I look over at her. This woman of many millennia, possessing knowledge and foresight the likes of which I can’t begin to imagine, giving me compliments. I say, “Thank you. Does the future still look optimistic?”
“Yes. I wish you could understand how I see the future and what causes me to intervene in lives, but that’s not possible. I’m constantly watching for alterations to the overall existence of humanity. It’s not often that one person’s choice affects the future of all, but it has happened through the course of history a couple times. Actually, recently.”
“Really?” I’m thinking like in the last month or last couple of weeks.
“Of course. The concept of the A-bomb alone changed the future for humans. Then the tense situation between Cuba and the United States was another example of the weight of the world resting in the hands of one person. Another example came down to one person—Maetha—halting the ability for terrorist groups to get hold of enriched uranium, thus preventing a catastrophic global disaster in the late 1990s.”
I say, “About the A-bomb, why didn’t Bearers step in and stop the bombs being dropped on Japan?”
“Many tried, believe me. We couldn’t stop the number of balls rolling once they got going. Too many brilliant scientists were involved. Our job is to preserve humanity not eliminate those who use their intelligence for progression. The situation was a first for me and I regret my inaction and the amount of devastation that followed. That’s why when the Cuban Missile Crisis escalated, I put Maetha on the task to prevent the foreseen destruction. She performed exceptionally. She alone saved millions of lives.”
“Wow. I’d love to hear that whole story.”
“Later. You have the potential to save hundreds of thousands of lives, if not millions, as well. In fact, it’s safe to say if we cannot capture the Elemental blast—that one act—humanity is doomed. Billions of lives will be lost over the next century and a half. Now, it is not my intention to frighten you, but you are the only person who is physically strong enough, and with access to the greater healing power, to help me capture the energy in two diamonds.”
My mind spins after hearing her words concerning me. What if I cannot pull it off? Wait, “Two diamonds?” My voice shakes.
“Yes. The one you’ll be holding, and the one in your heart. I’m unsure at this point how you’ll survive, I only know you will. But, as I said before, you need to figure out how to succeed at this task. Unfortunately, I feel that my continual contact is influencing you to make decisions you think I would want you to make. You need to make your own choices, Calli.”
“What if I choose wrong?”
“Here’s something to consider when it comes to choices: most choices don’t affect the overall outcome of the future of humanity. That said, consider everyone has choices and can change their own futures. For example, if a person chooses to take harmful drugs, they alter their future until they choose to stop and become clean. If they do not stop, they continue on with their altered future. They may go on to influence others to take drugs. They may kill someone while under the influence, but the overall future of humanity won’t be affected unless that ‘someone’ killed is you.” She pauses a moment, then continues. “When Chris asked if you could have a prism also, I looked to the future and suddenly everything had changed. The answer was no. I don’t know what choices you’d make or if you’d think you were acting in nature’s best interest, but something would go horribly wrong.”
Huh, go figure.
She continues. “That’s why I took the prisms when we were at Don’s house. Each time you held one in your hands, the future darkened. I don’t want to alarm you,” she pats my arm, “just know that’s the reason you can’t have a prism.” Clearing her throat, she continues. “I also want to talk to you about the process of choosing Bearers. Everyone has tendencies and inclinations, these are important to monitor when choosing new Bearers. Those with the tendency to be quick to anger are not suitable candidates. Those inclined or drawn to gambling are not suitable candidates. They take unnecessary risks. Bearers shouldn’t be risky. They should consider all options then take the smartest course. Not the quickest. Not the one with the least effort. Also, those with unnecessary, mind-controlling addictions are not good candidates to become Bearers.
“When I choose Bearers or approve of Maetha’s choices, I don’t see their entire futures. I didn’t know Henry—or Freedom—would turn against nature so quickly. I only knew he had the tendency to be too emotionally attached to possessions and relationships. He was not a good candidate.” She looks me in the eye. “Chris and Jonas were not preselected to become Bearers. They are not good candidates.”
“What?” The air rushes out of my lungs.
“But with the help of the prism, Chris, at least, can undo any rash decisions if he catches them within ten seconds. That’s the main reason why I told Chris to keep the prism. Jonas, on the other hand, is a different matter.”
“How so?”
“He has repressed anger. He won’t open up about it either.”
I know she’s talking about how Jonas’s father murdered his brother. I ask, “Can he be healed of his anger?”
“He has to do it himself. This is not an illness where hormones or chemicals are out of balance. This is a choice to avoid, a choice to resist. He and I have had many conversations. He and Mary have had many more. Throughout all of them, he becomes frustrated and insists he’s not angry deep down.”
“Why did you allow him to have the remaining shard then?”
“The diamond was already living within him. Not to worry, the long-range future is still optimistic with him being a Bearer. And, he may yet have a different purpose to fill.”
“But what is his future?” I want to ask if he really is the backup guy, but I don’t.
“Like I said, I don’t see individualized futures. He has many choices he can make and if he’s smart, he’ll make good ones.”
“What about Chris?”
