Wilcox thought about the enormity of the National Cathedral and guessed that it must have taken three or four times the explosive power of Saint Patricks’ to do that. The nauseating feeling in his stomach suddenly grew worse as he realized that the attacks were much more powerful this time which meant the possibility that this was escalating.
He slowly walked around the perimeter, unable to believe the destruction, even after Saint Patrick’s. As he walked around the outside, he watched the rescue crews slowly and methodically turn over pieces of wreckage. It was then that he noticed something. Not far from where he stood, near the remains of the altars, was a man who looked oddly familiar.
Wilcox had a keen memory for faces, but it was not triggered by the man’s middle eastern look or his bald head. It was what he was doing.
The chaplain looked around and spotted a man behind him that appeared to be one of the crew’s supervisors. He walked over to the man and introduced himself.
“What can I do for you, Chaplain?” The man was polite but curt.
The chaplain pointed back the way he came. “That man over there, near the back. Do you know who he is?”
The man glanced up briefly and squinted his eyes. “Uh…no,” he said, looking back down at his clipboard. “Some special investigator I think.”
The chaplain nodded, still watching the man. “Did you catch his name?”
The supervisor stopped for a moment and raised an eyebrow. “Mmm…I think his ID said Bases or something. I can’t remember exactly.”
The chaplain nodded again. “Did he say what he was looking for?”
“Nope.”
The supervisor was clearly busy. The chaplain thanked him and walked back toward the wreckage, watching the man. He was sure it was him. He had seen him at the wreckage of Saint Patrick’s a few days ago. He remembered the face, but what really seemed curious was why both times he’d seen the man digging in the same area of the church’s remains.
26
The sound of running water woke Christine. She slowly opened her eyes, squinting at the ray of sunshine peeking through the dark curtains. Sarah was asleep on top of her again with her tiny hand laying across the bottom of Christine’s face. She slowly removed Sarah’s hand, trying not to wake her, and set it softly on her own tiny stomach.
Ever so gently, Christine rolled off the couch and onto a knee, standing up and stretching. She followed the noise into the kitchen where she found Avery washing out a dishcloth.
He spoke quietly over his shoulder. “Sorry, I was hoping that wouldn’t wake you.”
“That’s okay,” she said with a yawn. “What time is it?” she asked, peering around the two darkened rooms.
“A little past two.”
“Wow.” She couldn’t remember what time she had fallen asleep, but she sure didn’t think she would sleep that long.
“How’s Glen?” she asked.
Avery smiled. “He’s better. Still needs more rest though.” He turned off the water and hung the cloth over the faucet. “Would you like some tea?”
“I would love some,” she said. She eyed the smaller kitchen window and walked over to it, pulling back the curtain a little. She looked outside at the dense wall of giant pine and cedar trees. Outside and directly beneath the window was a large wooden deck with two chairs and a small table. On the other side of the table was a large pile of firewood. Christine let the curtain fall back over the exposed window and looked closer around the dimly lit kitchen. The place looked rugged and void of any frills, highlighted by the wire rack on the counter with dishes drip drying. To the right was an old gas stove, and next to that was a refrigerator that looked even older. It reminded her of the small, rounded looking fridge her grandmother once had.
In front of her and next to the window was a small wooden table with four matching chairs. She quietly pulled one out and sat down with a creak.
She watched Avery pour the water into a tea cup and wondered where he had gotten the hot water. She didn’t remember hearing the whistle of a teapot, and there was certainly no microwave. She could not have been that tired.
He walked across the small room and put her tea down in front of her. Avery then sat in the chair next to her and took a sip from his own cup.
“So,” Christine started, curling her fingers through the handle. “What exactly is going on here? Why is everyone after us?”
Avery put his cup down. “They’re not after you. They’re after Sarah.”
Deep down Christine knew that. “She’s six-years-old, what could they want with her?”
Avery looked at her curiously. “You tell me.”
“I-I don’t know,” she said looking baffled.
Avery watched her with a dubious look. “I see.”
Just then Sarah appeared near the open doorway. Christine waved her over. “Hi Sarah. Come on in.”
Sarah walked quietly over and sat down in the chair next to Christine.
“Sarah, this is Mr. Avery. He helped us last night.”
Sarah smiled shyly and gave him a polite wave.
He grinned, revealing deep dimples in his old cheeks. “Did you get a good night’s sleep Sarah?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked.
Sarah glanced at Christine and then back to Avery. “Yes, please.”
Avery rose and opened the refrigerator, withdrawing a bowl of fruit. “Here you go.” He placed it on the table in front of her.
Sarah grabbed some grapes and started popping them into her mouth while she looked around the room curiously.
They both watched her eat for a minute before Avery spoke again. “Sarah, I was just about to tell Christine that you are both safe here. We’re here to help you. So don’t you worry, okay?”
“Okay,” Sarah replied again politely as she reached for more grapes.
