"Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"You're letting the demons win."
"What am I supposed to do!"
"Fight, David! Stand up and fight back!" His beautiful wife stood before him, shaking like an autumn leaf. The sight of it broke his heart. He thought he was doing what was best for her and the kids, but now he saw what she saw—a man in retreat.
He pulled his eyes away and they landed on a box of Great Value oatmeal Sharon had left on the counter. They hopped up to a cracker box. "Now tastier than ever!" The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. A message was forming. His eyes grabbed the word you from a magnet on the fridge, are from a magazine on the table, and ready from a box that said, "Ready to eat."
Sharon was quick to pick up on what was happening. "What does it say, David?"
He looked at her, and blinked.
"Well?"
"It says, ‘Great. Now you are ready.’"
Her face glowed with approval.
"Now I'm ready?" he said. "For what?"
"To finish this thing."
"I don't even know what this thing is!"
"Dad?"
They looked down at their son standing in the entrance to the kitchen.
Sharon crouched. "What is it, honey?"
"The television spoke to me."
"Spoke to you? What do you mean?"
"I was watching the commercials and words came into my head. I think it was a message."
She looked intently into his eyes. "What did it say, Ben?"
He spoke slowly as he recited the message. "Book five page thirty-five." His eyes came back into focus on her face, his brows lifted. "What does it mean, Mom?"
Her face beamed as she looked up at David.
Ben's eyes lit. "Do I have the superpower too?"
David couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of his son’s statement. "It looks like it. Do you know what book? Did you get a feeling for where it might be when it came to you?"
Ben turned and bolted through the living room and up the stairs. "I think it's on the shelf in your room!" David and Sharon ran up the stairs into the master bedroom where Ben was standing on a chair counting off books on the shelf above the dresser. "This one! Number five!" He pulled the book out and opened it.
"All right, Sherlock. I'll take it from here." David plucked the book from his son's disappointed fingers. "Page thirty-five, right?"
Ben gave a micro-nod.
The cover of the book had a picture of George Washington kneeling in a meadow, with the words "The American Crisis," emblazoned above. It was an old book his mother had given him when he was a child. He’d forgotten he even had it. He flipped through the pages and stopped on thirty-five.
Ben gripped his arm as he read.
"These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed, if so celestial an article as Freedom should not be highly rated.
The words from the passage danced in David’s mind like the pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle, each wandering and flipping as side tested side, hoping for a meaningful connection. What did the cause of freedom have to do with demons and messages? He remembered the puzzling thing Collins had said to him earlier, about a man from Boston who would bring the country back together and break down the walls of division in Washington. This passage about freedom seemed to allude to that, but he had no plan to unify the country. How were the two connected?
He read part of the passage again, out loud. "What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly."
Ben's hand touched his forearm. "What does it mean, Dad?"
"I believe God is reminding me that important things come at a cost, otherwise we would not value them. Whatever is going on, it is important, important enough to cause our family all this pain, and it has something to do with our country."
"Or," said Sharon, taking the book from his hands, "God is saying this is a trial for you." She dragged her finger down the page. "What kind of soldier are you going to be? A summer soldier? A sunshine patriot? In crisis will you shrink away? This is all about you, David. God is saying, don't let tyranny win."
It always amazed him how they could look at the same data and come to two entirely different conclusions. This time, however, it seemed as though they were both right. God was encouraging him to be strong and to not shrink away from the fight, but he was also giving him what he desperately needed: a reason to fight.
Chapter 32
After returning from her conversation with Jakson, the rest of the day became a blur for Jillian Mack. Jon finished his speech, then they went shopping on Castle's credit line. Jon picked out another suit, this one with a little more white to go with the black, and she picked out a dark blue evening gown with gold clasps down the sides. They hardly spoke a word the entire time. She could tell something was weighing heavily on Jon’s heart but she didn't pry. When he was ready, he would tell her.
The next stop was the beauty parlor where Jillian got her hair and nails done. Jon sat brooding against the inside wall, getting as far away from the windows, and the gawking spectators, as he could. They seemed to come out of the woodwork everywhere they went. Thankfully, Castle had the parlor closed for the hour they were there, and most of the employees had been sent away for lunch.
When they returned to the room, Jon excused himself to the bathroom, and Jillian used the opportunity to take a peek at his speech. It wasn't nearly as earth shattering as she thought it would be (hardly worth all of the hype) but Jon's interest in the conference had never been about the speech anyway. His voices were leading him to the unifier; giving the speech was just a reason to go.
She switched the tablet off and went to the mirror to adjust herself one last time. The elegant dress gave her an odd mixture of emotions. There was an undeniable sense of self worth in wearing something of such quality and expense, but to find worth in something so shallow and meaningless irritated her. Wealth and power was connected to everything she detested in life, and here she was, wearing the uniform of the enemy. She felt like a hypocrite.