“Chris is dealing with his anger. He has a long road ahead of him, however, he doesn’t have the diamond fully yet. I’ve given him private instruction that he needs to wait to have you insert the diamond until he’s mastered his anger, preferably after the Elemental blast. If he never reaches this level of mastery, he can at least be your companion for the rest of his life.”
She stands from the bed. “You and Brand need to get ready to go to the police.”
I shake my head a little, trying to fathom what she’s just told me about Chris and Jonas. Why does she keep flipping new cards on me? I calm my racing heart and take a deep breath. She’s right about needing to go to the police. I remember I wanted to ask her about the Healer quartz. “Crimson, should I have a Healer quartz on my body at all times? You know, in case something similar to last night happens?”
“The Healer quartz only contains modern era power. The Sanguine Diamond’s healing power is so much more effective. You are better off charging top quality Imperial topaz with the diamond’s power instead of using one of the Healer quartz.”
“Okay. But I already know the topaz doesn’t hold a charge long enough to heal major health issues.”
“Yes, that’s right. However, if you were wearing either of the two stones last night Marketa would have just taken them from you like she did the others. It would have done you no good.”
“All right. I’ll make sure I charge up an Imperial topaz after I get back from the police station.”
Beth helps me attach bandages and tape to my shoulder, making it look like I’m injured from the shooting. While she does that, Brand works with Maetha to copy the files on the flash drive to her laptop. She’ll transfer the files to Jonas.
After my shoulder looks adequate, I rehearse with Maetha some answers to possible questions the police might ask. I know I can repeat with Brand, but I don’t want too many pauses in our conversation, in case someone is recording my interrogation.
The decision is made to use my phone to contact
the police station. We don’t want a link tying Chris’s father’s house to me, and as I’m using my real name and identity, calling from my personal phone makes sense.
After a couple minutes on hold, following an explanation of who I am and my involvement in the shooting last night, I’m connected to the detective in charge, Det. Albert Gardner. He tells me to come to the station promptly.
Brand and I arrive shortly thereafter. As we approach the building, Brand says out of the blue, “You’re going to have to use some persuasive words with this guy.”
I glance over at Brand as he holds the door open for me and walk in the main door. “Which guy?”
“You’ll know.”
The chairs in the waiting room are sparsely populated indicating a mild start for the New Year, well, except for the shooting last night.
A tall, lean, bald man wearing a white shirt and a tie with blue jeans stands by the far wall, perusing through papers. He appears to be in his forties. The man looks up and asks, “Calli Courtnae?”
“Yes.”
He straightens the papers and jams them into a file folder he’s holding. I use my Hunter’s eyesight to see my name on the tab of the file. The man approaches us and extends his hand, which I politely shake. “I’m Det. Gardner. Come with me, please. He can wait here,” Det. Gardner says, nodding toward Brand.
I say, “I want him with me. There is a crazy person trying to kill me.”
The detective seems put out. “Ms. Courtnae, you are in a police station. You’re completely safe.”
As per Brand’s recommendation, I use a bit of Mind-Control to convince the detective. “You want me to be as open as possible for a successful, short investigation. You know he will help me relax and you’ll be able to get back home with your family to enjoy the holiday.”
“All right. Both of you come with me.”
Det. Gardner leads us down the hall to an office. We enter the room and sit in the two chairs across the desk from him.
“How’s the arm?” he asks. His thoughts reveal he knows I was shot in the shoulder. I’m not sure what he’s fishing for in my response. My gut reaction is to be on guard.
“It hurts,” I say, reaching up and placing my hand gingerly on my bandages. “But I’m going to be okay.”
Det. Gardner scratches the top of his head. His thoughts tell me he wonders if the itch is from a piece of insulation that fell on his head as he climbed into his car this morning. He turns his attention to Brand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the name of your friend.”
“This is Derek, my boyfriend. He patched me up after I got home.”
“Yeah, and I’m not gonna let her leave my side until this is over,” Brand declares.
Det. Gardner says, “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay. We were worried when we couldn’t find you at any hospitals or clinics.” Thought you might be dead, especially with such a strange type of bullet, his thoughts add. He scratches his head again.
So they found some of the obsidian at the crime scene. “Yeah, I didn’t want to risk him finding me at any public place. I didn’t want to call the cops, either. Besides, it was just a flesh wound . . . well, several.”
“What do you mean?”
“The bullet must have been made of something breakable. When Derek pulled out the different pieces, they looked like some kind of glass. None of them went very deep.”
Brand adds, “Yeah, like shrapnel.”
Det. Gardner says, “Yes, I know. We are waiting for the lab results of the stray-bullet pieces retrieved from the scene, but we think it was made of obsidian.” His mind reveals he has reviewed Max’s blog.
Too bad I didn’t have time to deactivate the whole blog.
I play along. “Obsidian? Wow! That nut was going off on obsidian a while back on his blog.”
“How do you know the shooter?” Det. Gardner asks. His mind shows images of the truck-stop robbery from the blog, and that he’s resisting the urge to scratch his head again.
