. They huddled in a group and gossiped instead of watching over the clusters of noisy pre-teens. The loudest were a group of girls who cheered the mushrooming athletic abilities of budding star hoopsters as they played a fierce game of show-off basketball.
Victor watched them with particular envy. He wasn’t too young to shoot hoops, they just wouldn’t allow him to play. He didn’t know whether or not he had a smidgen of athletic skill, but still he wanted to give it a try. He hungered to be out there with them leaping and hustling just like a real boy.
A few times he actually tried to get in a game, but they had just dropped the ball at his feet and left him standing on the court by himself. There had been no rage or hate only their respect which made him feel worse. He had gotten the message.
He hated being apart from everyone else. He tried not to blame his mother, but he couldn’t always help it. There were times when she made him feel like Pinocchio, the wooden boy who only wanted to be real.
He sat on the steps leading down to the cafeteria and popped open a book. Although he skimmed the words, his thoughts were on how and why he was so different. Everybody was always super nice to him -- all the time -- and he hated that too.
He’d learned how to be careful not to talk about things before they happened. But his internal cautions were sometimes too late and he’d let things slip. A few of the older kids started calling him Prophet, but without teasing him.
The word, prophet, always made him feel cold. He didn’t know why, except that some of his dreams were so scary that he prayed to Olorun they would never happen in real life.
He returned his attention to Edgar Allan Poe’s Collection of Short Stories, but looked up again when he heard an exasperated cry of, “Leave me alone!”
A group of girls were picking on his classmate, Shelby. They were fourth graders who sat next to each other. Victor suspected she liked him. Although Shelby was cute, he didn’t like her in that way.
Their eyes met. She silently begged and Victor relented with a slight nod.
The girls stopped their teasing as if chastised. Shelby poked out her tongue and rolled her eyes before she skipped over to join Victor on the step.
Victor never understood why girls were so mean to each other.
He cringed when Shelby sat close enough for their shoulders to touch. He flipped the pages back to the beginning so that they could read them together. Shelby annoyed him again by reading too slowly and mouthing the words.
Victor was glad when the basketball whisked by them. He handed the book over to Shelby and sprang to his feet. Although the ball players wouldn’t let him play with them, he was allowed to retrieve their ball. Maybe it was his lucky day after all.
He felt awkward and clumsy as he gave chase. The ball bounced just inches from his grasp. As the ball neared the chained and padlocked gate, it gained momentum and somehow cleared the fence.
“Whoa!” Victor’s steps faltered as he stared after the ball in disbelief.
Chad, a lanky seventh grader, shouted, “Hold up, little man, I’ll get it!”
Victor didn’t like being called little man. Besides he was closer to the fence. He squinted, a little scared by the way the gate swayed open a tad wider, as if extending an invitation despite the chains.
By the time the older boys crowded the fence, Victor had wedged his head between the posts. Once he cleared his head, he eased his body out, hopping on one foot and then the other until he was free.
The way the ball players whooped and cheered him on made Victor feel like a member of the team. He grinned and gave them a thumbs up.
“Hey? What’s going on over there?”
The voice sounded like it belonged to his least favorite aftercare teacher. Mrs. Winston was an old woman with cruel eyes. She was at the gate fumbling with her keys. “Come back here!”
Victor spotted the ball the next block over and defiantly ran after it. But as he approached it, he thought it odd the way it sat in the middle of the street as if glued to the spot.
Victor stood above the thing and hesitated, almost afraid to touch it. He expected the thing to sprout giant spider legs and crawl up his body. Well, maybe not but something wasn’t right. At the next block, he could hear the other kids either urging him to hurry up or jeering at the aftercare teachers. He only had minutes to get back to the playground before Sister Anne found him and sent him to detention.
The ball was still at his feet. All he had to do was scoop it up and run…but, his attention was immediately drawn to the boarded-up house directly across the street from school. He remembered now how that house had been in his dreams. There was nothing special about the house. It looked like all the others in the neighborhood, big and old-timey. Yet, dream fragments had told him that something bad was going to happen. He suddenly remembered it. He needed to protect his mom!
Victor looked down at the ball, again. He wasn’t supposed to be here, either. But he knew that he was too late. Power wrapped around him like tentacles. Suddenly, all sound disappeared.
There was no noise from the nearby street, or the ball players, or even Mrs. Winston threatening his existence. It was quiet…like he had died quiet. The only sound he heard with absolute clarity was his terrified heart beating.
