“So, let me see if I understand what you’re saying. You’re suggesting that my son may be picking up special messages from this ‘cosmic consciousness’ of the universe and that is what he’s repeating that sounds like meaningless babble to us?”
It was Dr. Carter’s turn to pause before answering. “Yes, that pretty much sums it up.”
“Great. So we’re right back where we started,” Angie said sarcastically.
“Excuse me?”
“My son is speaking in tongues after all,” Angie replied. “He’s talking to God.”
AFTER PROMISING TO have Bobbie at Dr. Carter’s office the following day, Angie hung up the phone. As she did so, she heard someone knocking on the front door. The sound sent a shiver down her spine. Why did such a simple sound feel suddenly so threatening, she wondered, but the feeling was too sharp not to pay attention to it. She stuck her head out into the living room in time to catch Gloria walking to the door.
“Whoever it is, I’m not here, and neither is Bobbie.”
“What...?” Gloria started to speak, but then, seeing the look on her daughter’s face, stopped herself. “Okay, not to worry. No one will get by me.” She squared her shoulders and walked to the door as Angie slipped into Bobbie’s room. Suddenly, she needed to be as close to him as possible.
She stood next to the door, listening to the muffled sounds of Gloria answering the door, but it was too far away to pick up any words. After a couple of minutes, she heard the front door close, and a minute later, Gloria stepped into Bobbie’s room.
“They’re gone,” she said, “but I’m afraid they’ll be back, and the next time it’ll be with a warrant.”
“A warrant? For what? Who were they — the police?”
“Not exactly. There were two men dressed in dark suits. They said they were with Homeland Security, and you were right. They wanted to speak to you and Bobbie.”
Angie groaned. Somehow the word had gotten out about Bobbie’s strange gift...well, gift or curse. The verdict was still out on that one. At any rate, Angie knew what she had to do — protect Bobbie, no matter what. She turned to her mother.
“We have to leave immediately,” she said as she walked over to the chest-of-drawers and started pulling out Bobbie’s clothes.
“Leave?” Gloria said. “But where will you go?”
“I don’t know yet, but if Homeland Security wants to talk to us, it’s not to give us a commendation for being good citizens. They obviously consider Bobbie a threat to national security, although, for the life of me, I don’t know how a two-year-old kid can be a threat to the most powerful nation in the world.”
Gloria stood in the center of the room, momentarily frozen by the news. Finally, she asked, “What can I do to help?”
Angie paused from her packing to consider the question. “You know that trust fund that you and dad set up for me a few years before he passed away? I’ve never touched it — never felt I needed to, but now...well...” She suddenly realized what she needed to do. “I need for Bobbie and me to disappear, at least for a while, and that money would sure come in handy right now. Can you help?”
“Sure, dear. I’ll go to the bank right now. Some of it is in CDs, but it’ll be easy enough to cash them in.” She turned to leave, then stopped. She walked over to Bobbie’s crib, where he was still sleeping. “He looks so peaceful. Hard to imagine how anyone could consider him a threat.”
“I know, Mom,” Angie said, as she joined her. “He’s so innocent in all this, but for some reason everyone wants him for their own agenda, so it’s our job to protect him and keep him innocent...at least for a little while longer.”
ANGIE had just about finished packing when the phone rang in the other room. Since it was Gloria’s house and not hers, she almost let it go to voicemail, but at the last minute decided to take it. Once again, listening to her intuition paid off.
“Angie, it’s me.” She recognized her mother’s voice despite the low whisper on the other end of the line. “Listen carefully. I only have a few seconds before they find me. Homeland Security was waiting for me at the bank. They’ve seized the trust fund account and have asked me to accompany them downtown to their offices. I’m in the ladies bathroom.”
“Oh, my God, this isn’t happening,” Angie said, the hairs on the back of her neck confirming that indeed it was happening.
“Listen,” Gloria continued, “Under my mattress is some cash. Take all of it. I wish it were more, but at least it’ll get you started. Oh...damn. They’ve...” The line went dead.
Angie stared at the phone for a second, stunned that she’d heard her mother curse. That more than anything else convinced her that this was not a hoax conducted in bad taste, but a real emergency. Bobbie was not safe here. He wouldn’t be safe back in Foster Flat, nor at Duke University, and certainly not here where Homeland Security could find them.
She ran into her mother’s bedroom and, slipping her hand under the mattress, found a crumpled envelope filled with cash. She took a quick look inside. She figured there must be at least several hundred dollars in it — maybe more. Not as much as in the trust fund, not by a long shot, but it would have to do.
She rushed back into Bobbie’s room, where he sat quietly in his crib. “Sweetheart, you and I are going on a little trip...an adventure, and I need you to be a good boy, okay?” She reached down and picked him up. “Of course, you’re always a good boy, aren’t you?” The thought brought a tear to her eyes and a lump in her throat. No time for such emotions, right now, she thought. I have to stay calm and think clearly. After all, her son’s life might depend on it.
