Saving the World

by Ponzo, Gary

  “Who said I was repenting?”

  Father Joe frowned.

  Bryant glanced over the priest’s shoulder and noticed the girl still in the second pew, on her knees, head down. His curiosity took hold of him for just a moment, then he realized his mistake and looked away from her.

  “She’s in deep despair,” Father Joe said, following his gaze. “She seems to have run out of places to go and people to trust.”

  “That’s a shame,” Bryant said.

  When Father Joe looked back at him, Bryant saw something in his face he didn’t like.

  “No,” Bryant said, his voice echoing throughout the tall ceilings.

  “But, Michael, you don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “Of course I do and the answer is no.”

  “She’s young,” Father Joe said compassionately. “Still a teenager.”

  “No,” Bryant said, holding up both hands and taking a step back.

  “But Michael,” Father Joe leaned forward to compensate for lost ground. “You’re the reason she’s here in the first place.”

  That one threw him. “Huh?”

  “That’s right. She’s a patient of Frank’s and tried to see you, but was refused the opportunity. Rather rudely, I might say.”

  Bryant squinted at the girl until he recognized her picture from the newspapers. She was the alien girl.

  “Margo Sutter?” he asked.

  “You remembered her name,” Father Joe said. “That’s a start.”

  Bryant backed away slowly. “Sorry, Joe. I don’t practice medicine anymore.”

  “Who says you have to practice anything? Just speak with her for a minute.”

  Bryant watched Margo push off the kneeler and sit back into her seat. She didn’t appear to be crying anymore. It was his nature to help, but he was fighting a righteous battle.

  “What are you so afraid of?” Father Joe asked.

  “Afraid?”

  “For some reason this girl seems to frighten you. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Bryant thought about it. Then the obvious occurred to him. He cocked his head.

  “What?”

  “You and Sully are conspiring to find the exact patient who would fit my area of expertise. A teenager. This is no coincidence. You want me to become engaged with my career once again, but it’s not working.”

  Father Joe blinked innocent eyes. “I wish I had that kind of foresight, Michael. The fact is, there are a lot of teenagers out there with problems. Finding one who is searching for guidance is not that much of a stretch. You’d know that better than anyone.”

  Bryant examined the priest’s expression. He was a cool customer. Not a trace of deception to be found.

  Bryant rubbed the back of his neck, while tapping his shoe on the floor. Margo’s shoulders shuddered slightly. He stared down Father Joe with his index finger pointed at the priest’s sternum. “Just this once,” he said. “After that I’m making no promises.”

  “Well, that’s grand, Michael. I will not intrude on your time ever again.”

  Bryant groaned. “All right.”

  “She’s an orphan,” Father Joe said.

  Bryant raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s right, just like you.”

  Chapter 5

  As Bryant approached the pew, Margo Sutter was dabbing her nose with a rolled-up tissue. She looked frail and unusually light-skinned for an Arizona girl. The baggy shorts exaggerated her skinny legs. Her ponytail made her seem even younger.

  Suddenly, Margo turned and held her hand to her chest. “Oh my gosh, you scared me.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just saw you over here . . . having a little trouble.”

  Margo looked down at her shoes and took a deep breath. “Oh.”

  Bryant gestured at the empty space next to her. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  “No, that’s fine.” Her voice cracked.

  Bryant slid beside her and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

  “You’re struggling with something fierce,” she said.

  He looked at her. “You feel like you can read people well?”

  “Uh,” she scoffed. “You have no idea.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a good listener.”

  “Really? Then why wouldn’t you agree to see me as a patient?”

  Bryant took a breath and tapped his fingers together. Where to go from here? He’d lost his appetite for pretense and social posturing. “I’m not really in a good place, I mean, I don’t have the patience, nor the time to be—”

  “Available.”

  He pointed his finger at her. “Exactly the word I was looking for.”

  “I know.”

  “So you understand.”

  “Better than you think.”

  “How’s that?”

  “How’s what?”

  “How do you understand so well?” he asked.

  “Do I?”

  “Are you playing with me?”

  “You mean by answering your question with a question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when trying to help someone?”

  “Are you trying to help me?”

  “I don’t know, do you need help?”

  He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not the one finishing off a good cry, am I?”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding.

  “So?”

  She kept her focus on the space between her feet. “You want to know why I’m sad?”

  “Yes.”

  Margo looked up at the altar and maintained an even gaze. She seemed to be in deep thought.

  “Do you believe in God?” she asked.

  “It’s late on a Friday afternoon and I’m at church . . . what do you think?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Now it was Bryant’s turn to take in the altar. Father Joe was cleaning the chalice with a white cloth, giving it his full attention. Working the rag with elbow grease. There was a man with conviction, Bryant thought.

  “Let’s just say,” he said, “I have reason to be a real skeptic.”

  “That’s not what I was hoping to hear.”

  “I know, but it’s the truth. That’s all I’ve got to offer.”

