Second Sight

by Sharon Sala

  Tara wiped her eyes with the hem of her shirt and reached for a tissue.

  “Yes, okay, I get it, and I’m sorry I accused you, and I’m sorry I woke you, and—”

  “One day at a time,” Charlie said and disconnected.

  Tara’s phone began signaling incoming calls, and when she realized they were from TV stations and local papers, she muted the ringer and put it in her pocket.

  Then she washed her face and went upstairs.

  * * *

  The story went viral. The fact that a twelve-year-old girl had channeled Wonder Woman, a comic book heroine, to give her the courage to fight a cult, had triggered an emotional connection to her bravery for everyone.

  By evening, WWWWD, What Would Wonder Woman Do, had become the acronym of the day, and Jordan Bien was the name on everybody’s lips.

  The media all wanted a piece of her. But after she’d called them vultures who treated victims like roadkill just to get a story, compared them to Fourth Dimension by saying they were alike, and said both the cult and the media only wanted the girls for what they could give them, the media didn’t feel so good about taking her on.

  Also, the fact that her mother was a lawyer was another deterrent. No one wanted to be slapped with a lawsuit. It was, however, the final paragraph in Jordan’s story that touched them most.

  “My mama is a lawyer. A good lawyer. She always told me that the truth will set you free. So that’s our story. That’s our truth. We’re finally free. Now let us be.”

  * * *

  When the girls who’d been rescued began learning what Jordan had done, and saw the pictures, it was as if they’d been given permission to live in their truth, too.

  All over the country, in their homes and with their families, they began telling their own stories, of what they’d endured, and the lies they’d been told about parents giving them away and parents not wanting them anymore. And how after that, life for them personally ceased to exist—until Jordan.

  They told how she’d fought the Archangels from the start, and how she’d challenged the Master. Then they began relating all the bad things that had happened to her because she wouldn’t obey, and even after that happened, how she still wouldn’t quit. They bragged about how she’d sabotaged the mending, and told how she’d refused to eat for fear they’d drug her. How she slept in her clothes and her shoes. How she’d made them remember playing, and how she’d made a weapon from the handle of a broom. And then on the day of the rescue, how she’d hidden them under their beds and stood between them and the Master when he came after them with a gun.

  She’d given the girls back their voices. When she told her truth, they began to tell theirs. It was the beginning of their nightmare coming to an end.

  * * *

  Jud Bien was at breakfast with the guards and saw the same story, at the same time as the rest of the nation. The pictures. Her words. What he’d caused in his selfish search for his higher self broke what was left of him. When the story was over, he looked at the guards.

  “Get your lawyers here today. If they want my testimony about Fourth Dimension, they need to video it now. I’ll be dead long before your case ever goes to trial.”

  They didn’t question what he said. That wasn’t their job. But they did begin making calls. By noon, the safe house was swarming with people. They read him his rights on camera, and then he identified himself, stating his willingness to confess without having made any deals for leniency, and that he was willing to stand trial with all the rest.

  After that, he started talking, answering every question they threw at him and retelling his story one more time. They had more than three hours of testimony from him when they left, and after that, Jud acted no different than he did on every other day.

  They ate dinner. They watched television. And Jud went to bed just before midnight, which had been his habit.

  And as was their routine, the guards did periodic bed checks on him throughout the night.

  It was just before 4:00 a.m. when the guard on duty looked in on him, only to find his body swinging from the ceiling fan, hanged by a rope he’d made from the sheets off his bed.

  The guard hit the lights as he ran toward him, then realized Bien was way past rescue.

  “Aw, hell,” the guard said and then ran to wake up his partner. “Get up. We’ve got a problem.”

  “What’s wrong?” his partner asked.

  “Bien hanged himself. Call the boys again, and this time tell them to send the coroner.”

  * * *

  A glow from the street lights outside Jordan’s window had found a way through the space between the curtains, highlighting the spear she and Mama had mounted over her bed.

  She was curled up on her side with her back to the wall, sleeping soundly with Brownie Bear tucked beneath her chin.

  The digital clock on her bed table had just clicked over to 2:00 a.m. when she suddenly woke with a gasp, struggling for breath. In a panic, she sat straight up in bed.

  A faint image of her father hung within the shadows, the sadness and regret on his face unmistakable. She heard a thought. I’m so sorry. And then he was gone.

  Jud was dead now. She knew it. And she knew he’d taken his own life. She started to go wake her mama and then stopped. There was no need to tell her now, when they’d get official notice about it later.

  She peered into the shadows again, but he wasn’t there. And then she got up and walked to the window, pushed the curtains aside and looked down at the street below, but it was empty.

  From the window at the compound, she could see stars at night, in the thousands. From here, she couldn’t see much of anything beyond the lights. Her thoughts were jumbled. Part of her felt guilty for not feeling sad, but the rational part of her knew he’d lost his right to any grief.