As she turned to inspect the dress from the side she noticed, in the reflection of the mirror, a briefcase lodged between the bed and the wall. What is this? Something new? She stood above it and called out to Jon. "Is this your briefcase, Jon?" Her question wasn't posed in order to receive a response. It was to inform him of her curiosity. She couldn't sneak a look inside it, even if she cared to invade his privacy, because she could not hear his progress in the bathroom. So she posed the question and plopped down on the bed. His response time and expression would reveal to her whether or not the contents of the case were any cause for closer scrutiny.
Immediately, he appeared around the corner. His eyes darted to the case. "Sort of, why?"
He was definitely hiding something. "What do you mean sort of?"
"I mean, it’s not exactly mine, but it is currently in my possession. Why do you ask?"
"I never saw it before," she said casually.
His face went blank. She wasn't sure if he was at a loss for what to say, or if his voices were talking to him. She gave him time to work it out. Life returned to his eyes and his face became hard. "They want to speak to you through me but I'm resisting."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to know who is speaking, that everything I say is from me. Not them."
"It's okay if they..."
"I don't want them saying anything I don't approve of. I don't want any weirdness between us."
She didn't offer a response. This obviously meant something to him, and in a way it was endearing that his words to her were so imp
ortant.
He crouched before her, "I also don't want any lies between us. That's why I'm not going to tell you what’s in the briefcase, not yet, anyway."
Seriously? Did he think he could drop a bomb like that and expect her to walk away without a fight? Now she had to know what was in the briefcase! "It must be pretty big to make you keep it from me." She examined his reaction.
"Not big," His expression remained even. "Just complicated."
She attempted to lure him in. "How so?"
"Trust me when I tell you, you don't want to know. Not now. Not yet."
She frowned.
If I show you right now you won't understand, but if I show you at the conference, in its proper context, it will make sense."
"You're bringing it to the conference?"
"Yes."
"You think they'll let you walk in with a mysterious briefcase?"
After a pause, he said, "Yes, they say it is all taken care of."
She squirmed. "You really know how to drive a girl crazy."
"Trust me, Jillian. I will explain everything later when the time is right."
She tapped the case with her fingers and they stood in unison. "All right then. I'll accept that as your answer."
"Good," he said, looking at it one last time before disappearing back into the bathroom.
Immediately she pulled the case up from its spot, walked briskly through the room and out onto the balcony—where he wouldn't hear the click of the latch. There was no way she was waiting to find out what he was hiding in that case—not with all that was at stake. She flipped the latches and looked inside. The case was empty, except for a revolver tucked in the pocket on the lid.
Was Jon going to kill the unifier?! The authorities would lock him away for life! Okay. Calm down, Jill. Her mind raced. He must have a plan; I need to trust that he knows what he’s doing. She closed the case, walked back to the bed briskly, and set it in its hiding place. With it safely tucked away she peeked casually around the corner to see if he was still occupied in the bathroom. The door was closed and light glowed in the slit beneath. That was a good sign. Her transgression had gone unnoticed and would stay that way—as long as she kept him from touching her. His psychic ability required direct contact with a person or personal item. She would avoid contact until he was ready to explain things to her.
Then she could come clean.
Chapter 33
David roamed the house like a ghost, floating from room to room, grazing his eyes across every word. But no message would come.
Ben continued to watch TV, like it was a conduit to his new superpower. It was good to see a little life had returned to his face. Hopefully, it would last. Emily sat next to him, hoping she might also see a message on the screen.
Sharon sat drinking a cup of tea at the kitchen table.
"Why aren’t you looking?" said David, opening the fridge—not to take part in his standard ritual of foraging, because food was the last thing he wanted to put into his poison tortured stomach—but to search for more words.
"I did. But I’m not going to agonize over it; the messages will come."
He snuffed. "I'm not agonizing."
She raised her eyebrows and took another sip of tea.
He let the fridge shut. "You're right. I'm agonizing."
She laughed. "It’s been a long couple of days. Why don't you sit down."
"I just, I don’t know, feel like I should be doing something."
"I know, but you'll drive yourself crazy tearing the house apart looking for messages."
"What else am I supposed to do?"
"Call Collins. Maybe something’s come up."
"That's a good idea," he said, scanning the counters. "Where's the phone?"
"I think it’s on the sideboard heading upstairs."
As she spoke, his ears tuned into another voice. It wasn't who was speaking, but who they were speaking about that drew his attention to the television. He looked over at the screen. On it was a video of Jon Blake at one of his recent appearances.
The kitchen chair squelched as Sharon got up to join him in the doorway. "What do you see, David, a message?"
"No. Jon Blake."