Christine smiled, marveling at Sarah. She had such good manners, better than she’d seen in a child for a long time.
Avery turned to Christine. “Can I get you something?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you, I’ll just nibble on some of this fruit.”
“Okay then. Let me check on Glen again.” With that Avery left the kitchen and strode down the hallway toward the back of the cabin.
Christine remained still, surprised at how happy she was just watching Sarah eat. After a few moments, she broke the silence. “Is Avery a nice man?”
“Mmm hmm.” Sarah said with a quick bob of her head. “Very nice.”
Christine nodded with relief. She decided to change the subject. “Sarah, are you missing school this week?”
“Yeah,” Sarah replied. “My mommy took me out of school. She said we’ll have to do a lot of homework to catch up.”
“I see.” Christine put her cup down and leaned toward her a little. “Sarah, did your mommy tell you why she was taking you out of school?”
Sarah took a break from chewing. “Because of the bad men.”
“What bad men?”
Sarah looked at her innocently. “The bad men that tried to get into our house.”
Christine tried to suppress her look of surprise. “They came to your house?”
“Yes. Just like they came to the hotel and the hide house.”
“The hide house?” asked Christine. “Oh, you mean the place we were hiding at, the safe house?”
“Yeah,” she said. “But the bad men keep coming.”
Christine sighed. “I know honey.” She patted Sarah’s hand and was struck by how natural it felt. “But I think we’re safe now.”
She wanted to get back off the subject. “So, do you have a lot of friends in school?”
“Yes,” Sarah said, picking the last grape off a small bunch. “Muna is my best friend. She’s black.”
Christine’s eyes grew wide. “What? She’s black?”
“Yeah, her mommy and daddy are black too. They’re from South Africa.”
Christine laugh
ed a little in relief. “Oh, you mean black. As in, their skin is black. I though you meant…oh never mind.”
Sarah looked curiously at Christine. “Do you think I’ll be able to go back to school soon?”
Christine felt her heart sadden but forced a smile. “I sure hope so.”
Together they finished the fruit in the bowl, and Sarah put it carefully into the sink. They went into the living room and opened the curtains a little, allowing more sun in. Together they folded the two blankets and stacked them neatly on the end of the couch.
Christine looked at Sarah’s clothes and then her own. “I guess we’re both dressed already.”
Sarah giggled and nodded.
They found the remote control to a small television in the corner of the living room. Christine managed to turn it on and flipped through a few channels with some reception before stopping on a relatively clear cartoon show which Sarah was very excited about. She quickly dropped down and sat on the floor.
Christine stood back and grinned again at the thought of Sarah being able to be a kid, if only for the moment. Christine absently brushed a strand of hair out of her face and realized how dirty her hair felt. She needed to freshen up.
She peered curiously down the hallway. There was a light under one of the doors which she assumed was the room that Glen Smith was resting in. It was across from the bathroom she had used in the middle of the night. Quietly, she stepped inside and closed the door, this time noticing behind it a tub and shower. She was surprised at how clean it was.
Christine turned on the light, and stared into the large mirror above the sink. She looked terrible and needed a shower badly. She turned on the sink faucet and pooled some water in her hands, rinsing her face off several times. She then took the band out of her thick, dark, red hair and let it fall forward. There was no brush, so she did her best by running her fingers through it and pulling it tight into a ponytail, doubling up the band to secure it.
She already felt better, but this wasn’t the time for a complete overhaul. She reached for the door but stopped when she looked at the mirrored medicine cabinet on the side wall. She looked around instinctively and then reached for the cabinet door, gently tugging it open and waiting for a loud squeak that never came. Curious, she looked inside to find it almost empty. Only the bottom shelf had anything on it: a razor with blades, a few sticks of deodorant, and some aspirin. Strangely disappointed, she began to shut it when a noise outside in the hallway made her jump. It sounded like the other door had been opened abruptly. She quickly closed the cabinet and double-checked herself in the mirror. She then casually turned the door knob and pulled the door open.
She saw that the other door was cracked open. She looked up and down the hall curiously. Avery must have already reached the kitchen.
Christine quietly stepped across the hall and positioned herself in front of the small opening in the second door. She leaned in and put one eye close enough to look through.
She gasped! Inside, she could see the figure of Glen Smith, and he was standing up. Christine slipped and pitched forward, accidentally pushing the door open, and realized she had been helped by Avery who had silently appeared behind her in the hall. She abruptly stumbled into the room to find Smith standing in front of a mirror, wearing a long sleeve shirt which was unbuttoned down the middle.
If Christine had been startled at seeing Smith on his own two feet, what she saw when he whirled around truly frightened her. The skin on his side looked smooth and showed no sign of injury, much less a bullet hole.
“Oh my god!” Christine cried, trying to back up. “How? How?” She bumped into Avery who was still behind her.
Avery put his hands slowly on her shoulders. “Easy, Christine,” he said in a calm voice. “Take it easy now.”