She grabbed the bag with Bobbie’s clothes and slung it over her back, then grabbed the suitcase on wheels and rolled it out into the living room. Before opening the door, she parted the curtains and peered out. Sure enough, a black sedan was parked across the street. I’ll have to go out the back way, she thought. Most people didn’t even know about the narrow alleyway out back that led to Elm Street. There was at least a chance that no one was covering the rear.
Her luck held. She made it through the alleyway undetected and then down to Sammie’s Quick Mart.
“Well, hello, Angela. It’s been ages since you’ve graced my humble store with your presence,” said the old man behind the counter, who looked like he was a permanent implant there, which was pretty much true.
“Hello, Mr. Sammie. I’ve been visiting my mom for a few days. Listen, could I borrow your phone for just a minute for a local call? I need a cab.”
“Well, sure,” Sammie answered, a confused look on his face. “Who’s that in your arms? That’s not your son, is it?”
Angie smiled, despite the situation. “Yes, Mr. Sammie, it is. I know it’s hard to imagine that the little girl who was always begging candy from you could have her own child now, but life goes on, you know.”
“That it does,” Sammie replied, handing her the phone. “I went ahead and dialed the cab company.”
“Thanks,” Angie said. After giving the cab company directions, she turned back to the store owner. “Mr. Sammie, I need to ask you another big favor.”
“Well, if you’re wondering if you can have a Butterfinger, the answer is yes. They’re over there. I know they’re your favorites.”
“Thanks, Mr. Sammie, but...well, now that you mention it, Bobbie and I would both enjoy some, but that’s not what I was going to ask.” She walked over to the candy counter and picked up two candy bars. Walking back to the checkout, she reached into her purse and dropped the change on the counter. “If anyone comes around in the next few days asking about me, will you do me a favor and tell them that you haven’t seen me in years?”
Sammie stared at her for several seconds before answering. “You in trouble?”
“Let’s just say some not-so-nice-people are looking for Bobbie and me, and I’d just as soon they didn’t find us. Will you help me out?”
“Angela Cagle? Why, I haven’t seen her since her wedding,” Samm
ie said, then smiled. “How’s that?”
“That will do just fine.” A taxi pulled into the parking lot. “That was quick.” She turned to leave, then turned back around. “Thanks, Mr. Sammie...for the candy bars and for everything else.”
“You take good care of that little boy of yours, you hear?”
“Oh, I intend to,” Angie replied. “You can count on it.”
AS Angela climbed into the taxi, she gave the driver directions to the bank. She’d made a decision somewhere in between her mother’s house and the cab. She couldn’t protect Bobbie on her own. She needed help, more help than her mother could offer, especially now that Homeland Security had her in custody. No, it was time to return home to her husband and the charismatic community that had welcomed Bobbie and his special gifts, even if they did so for the wrong reasons.
But she needed a car to make the journey home, and she knew just where she could find one without needing to rent or steal it...well, not exactly steal it. She just prayed that the Homeland Security thugs would have forgotten about her mother’s car, and prayed even harder that the spare key was still where her mother had placed it under the bumper in a magnetic case.
Arriving at the bank, she paid the cab driver and walked off like she was about to enter the bank, but as the cab drove off, she kept walking until she found her mother’s gray sedan parked less than a block from the bank. She walked on by that as well, then sat on a bench across the street studying the area around the car. There were no signs of the men she’d seen at her mother’s home earlier in the day, but then again, would they be out where she could see them? Probably not. After about fifteen minutes, Bobbie was getting fussy from the heat and she was getting more anxious by the minute.
Okay, she thought. Time to make my move. She rose from the bench, dusted off her pants and walked as nonchalantly as she could manage towards the car. As she walked by it, she quickly bent down next to the rear bumper and felt around for the magnet key case. It’s not there, she thought, her heart racing. She reached farther under the car and felt the box. She quickly pulled it out and walked to the passenger’s side rear door. She quickly strapped Bobbie in the car seat that her mother had bought for him, gave him a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek before climbing into the driver’s seat. As she pulled the ignition key from the small box, her hand shook. Calm down, she admonished herself, as she took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Everything is going to be fine.
Her hand continued to shake so hard that she missed inserting the key into the ignition switch the first two times, but on the third try, she was successful. She quickly turned the key and started the car. She glanced in the rearview and side mirrors checking the traffic while also looking to see if anyone was approaching the car. So far, so good. The traffic was sparse, and no one seemed to be paying her any attention. She pulled out and drove in the direction of the interstate.
She was still several blocks from the interstate on-ramp when she noticed the large black sedan four or five car lengths behind her. Had it been there the whole time? She strained to get a look at its driver, but the darkened windows prevented her from getting a clear view. Her heart started racing again. She had to be sure she wasn’t being followed before she got on the interstate. Otherwise, she’d just be leading them to her eventual hideaway.
She turned right at the next intersection away from the interstate, then proceeded to crisscross through town. The black sedan continued to follow her no matter which direction she turned.
Damn! They’re on to me. Now, what do I do? I’ve got to lose them somehow.
She pushed her foot on the gas pedal and picked up speed, thankful for once that her mother had always had a fondness for fast cars that she made a point to keep well tuned. The grey sedan responded, quickly accelerating to 45 — a good ten miles per hour over the speed limit. The black sedan responded a moment later.
