“Probably the best way to describe it is the ability to give someone an objective, outside perspective on what is going on with their psyche—things they may not be aware of.”
“That sounds very intrusive,” Bohannon said.
“It is a very intimate experience, but it’s not about intrusion. We can’t force someone to participate, and, while we remember what was said during the session, the impetus for what is said is not actually known or remembered by the reader.”
“It sounds as if you have the ability to read someone’s subconscious mind,” Ping said.
“That’s as good an explanation as I can give,” Melanie said, “but I think it’s little more complicated than that.”
“So why are you not doing readings for people now?” Bohannon tilted his head toward the crowd. “The flyer said you would.”
“Since the experience can be disturbing to some people, we generally think it’s best to wait for people to ask about it. Occasionally Denton will encounter someone who he thinks might benefit from the experience, and he’ll ask the person to talk to me. It’s a much more difficult concept to explain to people than healing.”
“Yeah, I’m still not sure if I’m following what you mean,” Bohannon said.
Melanie smiled and said, “Detective, would you like me to do a reading with you? I get the impression you are curious about the state of your soul.”
“Ha! I was raised by a Baptist preacher. I’m pretty sure the state of my soul is in disrepair, but thanks anyway. I think I would prefer to stay in the dark for the time being.”
Melanie turned to Ping. “How about you, Mr. Ping? You seem like someone who wouldn’t have any qualms about learning more about himself.”
“Oh, I don’t know. We all have things we’d prefer not to face, I suppose,” he said.
Melanie patted the bricks on the step next to her. “Come, sit with me. I think you will enjoy this.”
Ping hesitated for a second, and Mara nudged him. “Go ahead. What can it hurt?”
He leaned in and whispered to her, “I’m not sure this is a good idea, given the dichotomy of consciousnesses I have inside me.”
“She said she can provide perspective on your psyche. Give it a shot. I’ll be here the whole time.”
Ping looked askance at her but walked over and sat next to Melanie. “What do I do?” he asked.
Melanie placed her hands on each side of Ping’s face, making a point of centering her fingers over each temple. “Breathe deeply and relax. A lot of people close their eyes, but it’s not required,” she said.
Ping kept his eyes open and locked them on Melanie’s.
She rolled her head slowly as if trying to get a kink out of her neck. After three turns of her head, she stopped with her chin slightly tilted to the left, giving her a pose that looked almost inquisitive. Suddenly her pupils dilated, turned into black pools that overflowed and overwhelmed her blue irises, then blotted out the whites of her eyes, turning them into orbs of swirling melted tar.
Ping focused on the roiling blackness in Melanie’s eyes as she said, “I can see where you came from, the life you had there.” The swirling tar disintegrated into clouds of gray dust that formed a vortex, morphed into Ping’s profile. “A strong sense of unfulfilled destiny—you knew one day you would be called away. To here. To this place.”
“Yes,” Ping said, in a slurred whisper.
“You are the mentor, the navigator to The One.”
“Yes.”
“But you carry a burden that burns away at you, a fear that consumes you.”
Ping’s eyes widened, and he whimpered, “Yes.”
The gray dusty profile that filled Melanie’s eyes spun apart into a sandy storm and coalesced again into the head of a serpent, a dragon. A stream of smoke flowed out of her nose, followed by a lick of flame. “There is another.”
“Yes, the fear that consumes me.”
Melanie swung her head haltingly back and forth, dragons still in her eyes. “It is not the beast that consumes you. It is your fear.”
“No, it is the dragon.”
“You fear ignorance. You doubt yourself. You think your knowledge is inadequate to fulfill your destiny.”
“Yes.”
“You have the knowledge you need, somewhere. However, you must learn the lessons you have taught others. Embrace the nature of existence. Embrace the many facets of you. And when the time comes, you will be free of the beasts inside, the dragon and the doubt.”
Melanie’s hands slid from the side of Ping’s face, and her head dropped to her chest.
* * *
“Are you two all right?” Mara stood over Ping and Melanie, looking pale and concerned.
“I’m perfectly fine.” Melanie smiled, wiped soot from her upper lip. “Mr. Ping, how are you?”
“I’m okay. That was a little disconcerting, but I have to admit it felt enlightening, like my perspective of myself has been expanded in some way,” Ping said.
Bohannon raised a hand to get their attention. “What was all of that stuff about a dragon? And why was there fire coming out of Melanie’s nose?”
Melanie had a blank look on her face and self-consciously rubbed her nose. “Fire? Out of my nose? What is he talking about?”
“You don’t remember?” Ping asked.
“I don’t generally have physical manifestations of any kind. Are you saying fire came out of me?”
Bohannon pursed his lips in a silent whistle and nodded.
“Like I said earlier, I generally remember the words that are spoken, but I don’t remember what motivates them. I would assume that the reference to a dragon is metaphorical, something that means more to you personally,” Melanie said to Ping.
“That’s it exactly, something metaphorical,” Mara said, nodding at Bohannon.
“That smoke and fire coming out of her face was not metaphorical,” the detective said but decided to let it go after Mara glared at him.
Ping simply smiled and nodded.
