by T. Jones
Chapter Two
Filipe Eklund flipped the bumper down and jumped onto the dock, pulling quickly on the rope he held in his hand. He yanked the small boat closer, then cinched it to the cleat on the dock, repeating the motion with the aft mooring. He knew his Pia wouldn't be happy that he had gone across the Lagoon by himself, but the breeze and the sunshine had been too tempting. The commercial traffic had been light and he was an accomplished sailor, for a fifteen-year old. The rush of adrenaline from hiking out over the side, almost laying in the water to get the most speed out of the little sailboat, had been worth whatever stern words his Pia might have for him. He smiled, Father, was the English word. He spoke English easily, fluently, much better than his father. They were working on that. He knew the time was approaching when being proficient in English would be important, if not to him, then certainly for his father.
He turned his cerulean eyes in the direction of the large house, wondering if he had been found out already. His father usually arrived home from the Exchange shortly before supper. Trading in coffee and beans kept his father busy, and helped explain their affluence, although Filipe knew there was more to the story. But no matter how busy he was with work or the Liga, he always found time to eat supper with his son. Filipe knew that Rosa, the cook and maid who lived in the small guest house with her young daughter, wouldn't tell on him. But then that wouldn't be necessary. He had no doubt that his father had felt the rush, smelled the briny air during his son's afternoon excursion. They were close, connected by more than blood.
He was very young when he realized he had the Gift, just eleven years old. The Liga, rather the League, had recognized it immediately, and his father had explained it as best he could, so his son wouldn't be afraid of the strange dreams he had some nights. They had talked to him, a couple of League members, along with his father, trying to determine what special abilities he might have. They were studying him, along with themselves and others of their ilk, hoping to establish patterns, trying to understand why they were so blessed. Most of the members of the League thought it was a gift from God, and should be treated as such. Filipe wasn't so sure, but then he wasn't a very good Catholic. His father had sent him to an International school right after fifth grade, which was the reason he spoke English so well. He was happy to get away from the Nuns and their punishing rulers. They told him he had a sharp tongue, which he considered a compliment.
He often thought about her, the half-sister that appeared occasionally in his dreams. Was she always in trouble at school, too? He could see her in his mind, or the little girl his father imagined her to be, laughing and spinning, being lifted by his father's strong hands when she fell onto the sand. Filipe wondered about her often. Did she have blond hair like his, or eyes like his, that changed color when he grew angry? Did she have his Gifts? They would meet, of that he was sure, although the timing wasn't clear. He would have to be patient. He would sail, play football with his friends, help his father with his English, and wait for the time of their meeting. He could feel that his sister would need their father's help soon, that trouble was coming, and that he would accompany his father on that dangerous journey. He wasn't worried, his father was the strongest man he knew.
He walked up from the beach, sat on one of the deck chairs in the veranda, and brushed the beach sand from his feet. He glanced at the patio door, and saw that he was being watched. His father scowled at him and shook a finger. Filipe grinned back, sure that his father was more envious than angry. They had sailed together often, in the first year after his mother had passed. Jon Eklund was a wonderful sailor, and taught his son everything he knew, including his passion for being on the water, at the mercy of the wind. But business was booming, both the banal work of trading soybeans and coffee, and the intriguing, the effort to create a network of psychics. The glass door slid open.
"Filipe, que e que—"
"In English father."
"What have I say, about you sailing in the bay by yourself?"
"What have you said. It's said, not say."
"My poor English will not excuse you. No using the boat for a week."
"Alright, I'm sorry, but the day was too perfect. I know, I should be more careful."
"Yes, you should. Maybe Saturday we can go out with Saul, on his Hunter."
"That's such a sweet boat! You're not very good at punishing me." Jon ignored his son.
"You need to wash up for supper. Still no luck in finding the girl. Real psychics don't advertise."
"When it's time, one of us will know where she is, I am sure of it."
"I want to find her, better is before trouble than after, yes?"
"Yes, but better we work on your English some more. I will know when the time comes."
***
Fatty Carson scratched his graying beard and looked down, pondering the situation. He was not normally a lucky man, but it seemed like he had just won the lottery. He looked across his desk at his client, then back down at the check, and tried not to smile too broadly.
"Look kid, this is generous, but I have to be honest with you, I think you're throwing your money away. I can go keep an eye on these women for as long as you want, maybe get ahold of some emails, who's screwing who, stuff like that. But how am I supposed to prove that they're psychics? Presuming I believed in that horseshit, which I don't. I'm a pretty good detective, I can get pictures of cheating husbands, track down missing relatives, stuff like that, easy. But how can I prove what these girls are thinking? Do they communicate with their brains, like in Star Wars, or what? Do they use the Force?"
"I don't expect you to take this seriously, Mr. Carson." The stocky young man sitting across the desk from Fatty said. "But if you see things that are unexplainable, document them. Mostly, I just want you to keep an eye on Madeline Rice, her comings and goings, who visits her office, things like that. I want you to keep a log of what time she gets to work and leaves, bug her office and phone if possible, anything you can do to strengthen my case."