  She let the curtains fall, then went back to bed, tucked Brownie Bear beneath her chin again, but this time turned her face to the wall, a subconscious acknowledgement that the need to watch the door for predators was gone.

  * * *

  The Archangels soon discovered that their special skills weren’t worth shit in jail. Once they’d been arraigned and charged, they didn’t need to be psychics to know they were all going to serve time. It remained to be seen how much and where they would serve it, but they were resigning themselves to their fates.

  And then the story broke about the bodies found outside the compound, and murder charges were added to their crimes. And then Jordan Bien’s story broke, stripping away the last vestiges of righteousness from Fourth Dimension, and their visions became painfully clear.

  The State of Kentucky had the death penalty for kidnapping, if the kidnapping resulted in the death of the victim. And since the Feds had just dug up six bodies, two of which were babies, they didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of a lighter sentence if they went to trial.

  They began requesting to talk to their lawyers, hoping to negotiate their sentences down to life versus death, and Aaron Walters was among them.

  * * *

  Cyrus Parks was still in cover-up mode when the Jordan Bien story broke. And while he had to admire her grit and courage she was dangerous business, and he wanted nothing more to do with her. She was part of his need to disassociate from everything and everyone connected to Fourth Dimension.

  He’d already been assured that all records from Fourth Dimension were being destroyed, and Cyrus had made sure that the money trail had been scrubbed, as well.

  The only person left who knew he’d been associated to the group was Aaron Walters, and Cyrus was very displeased with him.

  The raid at the compound had come as a shock. He’d been assured when that compound was built that it was impenetrable from the outside. But Aaron had made a crucial mistake in ejecting one of the members and keeping the man’s child, which left them vulnerable from the inside, and in Cyrus’s m
ind, that was what precipitated the downfall. Aaron Walters had proven himself to be a Jack-of-all-trades kind of psychic, but a master of none.

  Cyrus had furnished Aaron with a lawyer, with the understanding that Aaron stayed alive only if he kept his mouth shut about anyone else connected to the group, unaware that Aaron had said the same thing to Jud Bien. He was still debating what to do with him, when Aaron’s lawyer called.

  He wasn’t happy that the lawyer was trying to reach him. There was supposed to be no traceable connection to each other, but he was curious as to what would precipitate breaking the rule.

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Parks, I was hoping to catch you before you left for the day. This is Frank Mallory, and I’m calling for clarification.”

  Cyrus frowned. “I thought I’d made myself clear.”

  “Yes, sir. I am perfectly clear, but it appears my client has shifted focus.”

  Cyrus frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I took a call today. He’s asking for a meeting. Since murder charges have been added, I’m told none of the men want to go to trial, and are negotiating with their lawyers for a life sentence instead of the death penalty, which is now a possible reality. My client wishes to negotiate for a lighter sentence.”

  Cyrus didn’t hesitate. “That’s a liability. I insure myself against liabilities. I suggest you do the same.” He hung up, still angry that all of this work had to be destroyed.

  But then he reminded himself how many tries it always took before miracles were made, that collateral damage was part of the growth of power. Satisfied with his conclusion, he went home.

  * * *

  Aaron was in his cell, sitting on the edge of his bed, listening to the sounds of food trolleys rolling through the jail. Breakfast was being served.

  He thought about Archangel Robert and all the wonderful mornings he’d spent in meditation, waiting for Robert to bring his breakfast. He felt like weeping. The loss of his dream was painful.

  And then the trolley was next door, and he got up and moved toward the bars of his cell to wait for his tray. The trusty pushing the cart was flanked by two officers who repeatedly glared at Aaron through every meal, and this morning appeared to be no different.

  “Breakfast,” the trusty said, picking up a tray from the bottom shelf and sliding it through the slot in the door.

  Ignoring the officers’ glare, Aaron took his meal back to his bed and sat down with it in his lap. The size of Aaron’s belly meant his lap was considerably shorter than most, so he held on to it with one hand and ate with the other.

  He’d never cared much for oatmeal, but he didn’t mind it too much if it was sprinkled with brown sugar and honey, with a little cream poured on top.

  However, oatmeal in jail was minus sugar and cream, and minus flavor. There was a small pile of scrambled eggs that had originated from powder to go with it, and a couple of pieces of jelly toast, along with a cup of cold coffee.

  He ate because he was hungry, downing the oatmeal first because it was filling, and because two meals a day weren’t ever enough. As usual, the oatmeal was viscous and clung to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter as he worked on getting it swallowed. He ate the entire bowl in six gulps, leaving him with a slight bitter taste in his mouth, which he killed with a bite of jelly toast.

  The crunchy aspect of toasted bread had long since given way, but the jelly was sweet. He downed the eggs and toast in record time, washed it all down with the cold coffee, and then slid the tray back out into the hallway to be picked up.

