by Tim LaHaye
Marilena would not argue that point, but she would never concede Nicky to Planchette, even if she had given her word about his spiritual training. “How do you propose to start?”
“Just by talking to him,” Viv said. “With that curious mind, he’ll eat up stories of the origin of the universe.”
As a high school freshman, all Ray Steele had going for him was that he had finally begun to get used to his new height. He was over six feet tall, and the athleticism that had been his hallmark in elementary school began to catch up with his new size—at least on the fields and courts. He was still awkward in social situations. He didn’t really fit the chairs in the classrooms, and he tripped and stumbled and bumped into things enough to elicit laughs.
On the positive side, Ray was largely an A student and stayed out of trouble. He worked more and more hours at the tool and die, mostly after school and sports, because the more money he made, the more flying lessons he could afford. His parents made him attend church and Sunday school and youth group, but Ray mostly tuned that out.
There were a couple of girls he liked to see at church, but with his acne flaring worse than ever and having never returned to his status as the attractive jock he had been in grade school, Ray couldn’t bring himself to talk to them.
At school he was enamored with girls too. How he would have loved to have been able to brag to a girl about learning to fly. But the thought of conversing with one, let alone asking one out, was beyond him.
TWELVE
“FREDERICKA, transmit this via secure e-mail to R.P., please. Then destroy it.”
“Certainly, Mr. S.”
He slid the handwritten note across his mahogany desk and spun in his chair to peer out over Manhattan.
R.P.:
Have the discussion posthaste. Report soonest. Your call on revealing my identity.
Regards, J.
Marilena should have known something was up. Reiche Planchette had tried to influence her raising of Nicolae from the beginning, but he had bothered to get to the cottage only once since the boy was born. All Planchette’s influence had otherwise come via Viv Ivins, and Marilena had done her best to ignore it.
But now Planchette had requested an audience with her, and Marilena was already regretting acceding to it.
“I’m sure it has to do with Nicky’s schooling,” Viv said. “There’s no sense getting defensive until you know.”
“What does he think, that I don’t know how old Nicky is? that I wouldn’t have already preregistered him? Is he going to remind me to pack him a lunch?”
Viv smiled. “Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. He and the society have been nothing but helpful so far.”
Intrusive was more like it. And as much as Marilena protested, there was a dark, inner part of her soul that felt some relief she would never acknowledge—especially to Viv. The fact was that while she still desperately loved her son, the gift of motherhood had satisfied only half her deep need. She remembered clearly that longing to have someone to love who would also love her. Sadly, Marilena had never felt loved by her son.
From infancy Nicky had treated her like a necessary evil. He needed her and wanted her only for nursing the first several months. He was not a cuddler, constantly stiffening and pulling away. Marilena had read enough parenting books to know that she should never give up, never stop showing Nicky physical love, whether he responded or not. She believed he would one day begin to turn, to change, to need and want her touch and be willing to return it.
Worse, Marilena found herself jealous of Viv. It was as if the boy didn’t really understand the difference between an aunt and a mother. Besides, Viv wasn’t really his aunt. Marilena had tried to tell him that she herself had carried him in her body and had delivered him. He took this in, asked questions, insisted on looking up childbirth issues in the encyclopedia and online. But it didn’t change his apparent attitude toward Marilena.
The women were treated equally, and he seemed to manipulate each. When he wanted something to eat or help with his reading or the Internet, he would consult whoever happened to be closest. Marilena wanted to be his priority. She believed she had earned it. Anyway, if Nicky had the brain she thought he had, shouldn’t he recognize that she was the more intelligent, more widely read of the two? Maybe someday.
If Viv got her way—and Marilena conceded that she too had Nicky’s best interests at heart—she would begin educating him in spiritualism. If he took to that the way he did to most other new topics, Viv would again gain an edge. The more Marilena thought about it, the more she was tormented.
There was no way out of it. She had agreed that Nicky would be raised in spiritualism, and as things stood now, Viv was the logical choice for that. She had many years in the discipline, plus she was a true disciple, a believer, a lover of the chief spirit.
Marilena took some solace in remaining true to herself. She had no question that Lucifer was real and that Luciferianism was valid. But she had not become a devotee or a serious student of it, only because she didn’t feel the emotional tug toward the personalities—specifically Lucifer himself.
Marilena regularly attended Viv’s classes and considered herself a believer. But she was getting tired of the weekly warnings from the spirit world that there was someone among them—a chosen one—who still withheld full loyalty. It was her; of course it was. But if Lucifer was a true deity, would he not value honesty and transparency above all? Or was there something to the charges from the other side that Lucifer was actually Satan, the prince of darkness, the father of lies? Marilena didn’t want to believe it—didn’t believe it—but why all this badgering to get her on board against her will? She certainly wasn’t an opponent or an antagonist. She simply had logged too many years revering the human mind and the material world to be able to easily surrender her emotions to a suitor from the great beyond.
Marilena, however, was considering a fresh look, a new approach. If Nicky was going to be schooled in spiritualism, she should take the lead. That would solidify her role as his mother and his true guardian. She would count on Viv for input, of course, but in no way could she cede her full responsibility for the spiritual training of her own son.