“The question is how did he know me? A friend made me aware that a video of me was on a blog. A recent post said he was going to reveal my ‘secret identity.’ My friend hunted him down with some of her friends so I could confront him. And, well, you know how well that turned out.”
“I assume you’re talking about the woman with you in the footage. Where is your friend now?”
“I don’t know, she told me to run home while she went after him. I told her not to go, but she took off without me. I haven’t seen her since. I’m really worried about her.”
“What is her name?”
“Marketa Jones.” Jones is the first name that pops into my head. I lay on a little more Mind-Control to move the conversation along and away from Marketa.
He says, “We’ll keep our eyes open for her. This guy had a blog, huh? What was he blogging about?”
You already know, sir, I want to say. “It was all about people with magic powers who are ‘walking among us’,” —I use air quotes— “and he thinks I’m one of them.”
“Magic powers?” Det. Gardner scrambles for a pen and writes something down on the notepad near his computer. “Why does he think that?”
I resist shaking my head after reading his thoughts. He’s already searched the law enforcement databases and is well aware of the video footage of me fleeing the robbery. I won’t give him more than he already knows.
“Well, I got caught in the middle of a truck-stop robbery in Tennessee a few months ago and the footage was hosted on his blog. That was the video my friend showed me. I got scared and ran away as fast as I could, and the way the cameras caught it made it look like I have some kind of superpower. He thought it was real and posted it to his blog.”
“You’re a fast runner, then?”
“Well, I did set a record at my high school track meet.”
“What do you think the significance of obsidian in the bullet is all about, Ms. Courtnae?”
“He seems to believe it cancels superpowers. He sells it on his blog.”
“The video footage shows you getting on the shooter’s laptop. What were you doing?”
“Deleting his post about me. This stupid blog has already made my life miserable at college. I didn’t want him putting a target on my head, too.”
“Why didn’t you take this to the authorities for their help?”
“I have some law school friends. They said the blogger hadn’t hurt me or my reputation so there wasn’t anything the law could do. My tech friends said the blog was anonymously hosted offshore, so we wouldn’t be able to do anything about it other than maybe issue a cease and desist. However, who knows how long that would have taken.”
“You have a lot of friends.”
“Yes. I do. I’m just glad Marketa was able to find him before he posted my picture and name to millions of people.” I read his mind again and see he wants to ask about the flash drive. I address it first. “Oh, hey, I have the flash drive I took from his computer.”
“I was just going to bring that up.” Det. Gardner scratches his head and a crazy realization spreads across his face. Can she read minds?
“You look like you’re wondering if I just read your mind, detective. That’s funny. You see, on the blog, it says you know when someone reads your mind because your head itches.”
Brand pipes up. “Either that or you have lice.” He tilts his head to the side and points and waggles his finger at Det. Gardner. “Not you, though, because of the no-hair thing.”
I say, “Isn’t it interesting how some paranoid person can take a simple body action and put a ridiculous reason behind it?” I pause, then add, “Just so you know, I’ve had several people tell me I’m quite intuitive. Does that make me a mind reader, sir?”
Det. Gardner’s eyes narrow as he looks me over.
Brand elbows my arm and says, “This time don’t bring up the flash drive. Let him ask for it.” Then the room starts to spin around as Brand repeats to the moment just before I volunteered up the flash
drive.
Det. Gardner says, “Yes, I think you’re right about stopping him. However, you did take a piece of evidence from the scene: a flash drive.”
I act surprised. “Oh, right. I brought it with me.” I retrieve the small device and give it to the detective. “I just hope it helps you find this guy.”
“Why did you take it?”
“I knew it held his next post and I didn’t want to leave it behind in case he came back.”
“Why did you leave the scene, Miss Courtnae?”
I let out a sigh. “I was afraid the guy was still in the store, and I wasn’t hurt that bad so Marketa helped me leave.”
Det. Gardner sits perfectly still, staring at me. I wait for him to speak. He takes a deep breath and opens the file in front of him. “Okay. We have all the evidence we need to put out an arrest warrant for this guy. We know his name, employer, home address, and Social Security number.”
“You know his name?” I try to act shocked.
“Yes. The cashier who traded laptops with him gave us the information.”
“Well, what is his name?”
“I’m not going to tell you. I don’t want you getting shot again. No more vigilante justice, do you hear me?”
“He’s gone now, so how could I continue?” I sit back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest in a huff, trying to act put out.
“Exactly. However, there’s something else I want to talk about with you.”
“Yes?” I uncross my arms and sit up straight.
“When you didn’t show up at any hospital, I entered your picture into the system. I found your name associated with the Tennessee truck-stop robbery. This morning, I contacted Det. Webb and asked for a photo of you. I wanted to see if your two pictures matched. Det. Webb was more than accommodating to email me a screenshot of you being interviewed. But, as she watched the video, she was, how shall I say—spooked. Apparently, she hadn’t viewed your video yet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, you just have to see for yourself.” He pulls a printed photo from the file and passes it to me.
I glance down at the paper, showing the upper-corner surveillance shot of me sitting at the table and Crimson standing behind me!
The Diamond Bearers' Rising Page 5
