Gather the Sentient

by Amalie Jahn

  “You never confided in anyone else? No friends?” Mia asked.

  “There was no one to tell.” She reflected on her immediate family – just her mother, father, maternal grandfather and paternal grandmother. With the exception of her grandfather, they were a conservative, serious assemblage whose minds were far too narrow to accept the possibility of her visions. And as for friends, there had never been anyone she trusted enough to share her confidence, especially after developing symptoms of PCOS. They hated her for being fat. She couldn’t imagine what they would’ve done to her if they’d known she could hear what they were saying about her, even when she wasn’t with them.

  She saw tears pooling in the corner of Mia’s eyes. “My mother actually left,” Mia told her. “She didn’t like that I was different. That I could see things she couldn’t see. She was never able to accept me for who I was or forgive my father for embracing my gift. One day, she just never came home.”

  “That’s awful.”

  She shrugged, hastily blotting her eyes with a paper napkin. “It’s life.”

  “I’m still sorry for you, just the same. Everyone needs a mother.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment, each of them taking sips from their respective drinks. Lanying wondered if the others sensed the electricity pulsing between them.

  “What is it that you can do?” she asked finally.

  Mia brightened, the color returning to her face. “I see people’s auras. Everyone is bathed in luminosity or shrouded in a dark cast. It shows me if their souls are good or evil.”

  It sounded crazy to Lanying, that Mia could look at someone and tell if they were good or bad. She supposed she knew now how her mother had felt all those years ago when she explained to her about the visions. Then she had another thought.

  “And what do you see when you look at me?”

  Mia smiled. “Radiant light.”

  She was surprised by the relief she felt from Mia’s admission. Part of her had always wondered if her visions were more sinister than they appeared.

  “And what about you?” she asked, turning her attention to Thomas.

  He set down his beer and settled on the stool beside her. He seemed embarrassed by the question. “Well, unlike the two of you, I didn’t consider myself gifted until Mia actually pointed it out when she started putting the pieces of this whole prophecy thing together earlier this year. I never thought my ability was anything more than run-of-the-mill intuition, but apparently, what I experience is anything but typical.”

  “He senses danger,” Mia interrupted. “He can feel when bad things are about to happen.”

  “Do you see the bad thing happening?” Lanying asked. “Like my visions?”

  “No,” Thomas told her. “It’s just this horrible sense of urgency. I can’t ignore it. It causes actual physical pain if I try.”

  She saw Mia beaming at Thomas. It was obvious she cared deeply for him.

  “There was this one night,” Mia interjected again, “we were walking to the light rail after a ballgame at Camden Yards, and out of nowhere Thomas grabbed my hand and started dragging me in the opposite direction. He almost pulled my arm out of its socket!” She laughed, remembering the event. “I told him the station was the other way, but he refused to listen and told me to hurry up. He just kept saying ‘We need to get out of here.’ So anyway, we got about 50 feet from where we’d been standing when a knife fight breaks out between two fans over Lord knows what, but somehow Thomas knew it was about to happen. Their auras were both dimly lit, so even if I’d seen them, I probably wouldn’t have given them a second thought.” She nudged him now, playfully in the ribs with her elbow. “You kept us safe that night.”

  “I’ve kept you safe a lot of nights,” he grinned.

  Watching them together, Lanying felt the tiniest pang of jealousy, but more than that, she felt grateful. For the first time in her life, she was home.

  CHAPTER

  20

  THOMAS

  Sunday, September 11

  Baltimore

  Thomas couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned for the better part of two hours before finally giving in and getting up.

  He wasn’t typically an insomniac. Most nights he was asleep seconds after closing his eyes. But tonight all he could think about were Lanying’s visions. More specifically, the visions she’d been having about him.

  Listening to her recount the specific instances during which she’d observed him over the years was surreal. She was there when the audience gave him a standing ovation at his high school’s talent show in eleventh grade. She’d been watching when he bussed his first table at Belinda’s. She’d seen him mourning at his father’s gravesite with Mildred on the day he was interred.

  And she witnessed him riding in a police car alongside Kate on the way to rescue her sisters.

  It disturbed him to think there was no way of knowing if he was actually by himself when he was alone. Recognizing now there was at least one person in the world who had the ability to see outside herself and into the lives of other people gave him pause. How many others were there?

  It was little consolation that Lanying’s intentions were pure because he couldn’t be sure about anyone else’s.

  Thomas tiptoed past his mother’s room, down the stairs into the homey kitchen, with its café curtains at the window and sprigs of basil and oregano growing out of empty soft drink cans on the sill. Dishes from last night’s dinner were piled in the sink and he considered washing them, but then thought better of it, not wanting to wake Mildred. Instead, he fetched their shared laptop from where they stored it beneath the coffee table in the living room and booted it up at the kitchen table.

  Lanying’s confession about her visions was all the proof Mia needed to confirm the validity of the prophecy. And although he remained marginally skeptical, he also couldn’t deny the strangeness of their situation.