  At this point, his day was done until the next meal. Some prisoners did pushups. Some just cursed at the world in general. Some sang. Some had conversations with the men in adjoining cells. Some jacked off. He knew because he could hear them when they came.

  But Aaron still considered himself the Master and did none of the above. Not even jacking off. Not anymore. He considered himself above the masses, both intellectually and spiritually, so he went back to his bed and stretched out, trying to isolate himself from the noise by meditation.

  But it didn’t work.

  He longed for privacy and silence, and for the sunshine on his back deck. He longed to watch birds coming to the feeder, knowing he was one with the Universe. But peace didn’t come, and he couldn’t concentrate. The longer he lay there, the worse he began to feel.

  He tried to get up, but the room was beginning to spin, and the pain in his belly was growing exponentially with every breath. He tried to call out, but his mouth was full of spit and foam, and he couldn’t do anything but grunt and cough and choke. There was a roar and an approaching blackness. His brain was on fire. Then his body began seizing and bucking, and he was kicking against the wall, in the death throes of a poison.

  The irony of his life?

  That he’d never seen it coming.

  * * *

  Special Agent Raines received the call about Jud Bien’s death on the way to work. He wasn’t surprised that Bien had done it, and was grateful to learn he’d thought enough about his guilt to at least video his testimony before he took the easy way out of his crimes. When he got to the office, Agent Vickers was waiting for him at his desk.

  “Morning, Vickers.”

  “Morning, sir,” Vickers said.

  Hank frowned. “You being here instead of in your own office does not bode well for me, does it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Is it about the info on the flash drive I sent you?” Hank asked.

  Vickers nodded. “Yes, sir. Considering the complicated nature of the information, it had been sent to us in a very straightforward and simple manner. We found links, and we were working on verification when they suddenly began disappearing.”

  Hank groaned. “She said we’d need to hurry. She must have suspected this would happen. Were you able to save enough to help us?”

  “No, sir. All we have left is what’s on the flash drive. But those links and money trails no longer exist.”

  “Damn it!” Hank said. “Our material witness hanged himself this morning, too. What else can go wrong?”

  He was about to find out.

  Two hours later, the phone on his desk began to ring, and he reached across the desk to answer.

  “Special Agent Raines.”

  “Agent Raines, this is Chief Crittendon, Lexington, Kentucky PD. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. One of the men from the Fourth Dimension raid has been found dead in his cell.”

  “Which one?” Hank asked.

  “Aaron Joseph Walters. The one we booked in wearing the long white robe.”

  Shit. “Do you know what happened?” Hank asked.

  “Coroner thinks arsenic poisoning, but it’ll have to be verified by autopsy. We’re assuming it was in his breakfast, and we’re looking into who might have had access.”

  “Dammit,” Hank said. “He was the leader, and now it’s assured he won’t be testifying. His death is my loss, but who did it is your headache. Thank you for letting me know.”

  “Yes, sir,” Crittendon said and hung up.

  Hank leaned back in his chair and then scrubbed his hands over his face in complete frustration. The aspects of a deeper corruption and cover-up were all over this, and whoever was at the bottom of it all had just cleaned up their own monumental mess.

  “Dammit. Dammit all to hell.”

  * * *

  Sunday morning dawned with a morning phone call to Tara from the FBI, officially notifying her of Jud’s death.

  A thousand images flooded Tara’s thoughts, from the day they’d met, to their wedding, to the years afterward building a life together and raising Jordan, to knowing the ultimate betrayal of what he’d done to their child.

  “Mrs. Bien... Ma’am, are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here, and good riddance to his rotten soul,” she sa
id, her voice shaking with rage.

  Then she turned around, saw Jordan standing in the doorway, and before she could explain the call, Jordan held up her hand.

  “I am my father’s child. I already know,” she said and walked away.

  Later that afternoon, Tara caught a story on the news about Aaron Walters, the man who called himself the Master of Fourth Dimension, having been found dead in his jail cell. Early reports stated he’d been poisoned. And that sent her into a panic about Jordan going back to school the next day. Tara was afraid to let her out of her sight.

  It was Jordan, again, who finally made her understand.

  “Look, Mama, I can’t testify against anyone. I wasn’t there long enough to witness anything but my own mistreatment, and all of the people responsible for that are either dead now, or in jail. No one wants me. No one is worried about what I know. Being psychic goes nowhere in a court of law. I’m fine. The only people interested in me are filmmakers and journalists, and they already know they have to go through you to get to me. I need you to calm down now. I have to go back to school tomorrow, and I need to know you’re my backup, just like you’ve always been.”

  Tara reached for Jordan and pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her body and the brush of silky hair against her cheek.

  “I love you, child, more than you will ever know. One day when you have children of your own, you will understand a mother’s love and a mother’s fear of losing a child. But, I hear you, and I will always be your backup. What’s not going to happen is you going anywhere alone right now.”

  “But Mama—”

  Tara took Jordan by the shoulders, looking straight into her face.