Christine was petrified. She kept staring at Smith and slowly tried to back up and around Avery. “My god, w-what are you?” She turned and realized that Avery was between her and the door. It didn’t look like he had any intention of letting her out.
Avery spoke again. “Easy. It’s not what it looks like.”
“No?!” Christine shot back. “Well, it looks like he was shot and bleeding to death last night, and now it looks like he’s pretty…unshot!”
Smith stopped trying to hide his abdomen and straightened.
“Okay, well maybe it is what it looks like,” Avery said with a weak smile, trying to break the ice.
Christine turned and made a deliberate effort to get past him and through the door, but Avery stayed in front of her.
“Don’t do anything rash, just let us explain.” He looked in her eyes. “There is a lot for everyone to explain here.”
Christine gave him a suspicious look. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Avery shook his head. “I mean there’s a lot happening here. Let’s not freak out.” He held his hands up in front of himself as a calming gesture. “You’re in no danger here.”
Christine stared at him and then at Smith. She held a finger up and motioned to the door. “Just let me say something.” Avery stepped aside while Christine called down the hall. “Sarah, are you okay out there?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Sarah’s voice called back.
Christine swallowed and looked back at both men. “Okay…explain!”
Smith nodded and stepped away from the mirror. “Okay, we’ll explain everything. But first you need to tell us something.”
“What?” she asked.
Smith glanced at Avery. “What is it about Sarah? What’s so special that people are trying to kill her over?”
“It’s clear that you know,” Avery added, before she could speak.
Christine thought about the question. She had already lied once about it, and she was a terrible liar; she knew that. But if she was going to talk, she didn’t want to be the one to do it first. Yet, she had a feeling they were going to tell her a lot more than she was about to tell them. “Okay,” she relented. “But then you tell me what the hell is going on.”
Smith looked in her green eyes. “Agreed.”
Christine took a deep breath. “She can see things,” she said. “Sarah, I mean. She can see inside people.”
Smith and Avery looked at each other again. “What do you mean?”
“I think she can see people’s auras, like…their energy. And it tells her what kind of person they are inside.”
The men stared at her for a long time. “Auras?” Smith asked.
“Yeah, you know, like a person’s…reflection or essence or something,” Christine explained.
“And what does she see?” Avery asked.
“She says she sees colors. And they mean different things.”
“Colors,” Smith repeated.
Christine nodded. “Colors. She said that children are white, and adults are yellow, orange, and red. Yellow is good, orange not so good, and red apparently means you’re bad…evil or something.”
“Is that all?” asked Avery.
She took another deep breath. “No. She also said that the color black…means someone is going to die.”
Again, both men looked at each other curiously. After a long moment, Smith nodded and looked at Christine. “Okay, our turn,” he said, leaning against the footboard of the bed behind him. “You may want to sit down for this.”
“I’m fine,” she said with a smirk, folding her arms in front of her.
“To begin with, my name is not Smith.”
Christine raised her eyebrows. “You’re not Smith?”
He shook his head.
“Are you at least Glen?”
“No.” He shook his head again. “My real name is David Rand.”
Christine did not say anything.
“And,” he continued, “I’m here for Sarah.”
“What?”
He frowned. “What I mean is, I’m here to help her. To protect her.”
“Well, I guess that’s kind of obvious.”
“No, that’s not what I mea
n. I mean I’m here to protect her. From whoever is doing this.”
“Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “I understand that.”
Rand sighed. “I’m not sure that you do.” He considered his words carefully. “I’m not exactly like you.”
Christine’s expression became confused again. “And what does that mean?”
It was his turn to give her a sarcastic look. He pulled back his shirt and she looked down at his muscular stomach. “How many people do you know that heal like this?”
Christine’s mouth dropped open as she finally understood what he was trying to say. “Oh…my…god!” she gasped. “You’re an alien!”
Rand glanced at Avery and rolled his eyes. “No, I’m NOT an alien.”
“Then what are you?” she said, shaking her head.
“Christine,” Rand said. “When I say I’m here to protect Sarah, I mean I’ve been sent here to protect her. Someone is trying to kill her, and I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Christine stood motionless, staring at Rand. “Sent? Sent by whom?”
Rand was surprised by her question. “By God.”
27
One of the officers poked his head in the door to find Deputy Inspector Kim Darlington sifting through a large manila folder. As Deputy Inspector, Darlington was in charge of the 19th Precinct in New York and was frequently asked by the district attorney’s office to run through cases when they found discrepancies that might weaken the case. It was their last chance to tie up loose ends and make the case as strong as possible before going in front of the judge. The one on her desk was one of those cases.
“Hey Kim,” the officer said. “Got a call for you on line four.”
“Who is it?” Darlington asked without looking up.
“It’s Chaplain Wilcox.”
Darlington looked up, considering whether to take the call. “Okay,” she said, leaving the folder carefully in place. “I’ll take it.”
Amid the Shadows Page 11