  Four people. Four psychic abilities.

  Same birthday. Same city.

  He sat staring at the Google landing page, not quite sure what search to attempt. He remained there, paralyzed, until his eyes became so unfocused the search engine’s logo was merely a swath of colors on the white background of the screen.

  Finally, he settled on the birthdate. It was really the only thing he had to go on.

  As he scrolled through site after site of public records and genealogy reports, the graveness of their situation sat heavily upon his shoulders like an albatross he couldn’t shake. It seemed as though somehow the prophecy was bringing the seven children of the light together. First Thomas and Mia. Then Kate. Now Lanying. If their paths were connecting, it only stood to reason the children of the dark were probably being pulled together too.

  Thomas needed to find them before they found each other.

  And then he needed to figure out a way to keep them apart.

  Three hours later, as the first beam of morning sunlight crept slowly across the kitchen’s floral papered walls, he pushed back from the table, bleary-eyed and exhausted. His preliminary search uncovered hundreds of people from all over the country, all born on his birthdate. Unfortunately, cross-referencing the people he discovered with the keyword “psychic abilities” hadn’t yielded a single hit.

  He was at a complete loss. If only the psychic community had a registry, he thought.

  The digital clock on the microwave confirmed the need to temporarily abandon his search in order to make it to work at Belinda’s. But instead of dragging himself into the shower, he called Mia.

  “This is going to be impossible.”

  “What is?”

  “Finding the bad psychics.”

  She chuckled. “You think?”

  “You’re better at this sort of thing than I am, with your job and all. I searched online for hours last night and found nada. I’m thinking you should probably take over.”

  “I might know a guy,” she said.

  “You always know a guy.”

  “No
, really. When I was in seventh grade I reached out to this psychic guru guy – Les Joplin. I thought for sure he was gonna be a hoax because his name was all over the place. But it turned out he was legit. He helped me through a really rough patch, and we’ve stayed in contact all this time. He knows people. Lots of people. And I already sent him an email.”

  Thomas felt like an idiot, wasting an entire night spinning his wheels while Mia had already taken the driver’s seat, as usual. Given the serious nature of their predicament however, he wasn’t resentful. He was grateful.

  “And?”

  “And I haven’t heard back yet. I just sent it yesterday morning. But I bet he’ll have some leads for us.”

  “You’re sure we can trust him?” He couldn’t help thinking about scam artists like Madame Freakshow.

  “I’ve never met him, so I’ve never seen his aura, but I’ve seen firsthand what he can do. And I can tell you I’ve only heard of him using his gift for good. So yeah, I trust him.”

  Thomas closed the laptop and made his way upstairs into the bathroom to get ready for the day. “What can he do?”

  “Just like Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense, he sees dead people.” She paused, waiting for him to respond. “Thomas, I can hear you rolling your eyes.”

  “Seriously, Mia? Anything but that. Dead people? Lie to me if you have to.” He turned on the shower, knowing it would take a few minutes for the water to warm up.

  “I’m not gonna lie to you. I swear, he’s the real deal. He’s helped hundreds of people and works closely with the FBI, tracking down missing persons and helping them solve murders. He was offered one of those reality TV shows, and he turned it down. He’s not a fame-monger. He’s just trying to use his gift to make the world a better place.”

  Thomas knew he needed to squelch his skepticism. Clearly, their options were limited. They’d have to use any resource they could find.

  “Okay,” he said finally, “call me if you hear from him. And Mia?” He hesitated then, reaching his hand behind the shower curtain to test the temperature of the water streaming out of the showerhead. “One way or another, we’re totally going to find them.”

  “That’s my man,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Cautiously optimistic.” And then she disconnected.

  CHAPTER

  21

  PATRICK

  Thursday, September 15

  London

  There was nothing Patrick hated more than waiting. Except maybe being let down by the people he relied on. On this day, he was dealing with both.

  It had been several days since he and Wesley had discussed the pressing matter of interpreting Eshanti’s landscapes, and despite repeated phone calls and emails, the slacker hadn’t seen fit to drag himself away from his most recent harlot to respond. Now Patrick saw no other option but to fly directly to Wesley’s French chateau to deliver the paintings himself.

  He pressed the call button on his desk and his assistant appeared in the doorway of his office.

  “Find out how quickly Desmond can have the chopper ready to take me to Cote d’Azur.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  “And reschedule any afternoon meetings until tomorrow, since it seems as though I’m going to be forced to spend today sitting over Wesley like a school proctor to assure he finishes what’s required of him.”

  “Yes, sir. But what about your 2 o’clock phone call with the Forces Nouvelles leader. You’ve put him off twice already, and if you recall, he wasn’t happy the last time.”

  She was right. His relationship with the diamond smuggler was shaky at best, making it all the more necessary to take the call. After the UN Security council banned all diamond exports from the Ivory Coast, it had become one of his most profitable trafficking operations. He couldn’t afford to lose his shipping route to the international trading centers via the Forces Nouvelles controlled section of the country.