That was Marilena’s mind-set when Mr. Planchette visited for dinner that evening. From the moment he arrived, she worked on her attitude. In the past she had never hidden her aversion to his style and approach. When he was the visiting dignitary at Viv’s meetings, she didn’t offer any cordial or emotional connection, despite their history.
They seldom had words, though she rarely hesitated to challenge him, disagree with him, or speak her mind. He was due some respect, but this night she wanted to appear a changed woman. It wasn’t that Marilena was willing to take the last step toward full devotion, but she had to become more of a team player to make herself the clear choice to become Nicky’s spiritual mentor. As things stood now, that made no sense.
“How do you like your friptura, Mr. Planchette?” she said.
“Medium rare, thank you. I love steak!”
“I had heard that. But I would have guessed you for well done.” Marilena felt phony, small talking nonsense like this, but it was working. He appeared to devour the attention.
“Really? Why?”
She hadn’t thought of that. Why? Because . . . he was masculine? a man’s man? She could never say that. She just smiled and shrugged as he beamed.
Marilena was stunned, however, to discover that Nicky’s spiritual training was not the topic of the evening. After all her worrying and ruminating, in the end it was—as Viv had predicted—Nicky’s schooling Planchette had come to discuss.
“It’s taken care of,” Marilena said flatly, fearing that she was already off on the wrong foot. She glanced at Nicky, who seemed unusually absorbed in the small chunk of meat she had diced for him, as if ignoring the conversation. “He’s registered and ready to go at the end of the summer.”
“Where?” Planchette said casually.
“Where? Well, where do you think? The school is four miles from here.”
“The public school?”
“Of course.”
“Unacceptable.”
“What does that mean? Who are you to—?”
“It’s unacceptable, Mom,” Planchette said, infuriating Marilena. Her title dripped off his lips as if she—above anyone—ought to know better than to enroll Nicky in public school. “All I’ve heard from both of you since day one is that this is a brilliant child. And all the evidence points to it. The linguistics, the reading, the computer work, the curiosity. Of course, this should come as no surprise, and it certainly isn’t to the sperm donors.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Marilena said. “Surely you’re not implying that the donors know who their child is. So much was made of confidentiality, and I signed away any right to ever even attempt to find out who they were. . . .”
“I misspoke.”
“You did not.”
“I should have said that Nicolae’s brilliance comes as no surprise to the sperm brokers. Înşelăciune Industrie predicted this.”
“But that’s not what you said, Mr. Planchette. You’re a more careful speaker than that.”
“Nonsense.”
“Don’t talk to me as if I’m an imbecile, sir. I am not the one who said more than I intended. Now I want to know whether the sperm donors know who their child is.”
“Well, they shouldn’t, should they?”
“Is that a denial or a change of subject?”
“Really, Mrs. Carpathia. You’re being impudent.”
“I am? I asked you a question, sir, and I want an answer.”
“You know well, ma’am, that there is no way I should know that. But let me tell you—”
“No way you should know. But you do, don’t you? You know whether—”
“Really, Marilena,” Viv said, “you must stop parsing every syllable.”
“I’ll thank you to stay out of this, Viv.”
Finally, Nicky spoke up. “You should not talk to Aunt Viv that way.”
It was all Marilena could do to keep from backhanding him in the mouth, but she had never struck him and wasn’t about to start. “I’ll thank you to stay out of this too, young man.”
Marilena felt herself flush. She was outnumbered, ganged up on, and she was not used to it. She fought to keep from lashing out. Most alarming, Nicky seemed to realize he had the upper hand. He had frustrated her, but rather than appear ready to keep badgering, he affected a smirk not unlike Mr. Planchette’s.
“Let’s just all take deep breaths, hm?” Planchette said, and Marilena glared at him. Nicky sucked in a huge breath and sighed, and even she had to smile as Viv and Reiche laughed. “There,” Planchette added, “you do the same, Marilena.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head, no longer amused. He could change the subject all he wanted, but she was going to get back to this topic. Nothing could be more complicating than the sperm donors’ knowing who their child was. How could she possibly keep them from him if he somehow became a celebrated personality? The truth was, she didn’t even want to know who they were, let alone have her son find out. She foresaw nothing but trouble in that. On the other hand, if Planchette knew who they were, that meant Viv knew, and that was one more advantage the older woman didn’t need. If Viv in fact knew, Marilena had to know too, whether she wanted to or not.
Mr. Planchette dabbed his mouth and slid back from the table. “Wonderful, thank you. Now let me tell you what we have in mind for Nicky’s schooling. You’ll be surprised and pleased to know that he has an unusual and more-than-generous benefactor, which allows us options we hadn’t even considered.”
Marilena had lost her appetite when the conversation began, and now she sat with a hardly touched steak before her. Nicky had finished his small portion and was clearly eyeing hers. “Are you going to finish that?” he said, jarring her by speaking English.
She shook her head and he stabbed the meat, drawing the slab onto his plate. Marilena thought about reprimanding him for his manners, but she felt she had surrendered the right.