  Margo squeezed her ball of tissue, then opened her hand and watched it expand in her palm. “Here’s what I think. I think Jesus came down here to give us a way out. Something to aspire for.”

  “You mean Heaven?”

  “Yes. Do you believe in Heaven?”

  He sighed. That was his dilemma, of course. Not believing in the Lord put Kate and Megan at risk. He wanted them to be safe, so much he got chest pains just thinking about it. “I’m hopeful,” he said, finally.

  “You should be. It’s all we’ve got.”

  A profound thing to hear from such a young girl.

  “You never told me why you were crying.”

  “You’re really not interested. You’re just doing Father Joe a favor.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She turned and frowned. “I thought the truth was all you had to offer. Did you lose that as well?”

  He smiled. “Okay, but I’m here now and I’m still a good listener.”

  She crossed her legs and folded the tissue on her lap. “Sometimes when I’m in a quiet room like, I don’t know, maybe a library or say a church . . . I can hear peoples’ thoughts.”

  She kept folding her tissue, then unfolding it, then folding it another way. It reminded him of Megan when she was about to open a present on Christmas morning, she’d play with the wrapping paper out of nervous tension.

  “So tonight I happened to hear a deeply sad soul begging for mercy. This person wanted to be out of pain and prayed for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what he had done and forgiveness for what he considered doing.”

  Bryant’s mouth went dry.

  “An
d this person,” she continued, “wanted Jesus to take care of his family up in Heaven. His wife and daughter.”

  Bryant was staring now, his fingers trembling.

  “You see,” she said, “this man was married for fifteen years. And every day before work, he kissed his wife goodbye on the cheek and said he loved her. Every day without fail. Until one Tuesday morning, after a squabble over who got to choose the breed of dog they were going to get, he purposely chose not to kiss her or say he loved her. He simply left for work without as much as a goodbye. It was such a little thing, but it bothered him the entire drive. He felt so bad about the snub that he called her to apologize as soon as he got to his office. Unfortunately he was ten minutes too late. By that time she was already gone. She and his daughter were killed by a drunk driver.”

  Bryant felt his stomach surging up the stale sandwiches to his throat. His heart pounded while his mind raced. He had studied the neurological phenomena of telepathy in college. It was widely known to be a myth.

  When Margo looked up at him she was glossy-eyed. “That’s why I was crying, Doc. I could feel your pain from across the room.”

  Bryant wiped his moist eyes with his shirt sleeve. “But how?”

  “I’m clairvoyant.”

  “But . . .” he swallowed. It wasn’t possible, yet there she was crawling inside his head. Bringing up images that he was so careful to bury.

  Margo rubbed his back. “It’s true, Doc. This is no myth.”

  He took deep breaths to steady himself, while Margo tried to console him. With a dry tongue, he said, “You really are—”

  “Yes,” she said. “I really am.”

  Bryant took a deep breath.

  A grey cat appeared in the pew and approached Margo. She curled her body around Margo’s leg.

  “Is that your cat?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Bryant had to work at keeping his heart rate stable.

  Just then, the lights flickered in the church.

  “Aliens?” Bryant said without thinking.

  “No,” Margo said. “That wasn’t aliens. There aren’t any around tonight.”

  Bryant looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  “Because,” she said, looking at the cat maneuvering between her legs. “I can hear them too.”

  Chapter 6

  “You can hear aliens?” Bryant said in a hush, watching Father Joe bend over to pick up imaginary lint from the carpet in front of the altar.

  Margo looked down and began folding the tissue on her lap again, first in half, then quarters. “Yeah.”

  “These aliens,” Bryant said, “where do you see them?”

  Margo wouldn’t look up, her hands busy on her lap. “See that’s the problem. I can’t see them. They’re invisible.”

  That stopped him. He sat upright in the pew and regained his psychiatric footing like a boxer hearing the bell ring. “Invisible?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Invisible aliens. Her words were linked together in such a way, he knew deep down they meant more than their contextual surface. Bryant could tell more from words and body language than a team of specialists could learn from a series of laboratory tests. It was simply a matter of finding their origin, the reason for their existence. No one ever spoke a word without a source, either from hatred, or regret, or capricious jealousy. It was his one great skill in life. Finding the source of spoken words.

  “Why do you suppose they chose to speak with you?” he asked.

  Her tiny frame shifted uncomfortably while her hands fidgeted with the tissues. “I guess because I’m the only one who can hear them. Actually I can’t tell if they’re speaking or just thinking.”

  Margo’s head was down, her hands still busy. Telltale signs of an internal struggle. Something wasn’t right.

  “I know, I know, it’s confusing,” she said. “A moment ago you believed me, but now you’re thinking I’m psychotic.”

  “Now, listen. I—”

  “Oh, you’re already searching your memory for the textbook diagnosis.”

  “Wait a minute, you—”

  “And if you think I’m psychotic, what possible hope could I have with anyone else?”

  Bryant held up his hand like a crossing guard. “Stop.”

  Margo waited.