Finally, Victor made himself scoop up the ball. He spun around at the jarring sound of a car door slamming shut, and came face-to-face with a fiend straight out of the pages of his Edgar Allen Poe book.
Victor crushed the ball against his chest as if it was a shield. He tried to be brave, but a scream tore out of his throat before the fiend clamped a hand over his mouth. Victor’s nostrils were filled with the stench of grease and urine. An instant later a jab of pain pierced his neck.
The world shifted and darkness started to drip over his eyes. The basketball slipped from his fingers and although Victor tried hard not to, he sank into the black void.
Chapter 4 – Hopelessness
Evie stirred a cup of tea. Earl Grey wasn’t her favorite, but some part of her hungered for the taste. She was perched on a tall stool behind the cash register and clinked the spoon against the cup absentmindedly. The sweetener had dissolved long ago and the tea was cold, but it didn’t matter. She sipped again without tasting.
Her lunch crowd consisted of a solitary customer; a young woman in a fur coat, who wandered the displays and occasionally opened the cooler to examine the arrangements. She didn’t seem interested in actually making a purchase. But Evie wasn’t anxious to be alone with her thoughts so she didn’t mind.
Rascal lounged in his bed in the corner farthest from the door. His soulful eyes tracked the customer.
Evie lifted her cup to sip her tea when the woman’s eyes met hers. Evie was startled to see her gaze was full of expectation and something else, contempt. The skin on Evie’s arms prickled as she settled the cup down on the saucer and rubbed her skin. The air around her grew heavy and carried an unclean odor. She felt…power, but not hers.
Rascal yawned.
Although she saw the polka dots on the roof of his mouth, she hadn’t heard his subtle sound. Puzzled, she tapped the spoon on the cup. She didn’t hear that sound either. Evie was scared. She tapped harder. Again nothing. Fear severed her calm just as the ghost of his scream snaked up her vertebrae, stack by stack.
“Baby?” She could hear her voice now, frightened and desperate.
A thin sliver of pain pricked her neck and caused Evie to leap from the stool. Immediately, her legs started to weaken. She felt like a drunkard tottering for stability. Darkness lapped at the edges of her consciousness, but she fought the urge to surrender. It was the sensation of his absence that anchored her into awareness. His sudden loss drove a serrated blade into her heart and it twisted each time she drew breath. The pain was so intense that Evie expected blood to erupt from her mouth.
“Are you all right?” The young woman held out her hands as if attempting to help Evie keep her balance. Her concern was seeped
in artificial undertones.
“Don’t touch me!”
She’d been a fool. She should’ve trusted her instincts. The blackness started to diminish as the true horror continued to overwhelm.
Victor’s presence, always a constant since the day he drew breath, was gone. Evie kept gasping as the knife dug deeper into her heart and the pain squeezed out the oxygen in her lungs. As she struggled for breath, she reminded herself that she needed to be strong. She had to be whole to find him.
All around her, Evie heard rustling whispers as a sweet feeling gave her just enough juice to function. Slowly, the world stabilized and the pain in her heart withdrew, just a bit.
The young woman let out a scream as Rascal charged at her, growling and barking. The woman ran for the door, but Rascal blocked her exit.
Evie’s power continued to rise, coating her insides like something warm and seductive. Then there was a moment the world was drenched in flickering shades of red and gold.
She looked at the woman and knew that she was part of it. She sensed it, she felt it, but she didn’t know exactly what it was and she gnashed her teeth in frustration. Evie wanted to tear the truth out the woman, but her power couldn’t extend. It was there, but not the knowhow to use it. She screamed in frustration.
Evie reached for her, but the woman skipped over Rascal, threw open the door and fled.
Tears slid down Evie’s face as she swore, “It ain’t over for you. Run, bitch!”
The darkness vanished under the blaze of her power, but her power offered her little else. She had to find out if Victor was really gone. Once she felt strong enough to stand without the threat of falling on her face, she hurried out of the shop with Rascal at her side.
Tears burned and blurred as she bumped into pedestrians and then stumbled into traffic. Her thoughts were as fractured as her behavior all the while she told herself to keep calm, and that she was probably in the middle of some godawful nightmare.
Stolen Prophet: A Horror Supernatural Thriller (The Prophet's Mother Book 1) Page 3