When she leaned over to cut the meat for him, he reached for her steak knife. Marilena hesitated, but she felt scolded by his look and watched closely as he carved the steak for himself. She wanted to stop him from starting with a huge bite, but he smiled as he stuffed it into his mouth. She knew he was playing with her, but she had been waiting for his smile for so long, she just watched him devour the meat.
THIRTEEN
PLANCHETTE SEEMED to do everything with a flourish. He pulled out one of his business cards and an ancient fountain pen. He made a show of crossing out his information on one side and turning it over to write on the other. He tried to cover the card with one hand as he wrote, but Marilena could see it was in flowing feminine (that was all she could think to call it) script. With his trademark sly grin, he slid it across the table to her, dramatically turning it right side up at the last instant.
Marilena could tell this was not news to Viv. She was usually curious above all else, but she sat there smugly, as if she knew what was coming. “ ‘Jonathan Stonagal,’ ” Marilena read aloud.
“Jonathan Stonagal,” Planchette repeatedly loudly. “Can you believe it?”
“Am I supposed to recognize this name?”
“Gunoi, Mrs. Carpathia, you can’t bluff me! You’re better read than that. You know who Stonagal is.”
It was true. She read the news magazines, watched the international news. Stonagal, an American banker and financier, was one of the wealthiest men on the planet. Rumor had it he was behind various nefarious clandestine commissions and coalitions that had as their goals control of international finance and world domination.
“What does he have to do with me? with us? Unless you’re going to tell me he is one of the sperm donors, I don’t see—”
“Oh, that would be something,” Planchette said. “Imagine that. But his brilliance is hardly academic. I mean, he’s brilliant, but it’s more stradă intelept.”
Nicky perked up. “Stradă intelept!” he said. “Street smart!”
“Very good,” Planchette said. “Mr. Stonagal has taken an interest in Nicky, Marilena. Can you conceive of a benefactor with unlimited means?”
She was speechless. What possible interest would Jonathan Stonagal have in a mental prodigy from the middle of nowhere? And how would he have found out about Nicky anyway?
“How wonderful,” Viv said.
Marilena shot her a look. “I already owe Lucifer the boy’s soul. What will be left for Stonagal? Or are you trying to tell me this is wholly altruistic—he merely wants to help out of the goodness of his heart?”
Planchette apparently found that knee-slappingly funny. Late on the uptake, Viv joined the hilarity.
“I’m serious,” Marilena said. “What’s in it for Stonagal?”
“Shall we retire to the other room?” Planchette said. “Let the boy be excused?”
That must have sounded perfect to Nicky, as he horsed down a last big bite of steak and headed for the computer.
“Clear your place, young man,” Marilena said, but he didn’t so much as look at her.
“I’ve got it,” Viv said.
Marilena found it disconcerting that Viv busied herself in the kitchen as Planchette explained the Stonagal connection. That left no doubt that Viv was already up to speed—which reminded Marilena once again that she had been just the vessel in this deal, the carrier and bearer of the chosen child.
“Jonathan Stonagal sponsors many scholarships around the world,” Planchette began when they had settled onto the couch. “To my knowledge there is no requirement that recipients eventually work for one of his companies, though they could do worse. I should think the students would be left with a certain impression of Mr. Stonagal and would take advantage of any opportunities offered, but as I say, I don’t know of any stipulations, any strings.”
“How much do you know about thi
s, Mr. Planchette?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I have many questions.”
“I’m at your disposal.”
“Let’s start with how many scholarships or offers to finance an education have been made to children who are about to start school at age six.”
Planchette looked nonplussed. He pointed at Marilena. “Excellent,” he said. “Point taken. My guess is that this is unique. I believe Mr. Stonagal’s other educational stipends are offered exclusively to college students.”
“Not even high school students?”
“To the best of my knowledge.”
“So, how many? Dozens?”
He shrugged. “Probably more.”
“Hundreds?”
“Throughout the world? Yes. I would guess in the hundreds.”
She nodded. “Hundreds of scholarships all over the world for college students, plus one for a six-year-old.”
“Wonderful, no?”
“Suspicious,” Marilena said. “I don’t get it.”
“Be flattered, Mrs. Carpathia! Be thrilled. Imagine the advantages for Nicky, for you.”
“How is Mr. Stonagal aware of my son, anyway?”
“I’m not at liberty to—”
“No, no. Don’t start with that. Don’t come here with this news and think you can leave out the most important part of the equation. Is Stonagal a spiritualist? a Luciferian?”
“I can’t speak for him. I—”
“You are speaking for him! You’re offering his beneficence!”
“I believe he is sympathetic to our cause, yes.”
“Sympathetic or an adherent?”
“I believe both.”
“Um-hm,” she said. “And so he knows about Nicky through those channels? From you or from Viv?”
“Neither.”
“Come now, that would be better than what I might fear. Please tell me the news of Nicky has not covered the globe, that every spiritualist in the world is aware of him.”
Planchette shifted his position. “No, I don’t think so. There are rumors that a special child is a gift from beyond. But it’s not like they know his name or where he was born, nor do people see him as some sort of—”