  He ran his hand through his hair and let out a breath. “If we’re going to continue this conversation, you have to promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have to promise to stay out of my head,” he said. “I can’t think straight with an audience in there.”

  Margo half-smiled. “Okay.”

  Bryant looked over at the fragile girl with the skinny legs and the ponytail and wondered where to start. It was like scraping together a sand castle at low tide. Eventually anything he did for her would be washed away once the tide of discomfort rolled back in. There just wasn’t the time.

  “Why did you come to see me in the first place?” Bryant asked.

  Margo shrugged, her head low. “Ever since my parents died, I’ve just never felt right. I guess I thought you could help.”

  “I’m sorry. How did they die?”

  Margo’s shoulders began to shudder while she dabbed the tissues to the corner of her eyes. “The plane . . .” she sucked in a quick breath, “the plane . . .”

  Bryant gathered her in his arms and let her sob. He said nothing as she convulsed

  and hiccupped into his chest. Father Joe glanced over with anticipation, but Bryant looked him off. The priest nodded and moved on to another task which kept him nearby.

  As Margo’s tears seeped through Bryant’s shirt, he fought back his own wave of sadness. He realized he hadn’t held a girl in his arms that way since . . . He stopped short of bringing on a panic attack by cradling the young girl’s head and murmuring, “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” But he couldn’t possibly offer her any logical reason why.

  The front door creaked open behind them, allowing an overhead cloud to grumble a reminder of its presence. A pair of footsteps came through the tiled entryway and stopped before reaching the door of the main part of the church.

  Margo mumbled something between moans and Bryant lowered his head. “What’s that?” he asked.

  With her head buried into the crook of his shoulder, she said. “Make him go

  away.”

  Bryant turned to see a man wearing a suit and tie standing on the other side of the door, looking through the window framed into the top half. He stared at Bryant with cold eyes.

  Bryant whispered in her ear, “The guy in the lobby?”

  He felt her nod into his chest.

  “Do you know him?”

  Margo was obviously trying to gather herself by forcing longer breaths. She shook her head.

  Bryant released his hold of the girl and leaned forward to get up. Margo grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him back down.

  “Careful,” she said. “He’s dangerous.”

  When Bryant turned around the man was gone. Bryant hurried down the aisle for the exit. By the time he got outside, the black Ford Expedition was backing up from a parking space, heading toward Bryant. He recognized the tiny “G” at the top of the license plate that designated a government-issued vehicle. The driver stopped the car just a few feet from Bryant. As he shifted the transmission from reverse to drive, he stared at Bryant through the rearview mirror. Bryant stared back. The SUV remained still, while the rain tapped its exterior. The bright red brake lights glared at Bryant in the darkness of the storm. No one moved. Bryant’s pulse raced as he waited.

  The man jammed the gearshift into park. The brake lights disappeared. The driver’s car door opened an inch as the man seemed to consider his next move.

  Bryant stood firm, his shirt soaked from tears and drizzle. He found his hands clenching and unclenching by his side. He couldn’t understand why a government official would be glaring at him like he was Al Capone.

  The car door
opened and the man jumped out and marched toward Bryant. He was shorter than Bryant by a couple of inches, but his demeanor and his determined expression set Bryant back on his heels.

  The man stomped up to Bryant as if he were going to walk right through him. He stopped a foot away. His face had wrinkles in severe angles around his eyes and mouth that probably aged the man an extra decade. They must’ve taken years of interrogation to get there.

  “Don’t get involved with something you don’t understand,” the man growled.

  Despite the rain trickling down his face, Bryant’s mouth was dry. “Who are you?” he asked.

  The man seemed to consider the question, then gave Bryant a distasteful look before turning back to the car. Just before he slid into the driver’s seat, he growled, “I’m the man who can prevent you from going to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.”

  He slammed the car door and the tires squealed as they spun on the slick surface of the asphalt parking lot, spraying up a stream of water as he fishtailed away.

  Bryant stood dumbfounded for a solid minute before he reentered the church and discovered Father Joe by himself.

  “Where’d she go?” Bryant asked.

  “I don’t know,” Father Joe said. “But she’s here every day. I’m sure she’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Bryant squeezed the back of his neck and grimaced. What was he getting involved with? “Will you call me when she shows up?”

  “Of course, Michael. Is everything okay?”

  Bryant thought about the question. There was a girl walking around thinking she spoke with aliens. A stalled storm system had the entire city acting loony, and a government official had just threatened him in the parking lot.

  “Yeah,” Bryant said. “Everything’s just peachy.”

  Chapter 7

  Bryant pulled open the bullet-proof glass doors of the Chandler Police Department and went directly around the information counter to the back hallway. He walked through a door labeled, “Authorized Personnel Only,” and found Detective Meltzer at his cubicle, leaning back in his chair, speaking into his desk phone. He rolled his eyes at Bryant while listening to someone on the other line.

  “Yes, I’m still here,” Meltzer said. “I completely understand.” He waited another moment with exasperation on his face. “Look, what would you like me to do?”