"Your case? The case you're making that this woman is a mind reader? I bend the rules once in a while, but I'm not bugging a State of Minnesota Law office. Ten minutes after they figured out who did it, I wouldn't have a license, and I'd probably be in jail. Besides, she could stand on the steps of the Capitol and yell about her psychic powers, and unless she can levitate, nobody is going to believe her any more than I believe you. Anything for a buck, kid, but I want you to be realistic about what evidence I'm going to find."
"You might be surprised by what you find, Mr. Carson, but I'm aware proving anything will be tough. I just need something. Somehow I have to prove she's responsible for my Mom's death."
"Yeah, that part of the story is even more farfetched. She can read minds, see the future, and change it when it suits her, that's your story?"
"Just get me every scrap of information you can on her and the other girls on that list I gave you. Jane McDonald says it's her or Bess Fisher, but Bess hasn't been around for years, I'm betting it was Rice."
"Callie Fisher is on here. So being psychic runs in the family?" Fatty said, looking at the list, grinning again.
"Look asshole, do you want this job or not?"
"Alright kid, don't get excited. Long as your checks are good, Fatty Carson is on the case."
***
Callie shrugged at Danielle as she walked into the kitchen. She was standing behind the island, hands on the back of a barstool, quietly watching her girlfriend destroy a head of cabbage. Danielle joined her, sliding onto one of the stools. After considerable noise, Jenny threw the cabbage into the sink, washed her hands, then turned to the pair, her eyes wet with tears. Callie started around the counter, hoping to console her, but she raised a hand, stopping her.
"Do you know what today is?"
"Six months? You reminded me twice last week. I'm not dumb enough to forget in that amount of time. Look, I brought flowers." Callie produced the bouquet from behind her back.
"Damn psychics anywa
y." Jenny fumed. Danielle and Callie exchanged looks and Jennifer allowed them a smile, reaching out for the flowers. "Not you guys, you both know I love you. I had this big dinner planned for us Callie, I did finish the card at least, but then I ran into this guy on the bus. You know I'd never cheat, but somehow, he convinced me I should go with him to a baseball game. I almost got off the bus with him! God only knows what he had in mind. I came to, kind of all of a sudden, like I'd been hypnotized or something. But I remembered it all, it was like he was in my head, scrambling my brain. I didn't know there were guys, psychic guys, that could do that."
"Jen, I'm sorry." Callie stepped forward, but Jenny lifted her hand again.
"I don't think it was random either. Remember I told you about the guy that looked like Greg, the one that flirted with me on the bus? Same guy, and I ended up with the same headache today."
"What did he look like?" Danielle asked, standing up. "We know about Callie's father being gifted, but that's the only time I've ever heard of another man with abilities. Are you sure it wasn't just hypnotism?"
"How would I know? I don't think so. His name's Derrick something, I don't think he ever said his last name. He's not real tall, for a guy, but strong looking, stocky, like he lifts weights."
"Sounds like Teresa's son, Derrick. Not likely, even if she knew, she would have shared the fact that he was gifted."
"Where do we find this guy?" Callie asked casually, but her eyes betrayed her. Danielle tried to be diplomatic.
"Callie, you can't go tearing after him! We have no idea what kind of abilities he has, or why he wanted to mess with Jenny. We need to put the Sisters on it, don't you think?"
"Callie, she's right. I'm fine, I just have a headache, and I'm upset because our night's ruined. He's probably just confused because he lost his mother the way he did. I don't know how that would involve me, but he was trying pretty hard the first time too, and Teresa was still alive then." Danielle looked at the blond, warily.
"The Sisters may be able to read him without his knowing it, you're too connected Callie."
"Alright, I won't go run him over with my car. Jenny, you're way too nice, and Danielle, you're too sensible. The little weasel is up to something, and Jenny is off limits. He gets anywhere near her again and something bad is going to happen, okay?"
"Let's take it slow, for all we know there are others like him." Danielle said. Jenny had opened the refrigerator, looking for supper options.
"So Callie, did you show Danielle your new paintings? Go look Dani, she's been dreaming, and painting up a storm."
"Is it Sisters' business?"
"Maybe, we can have a look if you want." Callie and Danielle climbed the stairs to the spare room where Callie did all her painting.
The first painting was of two small children, a girl, older, and a little boy. Both had sun bleached blonde hair and striking blue eyes. They were building a castle in the whitest sand Danielle had ever seen, while a tall man with equally blonde hair and blue eyes stood smiling nearby. Danielle looked over at Callie.
"So, you have a brother?"
"I'm sure of it, it feels like they're both reaching out to me, but we just haven't found the connection. I don't know what the other ones are, nothing good I'm guessing." Danielle stepped around the first painting, looking to where three more lined the sidewall. She sucked in a quick breath. Callie studied her face, then spoke. "Some calamity, earthquake I think. But hundreds, maybe thousands of people dead."
"We need to warn them Callie!"
"Who? I was going to let the Sisters look at them, see if they could get more, location and timing. All I see for sure is a lot of death and destruction."
"This is Rose Hall," Danielle peered closer, pointing out features in the paintings. "Fort Charles, and this one is the Hibbert House, or what's left of it. I know these places Callie, this is Kingston. It looks like a major earthquake is going to hit Jamaica!"