  “Make sure Rawlings installs a secured satellite connection before takeoff. I’ll take the call from the air.”

  “Right away,” she agreed before ducking out of the office.

  Patrick went to great lengths to secure his illicit deals and back-alley investment opportunities, and having established his vast empire on the backs of insignificant men, there was no way he was going to allow the light psychics to overthrow his destiny. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, if they were allowed to congregate first, his wealth would immediately disappear. It was no wonder finding the seventh dark psychic was his primary mission.

  However, despite the pressing nature of the prophecy, he also understood the necessity of keeping his poker in the proverbial flame. In addition to his extremely profitable human trafficking ring and diamond smuggling operation, he also blackmailed lobbyists and many of the world’s most powerful leaders, controlled significant portions of the Middle Eastern oil fields, and had widespread influence among many of Central America’s drug cartels. He was able to establish and maintain all of his relationships using his ability to view events and other people’s thoughts and feelings via the astral plane.

  To that end and in anticipation of his afternoon trip, he retreated now to his meditation room, a small alcove hidden behind a moveable bookcase just beyond the sightline of the door. He pressed the button under his desk which simultaneously locked the door to his office and slid the bookcase aside, revealing the meditation chamber within.

  The room itself was small and far less ornate than his public spaces. The walls were painted a charcoal grey and were bare save for a single framed print which read: ‘Don’t let what other people think of you stop you from doing the things you love.’ It was one of his favorites. A simple reminder about staying true to himself from one of the few men he deeply admired, Adolf Hitler. He read the text now and smiled unabashedly, knowing he would eventually achieve the sort of greatness his mentor was never able to attain. And he would do so by focusing on that which he loved the most.

  Turning people against one another for his own profit.

  As was his ritual, he settled himself into the upholstered armchair in the center of the room, resting his feet on the accompanying settee. For simple musings, he could access the astral plane on the fly, but for more complicated matters, he found it was best to find a more solitary location. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander, separating his true self from his physical self. Once his consciousness was no longer tethered to the earth by his body, he was allowed to roam along the astral plane, searching for markers indicating the presence of disturbances he could exploit for his personal gain.

  Today he was looking for markers which indicated specific points of unrest between the rebel Forces Nouvelles leaders in the north and the French Foreign Legion in the south. Before his afternoon phone conversation with his Forces Nouvelles liaison, Bourou Ouamarra, Patrick needed to find out if they had any inkling of his surreptitious relationship with the French, as he had been pitting them against one another for several months, acting as a double agent while safely smuggling his diamonds across the Ivory Coast’s border.

  Deep in meditation, he found Ouamarra easily, the man’s confidence standing out against the fear and anger of those around him. He reached out, searching the man’s mind for unfavorable opinions about him, but was pleased to discover only amicable thoughts. In fact, Ouamarra was actually nervous about speaking with him because of a possible breach in the supply route – a breach Patrick was already aware of.

  Satisfied with his findings, he sought out one of his contacts from the French Foreign Legion and connected quickly with Lieutenant Taché. A no-nonsense patriot, he’d never doubted Patrick’s contrived loyalty to their mission of Muslim suppression or suspected that Patrick’s only allegiance was to himself. After passing himself off as a Christian sympathizer, he’d convinced the Lieutenant he could supply intel on the rebels’ strategies, which he did to a certain extent. Now, as he searched the man’s mind, he was satisfied with the state of their allia
nce.

  Coming out of the meditative trance-like state, Patrick took several minutes to compose himself, adjusting his tie and straightening the laces on his Stefano Beyer camel calfskin shoes. Satisfied his affairs in the Ivory Coast were under control, he turned his attention back to the more pressing task at hand.

  Finding Number Seven.

  CHAPTER

  22

  WESLEY

  Thursday, September 15

  Cote d’Azur

  Wesley was 30 minutes into a 60-minute four-hand hot stone massage when the doorbell rang. Earlier in the day he’d seen Patrick’s arrival in his mirror but had been unable to deduce just when the man would be arriving.

  “Of course,” Wesley muttered under his breath, waving the masseuses away. “He couldn’t have shown up just an hour later.”

  By the time Wesley showered and changed, Patrick’s irritation was palpable as he greeted him in the front sitting room of his 12,000-square-foot estate.

  “Your timing is impeccable as always,” he said to Patrick as he shook the man’s hand, taking the seat beside him. “I assume you’re here about Eshanti’s drawings.”

  Wesley had, of course, already looked at the landscapes. Days ago in fact. Had he gleaned any insight, he certainly would have contacted Patrick immediately, but as there was nothing of consequence in the images, he’d remained aloof, a sort of experiment to see just how long Patrick could last before showing up at his doorstep for answers.

  He’d lasted longer than Wesley expected.

  “I don’t like having to take time out of my day to come hunt you down,” Patrick scolded. “I wouldn’t have sent them to you if I didn’t think it was important. I need you to go look at them now.”