Melanie looked at Mara and patted the bricks on the other side of her from where Ping sat. “Mara, come sit with me.”
Mara shook her head and backed up a step. “Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’m not much of a believer in these sorts of esoteric things. Just ask my mom.”
“I promise it will not hurt,” Melanie said. “I have a strong sense that a reading will help you gain some perspective.”
Mara looked to Ping to back her up. He simply nodded to her and said, “There might be some benefit for you in doing this. It is a little disorienting at first, but there’s something enlightening about it that I can’t put my finger on.”
“I, I don’t know.”
Melanie smiled, trying to reassure her. “We can stop anytime you feel uncomfortable.”
Mara walked over to where Melanie sat and joined her. “What do I do?”
Melanie placed her fingertips on Mara’s temples, laying hands along the sides of Mara’s face. “Like Mr. Ping, breathe deeply and relax. Let the experience flow over you.”
Mara watched as pools of inky, glossy blackness spread over Melanie’s eyes until there was nothing in them except the reflection of Mara’s anxious expression. The smudge of light that made up Mara’s image intensified and expanded, filling Melanie’s eyes with a blue fluorescent liquid that vanquished the darkness. They swirled and glowed from within, casting a dull radiance across Mara’s face.
Melanie gasped and said, “Oh my. Endlessness. I see endlessness.”
“Yes,” Mara whispered.
“Time. Space. Consciousness . . .”
“Yes.”
“You are the maker of reality, the mother of consequence, the one called progenitor.”
Mara flinched but was drawn by the light that shone from Melanie’s eyes onto her face.
“You have entered the Crucible of Creation, and soon the Battle for Existence shall be engaged.”
Mara’s eyes widened. “Tell me what th
at means.”
Melanie gasped again; her neck muscles tightened, and she gritted her teeth. Her jawline flexed, and her face reddened. The light emitting from her eyes intensified. An expression of fear melted across her features, punctuated by another gasp. “Stalking . . .”
“What?” Mara asked.
“They are stalking you. You can sense it.”
“Who?”
“Misery and joy. Misery and joy.
“What are you talking about?”
“They are drawn to you, and they will come.”
“Who, Melanie? Who?”
“A nemesis, a blight. Your adversary.” Melanie trembled; she scratched at her own arms as if ants were crawling on her.
Mara reached out to her and said, “Who are you talking about?”
Melanie fell backward onto the wide brick step, her entire body rattling as if she were having a seizure.
Mara leaned over Melanie, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back up. The light in Melanie’s eyes was fading to black, to the inky swirling orbs of tar in which Mara could once again see her reflection. “Melanie, are you okay?”
Melanie’s head lolled onto her right shoulder, and, in a child’s voice, she said, “Mar-ree, Mar-ree! I’m coming!”
CHAPTER 19
With a shaking hand, Mara lifted the paper cup to her lips, and she grimaced. The hot chocolate was ice-cold. The entire square was beginning to feel ice-cold. She glanced around and noticed that the surrounding buildings cast long shadows over the square, and the temperature was too uncomfortable to be sitting on bricks. Standing, she decided it was time to get away from all of this soul-reading nonsense. It appeared that others were coming to the same conclusion, at least about the cool fall weather.
Melanie had quickly shaken off the effects of Mara’s reading and walked over to where her husband talked to the last of the gathering. She was trying to get him to wrap things up.
Bohannon hobbled up to Mara and said, “That was quite the show she put on there. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I think so.” Mara glared at Ping as he walked up to them. “No thanks to Ping’s bright idea. It felt enlightening, like my perspective had been expanded.”
“I didn’t say it was particularly pleasant,” he said, reaching up to Mara’s forehead and brushing away a strand of hair. “But you have to admit Melanie definitely gave you something to think about.”
“I did not find the experience ‘enlightening’ in the least. As a matter of fact, it completely creeped me out. What’s enlightening about being told I’m stalked by an adversary in the voice of a child. It’s like something out of a Chucky, the slasher doll, movie.”
“Well, I think it’s better to be forewarned than to be surprised,” Ping said.
“You’re assuming Melanie actually has an ability. Maybe she’s delusional.”
“I think you mentioned something about hearing a child’s voice saying those exact words before. That might be an indicator of the veracity of Melanie’s talents. Plus my own experience persuades me that she is genuine.”
Bohannon leaned in. “You heard that voice before?”
Mara ignored the question and continued glaring at Ping. “Well, there is that. But what about all that other stuff? Do you think any of that is true, or maybe she made it up?”
“If I understand what is going on when Melanie does a reading, I think she’s reflecting what’s in our subconscious, those parts of us that we have not come to grips with—our doubts, our fears, those things we’re not even aware that we are pondering.”
“I’m sorry, but where did you hear that voice before?” Bohannon asked.
Mara turned to him and said, “I heard it come out of a radio at the shop.”
“Oh, well, that could be a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Mara half-frowned and said, “Given all that we’ve seen in the past couple months, how much credence are you putting in coincidences these days?”
Bohannon shrugged. “Sorry I asked. I think I’ve gotten all the information I can from this particular outing. I’m going to head out. You guys have a good evening.” He tipped his head in a little salute and turned to walk back toward Yamhill Street.