***
The Doctor bird was uneasy, nervous. Something was wrong. He felt it again, the slightest shudder of a branch of the Trumpet tree he was standing on, and a moan, barely perceptible, from deep inside the mountain. He punched at a piece of fruit with his long orange bill, licking at the sweet nectar, soothed by the sugary taste. But he was still nervous, something was coming, he could tell.
Chapter Three
Callie Fisher glanced over at her girlfriend and smiled as she steered her Camry up the interstate, heading home for a few days. Home was beginning to feel like Minneapolis, not the windswept little town in northwestern Minnesota where she had grown up. She had always thought it was where she had been born, but the truth of that had come to light recently. It didn't matter really, her mother was the one that took her to her first day of school, and put up with her all through those difficult teenage years. And her father was the kind, steady Midwesterner that went to church every Sunday, called her his little Princess, and loved her no matter how different they were. But the realities of blood were somewhat different.
Now she knew that her biological mother was the enigmatic Madeline Rice, psychic and lawyer for the State, working in her own ways to try to better the circumstances of Fate. And her biological father was a tall blond man who, in her mind, seemed a dozen years younger than her parents. He was strong, beautiful, and exotic. It wasn't that she loved her parents less, but she was looking forward to the day when she would meet him, and the brother that she felt sure she also had.
The Sisters, and the Elders, all just Sisters really, since they all shared abilities foreign to the general population, were better organized now. The group had grown by a pair of younger girls, just out of high school, confused by their budding psychic abilities. The Elders were finally all on the same page. They had split up the responsibilities of deciding what events needed to be examined, when to intercede, and who got paid for the work. It wasn't about money for most of them, but it was time consuming, and people had to eat. Deeann controlled the purse strings, and used her abilities to purchase the right stocks and put the gains in their trust. It probably wasn't entirely ethical, psychics certainly had an edge, but they had voted on it, and decided that the good the group accomplished outweighed the dubious advantage they had in the market. Things seemed to be going well, but Callie was restless.
Knowing that she had blood relatives who shared her gift, started her thinking about all the others that might be out there in the world. Certainly, if there were three dozen-plus women in their group, in a comparatively small city, the world must be full of psychics. They had recently learned that Teresa's son had abilities, that made three males that she knew of, when she had always presumed it was a girl's only club.
Derrick Blackburn had surprised everyone, even Madeline, and that worried Callie. But if there were a group of men, similar to the Sisters, wasn't it likely they would be interested in helping to change Fate for the better? Teresa Blackburn, and possibly her son, seemed like exceptions to the rule, that people with extraordinary abilities, were indeed, extraordinary people. Teresa, and to a lesser degree Jane, had been seduced by the idea of vast sums of money, but the rest of the group were intelligent, caring women, that only wanted to help others. Finding more like them, and joining forces seemed like the next logical step. Jenny told Callie all the time that she was going to do amazing things, maybe this was her chance. She reached out for Jenny's hand.
"So Jen, can I ask you something?"
"I already said yes, I'll marry you, what more could you want?" Callie laughed.
"Someday, I said someday!"
"Well, I told Holly we're engaged, so by now it's all over town. No backing out."
"Great, so my Dad probably knows. It's fine, but I wanted to tell him that myself."
"Oh Callie, I'm sorry. I have way too big a mouth. Let's stop at the hardware on the way by, maybe Holly hasn't blabbed yet."
"It's fine, I told my Mom it was coming, I'm sure she said something to him anyway. Besides, we need to wait a while Jen, we're still re
ally young."
"What's the difference, now or later, we know it's going to happen."
"Yeah? Did you put the Sisters on it?"
"I don't need psychics, we're going to be together forever. Maybe if I pray really hard, I can get your sorry ass into Heaven, then it is forever."
"Good luck with that. Changing the subject now. Are you going to keep working at Walmart forever? I know you want to be home every week for your Mom, but I worry about you on the road alone, and I kind of like having you around."
"I was planning on talking to her this weekend, actually. She keeps worrying about my aunt, the one in Saint Cloud. Her husband died two years ago, and she has a four-bedroom house. I think my Mom should just sell our house and move down there, then I could whizz up and see her whenever I want. We can still come back and see your folks sometimes on the weekends. But I'll put my notice in at work either way."
"Sounds like a plan. I have to talk to my Mom this weekend too. Sisters' business, I'm afraid."
"Yeah? Good Luck with that."
Callie dropped Jen off at her Mom's house, then drove to the hardware store.
Bess Fisher put her head down between her hands, gathered a breath, holding in a sob. Two people, dead at her hands. Professor James, she had murdered outright, there was no escaping that. The years that had passed since were a blink, in the eye of God, and she prayed daily for forgiveness. But Teresa was on a path that might have put the whole group in danger. After doing as much damage as she could between Callie and Jenny, with her and Madeline painted as equal villains, Bess knew that she had planned to go to the Feds and expose the group. With her gift of prescience, she might have been able to eventually convince someone, and turn the US government loose on the Sisters. Nothing good could come from that.