If I go much faster, I run the risk of getting pulled over by the cops. Would they understand her situation? Hardly. As far as she knew, the local authorities were probably in cahoots with Homeland Security. She was now driving through a section of Durham unfamiliar to her. Also, a section of town that she wouldn’t want to be caught in after dark. It made her nervous being there even in broad daylight. She glanced back in the rearview mirror. Baby Bobbie was sitting comfortably in his car seat playing with the set of colorful oversized keys that her mother had recently given him.
“We’ve got to get away from that car and those men that want to take you away from me.” She felt a little foolish talking to her two-year-old son as though he were an adult, but she didn’t have anyone else to confide in, so she continued. “Bobbie, dear, pray for us, would you, honey? We really could use a little of that ‘Divine Intervention’ your father so often talks about.”
Bobbie looked up, smiling and cooing at her. Then, his eyes started to glaze over as his pupils rolled back. “Oh no, dear, not now. Not one of your spells now.”
But it was too late. Baby Bobbie was no longer in the car. Someone or something else had taken his place. As Angela looked on in horror, his eyes closed and his hand began to move frenetically as though busy moving invisible objects in front of him.
“What the...?” Angela asked, as she continued to glance back to her son, then to the road, then to the traffic behind her. The black sedan appeared to be gaining on her. It drew within a couple of car lengths as she watched.
What am I going to do? What if they pull me over? They’ll take Bobbie away from me and then... but she wouldn’t allow herself to finish the thought. It was simply too horrific to imagine.
Then something changed. The black sedan stopped gaining on her and suddenly started to slow, eventually coming to a stop as the driver pulled over to the side of the road.
She glanced from the sight out the back window to her son, who appeared to be waking from a nap. He stretched his arms out as he yawned, before speaking his first word as himself: “Safe.”
THE agent sitting in the passenger seat looked over at the driver.
“What the hell are you doing? Get after them.”
The driver glanced at his partner, a look of frustration growing on his face. “I can’t. The engine seems to have died.”
“What? Impossible! It was checked out by the shop just last week.”
“Maybe so, but we’ve got plenty of gas and yet no power,” the driver replied, pointing to the gas gauge.
As the car slowed, he pulled over to the curb. The driver popped the hood as the two of them climbed out of the car. His partner glared down the road at the grey sedan disappearing in the distance.
“We’ll never catch them now.” He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, preparing to call headquarters.
The driver opened the hood and stared at the engine...or at least what had been the engine. “What the hell happened here?” He pointed to the jumbled engine parts. “I’m no mechanic, but I’m pretty sure this is not standard equipment.”
“What’s that?” his partner asked, glancing up from his phone.
“That!” the driver replied, continuing to point to the jumble of engine parts that looked strangely like a modern-day piece of sculpture in the shape of a tower.
The Gazebo
GROWING UP, ONE OF my favorite places to visit in downtown Foster Flat was the band gazebo located on Main Street, less than a block from the local coffee shop. Unfortunately, several of the people on the town council did not share my fondness for the structure, so around my sixteenth birthday, they voted to have it torn down, citing that it was simply too expensive to paint it every few years. Cheapskates, I know.
Luckily, one of my neighbors down the street shared my feelings for the classically designed gazebo and offered to take it off the town’s hands for free — a word all cheapskates love to hear. Little did any of us know the mysteries that came with the gazebo.
Mimi Rawlins
GRACE Wiseheart patted the moist soil around the begonia, the final touch of lands
caping for her new gazebo — new to her, at least. She’d heard through the hyperactive Foster Flat grapevine that the town Council, in their infinite wisdom, had decided to scrap the seventy-five-year-old structure, even though it had become synonymous with the small mountain village. There was talk of replacing it with some of those silly leaping water fountains, but Grace doubted she’d see that happen in her lifetime. Such fountains cost money...money that her small village didn’t have.
But she just couldn’t let the town trash such a beautiful landmark, one that held such fond memories not only for Grace but hundreds of other longtime residents. So, she’d offered to “take it off their hands,” and the opportunity to not have to pay to have it removed had made it a no-brainer deal for everyone. All she had to do was get it moved within a week. Not an easy task, but Grace had a backbone of determination that had served her well through the years and did so once again. She called in just about every favor she could think of and even dipped into her small savings to make it happen.
Now, here it was in her backyard three weeks later, newly painted, beautifully landscaped, and ready to be enjoyed by her and perhaps some of her clients — those brave souls who were willing to ignore the rumors that had circulated for years that something wasn’t quite right with Grace and her alternative healing practice. Some gossipers even dared to use the ‘W’ word, suggesting that her amazing healing touch was really the work of Satan. So ridiculous, thought Grace, but she couldn’t deny that the rumors had their effect, keeping her on the edge of poverty for most of her adult life.
She could feel the ire start to surge up her back, assaulting each of her chakras with the disempowering energy of anger and victimhood. She paused from her gardening to take a few deep, cleansing breaths. As she did so, she saw out of the corner of her eye a flash of motion.
Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat Page 11