The scene changed to Jon standing in front of a crowd on the downtown street where Brad Knight had been found in a bloody heap. Though the shot of Jon was less than flattering, it didn't keep the reporter from using words like incredible, mysterious, and awe-inspiring. From her tone you'd think Jon was the second coming.
Sharon’s voice was low. "It's hard to believe that's the same young man who came out of the rubble with you."
The scene shifted again to Jon on David Letterman, with reactions from the crowd. There was a mixture of shock and tears as he used his powers to reunite the celebrity guest with her estranged little sister. David hadn't caught much of the recent news coverage, but, from what he had seen, it was clear that everywhere this kid went he displayed miraculous powers. Why were there no restrictions put on Jon Blake like there were on him? It seemed unfair that Jon should bask in the adoration of the masses while he was forced to hide his gift.
"Why didn't God do that with me?" he said, mostly to himself.
Sharon gave him a look of disgust. "I can't believe you just said that."
"No. I mean, so publicly."
"You didn't exactly go under the radar."
"Only because Karen outed me. If she hadn't said anything, everyone would have been left wondering. But this kid, he walks into a building and starts blowing everyone's mind."
Sharon turned toward the television and crossed her arms. "Cheap parlor tricks."
"C'mon, Sharon. Look at him. He can do everything I did and more."
Sharon let out a laugh. "Listen, David. I'd like to see him predict a presidential assassination before the assassin even realized he was an assassin! Or how about predicting exactly where that airliner would crash and knowing that you would be able to breath through air pockets in the rubble. What Jon does is clever, I'll give him that, but he doesn't know the future, David. I've been watching these reports. These demons have one trick; they can observe us without detection. Somehow they are communicating with Jon, so it looks like he can see the future or see into our souls. But its all smoke and mirrors."
"You been talking to Frank again?"
Sharon shrugged. "How’d you guess?"
David shook his head. "What I don’t get is, why is God allowing him to get all this glory and making me look like a fool?"
The screen changed, and the anchor started talking about a gathering of Politicians and Christian leaders at a closed rally in Boston. The buzz was that Jon Blake would be speaking to an audience of over four thousand, including governors from eight states, several senators and congressmen, and pastors from all over the world.
"Well, I guess that answers your question," said Sharon dumbstruck.
"Yes," he said, sharing in her shock. "but it leaves another more disturbing one: why are demons leading Jon Blake to the largest gathering of Christian leaders since the founding of our country?"
Chapter 34
When Jon Blake finished in the bathroom he found Jillian sitting on the balcony. She noticed him immediately and got to her feet. The wind carried her rich golden curls to the side. She helped them along by dragging her hand across her forehead as she stepped across the threshold.
"It's all yours," he said, turning to let her pass.
"I won't be long." She gave an aloof smile.
He wanted to pull her into him. He wanted to kiss her full red lips again, but the voices were clear; he was not to touch her until instructed. She had to believe he was unaware of her modest betrayal.
He listened for the door to the bathroom, lifted the briefcase from its place, and walked around the bed. With swift precision he laid the case down, flipped the lid, and replaced the revolver he had taken from the suicidal man with the gas machine and inoculation gun hidden under the bed. Jillian would believe he was smuggling a gun into
the conference and never guess his involvement in the gas attack. The voices had assured him. When the truth did come out, she would see that he had done what was necessary for the greater good, just as her associate Jakson had. They were not killers. They were saviors of the human race; the only two people on the planet suitable for contact; the only two capable of seeing this plan to its completion.
Jillian was far too gentle to know the truth about her role in all that was happening. But Jon had been assured that on the day she learned the truth she would be grateful for the lies that had protected her from her own weakness.
He closed the case, set it back in its spot, and looked around. Now all there was to do was wait. His eyes landed on the letter his uncle had given him peeking out from under his suit jacket on the table. His finger pressed down on it and he slid it into full view. There were no markings on the outside; it was just a simple blue envelope. His fear of ruining his memory of her had held him back from reading it—but he had procrastinated long enough. It was time to find out what his mother's role was in all of this. He tore it open and pulled the contents out.
Dearest Jon,
I have written to you many times, but your father kept my letters from you. I know you don't understand why I had to leave, but I was too weak to stay. Seeing your father with my sister was more than I could bear. I am thankful though that he waited a considerable time to allow her to move in. It makes sense to me now. He didn’t want you to know she was my sister. He didn't want that knowledge to taint your opinion of her. It doesn't matter now, she’s no longer here, and he is where he should have been years ago. That leaves you with a choice, my son. If it pleases you, I would love for you to come live with me. I have much to explain, and much I wish to share with you. The recent loss of my husband's son, has left a great hole in my heart. It is my hope that together we may find healing. I look forward to your response.
Love mother.
Lies (The David Chance Series Book 3) Page 18