Mara raised an arm after him, pointed to the ground with her other arm and yelled, “Hey, you forgot your crutches.”
The detective pivoted and retrieved them. “Guess I got something more than information from this experience, didn’t I?” He continued on his way.
Ping watched him walk across the square for a few minutes, waiting for Mara to say something. When she failed to continue the conversation, he turned toward her.
With a look of concern, she stared at the small group of people gathered around Denton Proctor.
“What is it?” Ping said.
Mara tilted her head forward, indicating a blonde head bobbing out of sight, making an effort to stay behind the thinning crowd. “Why would Abby be hanging out over there, trying to hide behind those people?”
“I’m not sure. Did you mention to her that we would be coming down here this afternoon?”
“No, why would I?”
“Maybe it is a coincidence. Does she have a condition that Mr. Proctor can help her with?”
“I don’t think even the talented Mr. Proctor can cure terminal nosiness.”
“You don’t think she followed us down here, do you?”
“I’m not sure. She showed up at the shop yesterday, and that was kind of odd. I figured she was angling to get Bruce to notice her, but maybe there’s something else on her mind.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Sam’s sudden appearance and weirdness probably caught her eye, and now she’s curious about what’s going on. She’s like a bloodhound. Once she catches a scent of something interesting, she won’t let it go until you spill every detail.”
“Sounds like she should consider a career in journalism.”
“You might be right, but this is one scoop she’s not going to get.”
“Maybe you should have a talk with her.”
“Oh, I plan on it, but I’m not sure how much good it will do.”
CHAPTER 20
The antiquated cell phone lay on the counter of Mason’s Fix-It Shop in what Mara could only describe as three clumps. One was a gray plastic casing, cracked nearly in half with the bottom portion—designed to cover the large oval keys—hanging loosely from its fractured hinge. The second was a knot of wires mounted onto a circuit board, and the third was a battery casing, a mounting and more wires.
Mara’s middle-school friend Buddy had been waiting in front of the shop when she had arrived to open up. Now he loomed over the mess with a worried look and said, “Do you think you can fix it?”
“Sheesh, Bud. I don’t know. It’s pretty much destroyed. What happened to it?”
“I was riding my bike and talking to my dad, and it slipped out of my hand, and a big truck ran over it. I tried to put it back together to make it easier for you, but I couldn’t.”
Mara turned over the casing and scratched away what looked like dried white glue. “Oh, Buddy.”
Anguish swept over his face. “You gotta fix it, Mara. It’s the only phone my dad can call.” Tears rolled down his face, dripped off his unshaven chin and painted a couple darkened streaks on his gray hoodie.
“Don’t cry, Buddy. Let me think for a minute.”
Mara’s mother had lectured her about feeding into Buddy’s belief that he could talk to his dead father through the archaic cell phone, and now she had to finally face telling him the phone was gone. She considered trying to convince him that another phone would do the job, but that would be dishonest and would be perpetuating the problem. Fixing the old phone was out of the question; it was a mess.
Buddy make a loud snuffling sound, tried to catch his breath and sounded as if he were about to hyperventilate. With his face reddening, he leaned on the counter for support.
“Please, Buddy, calm
down.”
The bell above the door jangled. Sam stood in the doorway carrying a cup of coffee and a Danish. “Ping told me to drop this off.” He held the items up in the air as he closed the door with his hip. He noticed Mara’s frustration immediately. “What’s wrong, sis?” he said.
“Buddy’s upset about his phone, and I think he’s about to pass out.”
Sam moved over to the counter, and set down the cup and plate. He turned to Buddy and patted him on the back. “Hey, Buddy, are you all right?”
Buddy squeezed his eyes closed, forcing out more tears, and made a whimpering, mewing sound.
Sam grabbed both of Buddy’s shoulders and ducked down in front of him to catch his eye. “Hey, man. Mara’s going to fix you right up, I promise.”
“Sam—” Mara tried to interject.
Buddy shook his head back and forth. “She can’t fix it!
“Stop crying, Buddy,” Sam prompted. “You believe that Mara can fix your phone.”
Buddy’s face relaxed, blinked away the tears and smiled. “You’re right. I know she’ll fix it. Huh, Mara?”
Mara slouched over the counter, holding herself over the tangle of technology with two outstretched arms locked at the elbow. Without looking up, she said, “Sure, Buddy. I’ll give it a shot.”
Buddy grinned goofily and wiped his nose with his sleeve and turned toward the door to leave, but Mara looked up and said, “Hold up, Buddy. Let me give you a substitute phone until I get this one repaired. It will probably be a few days.”
She grabbed a pair of tweezers, lifted the piece with the motherboard attached and plucked out the SIM card. Reaching below the counter, she opened a drawer and took out a scuffed-up flip-phone—a newer model than Buddy’s but still dated—popped off the back cover and slipped in the SIM card. She punched the Power button, and it emitted a tone.
“Here, use this one until I get back to you.”
Buddy looked down suspiciously. “What number do you dial for it?”
Broken Souls (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 2) Page 10
