The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  Above all else, she cherished Michael’s trust.

  He was hers. She’d do this for him…

  But would he be able to face her afterward? And would she be able to face herself?

  Out of nowhere, a sweet melodic voice from her Calling echoed silently in her head. The whispered words, even though spoken in a language she didn’t understand, gave her the knowledge that this was the right choice. Strength surged through her.

  She gripped the paddle securely in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she brought down the first blow.

  “Harder,” he whispered.

  She raised the paddle and brought it down a second time.

  “Again.”

  After the third, his skin was a light shade of pink.

  “Again,” he said softly.

  She brought down the next blow.

  “Harder.”

  He cried softly, tears leaking from his eyes in a slow trickle. Her heart ripped in two.

  She brought the paddle down harder. Her vision blurred. She grimaced. Anger, not at Michael but at what had broken him, churned up in her gut.

  This time, the paddle hit his ass with a loud slap.

  “One more,” he whispered.

  After the last blow, she flung the paddle across the room. “How could you want this?” she yelled at him as tears spilled down her cheeks.

  He said nothing. But the dead look was gone, replaced by something else—peace and conscious intelligence.

  She shifted out from underneath him and lay down next to him. Wiping the wetness from under his eyes with her fingertips, she kissed the top of his head.

  “I’m so tired, Senny.” His eyes sagged shut.

  Her heart melted. He was back.

  “Come on, baby, let’s go to sleep,” she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  She peeled back the sheets and they crawled underneath.

  “How are you feeling down here?” she asked, touching him gently on the behind.

  “A little sore, but fine,” he replied. He pulled her arm around him and twined his fingers with hers as she spooned behind him.

  “Talk to me, Michael.”

  “I’m just trying to get myself unstuck, Senny. That’s all,” he said, and drifted off to sleep in her arms.

  She wasn’t exactly sure what he’d meant, but they’d made it to the other side. A strange tingle echoed inside her skin, reminding her of the sensation she’d felt in the kitchen. Without a doubt, she believed Michael would heal from here. She could stomach everything that had happened, except for the look of shame in his eyes. That look connected to a dark spot in her soul, to the time her uncle had touched her and made her do bad things.

  She pressed her lips to his shoulder and kissed him. Holding him tight, she dropped off to sleep thinking there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to erase that look in his eyes.

  “Michael, come here!” his father yells.

  Michael shudders under his bed. He did a bad thing. He’d pushed baby Susan’s carrier off the sofa. He was mad; he’d been the only child and now she was here. He liked it when Mommy and Daddy only paid attention to him. It made Mommy cry when the carrier fell onto the floor and when baby Susan fell out. Baby Susan cried really loud. Now he’s in trouble.

  But he still wants her to go away and live with a new Mommy and Daddy.

  His father peers underneath the bed. His face is red, and his eyes and mouth are mad. Michael loved Mommy, but he loved Daddy more. He was scared his father wouldn’t love him anymore because of what he did… and because she was here.

  Michael cries as he father drags him out by his arms and lifts him to his feet.

  “Michael,” his father says with icy calm, “Come with me. Right now.”

  Michael’s crying stops abruptly and he freezes in fear.

  Daddy’s never been this mad before.

  “Walk to my office,” he says.

  Michael opens the door of the spare bedroom his father uses at night and on weekends. The sound of his mother and baby Susan crying echoes downstairs, as his father shuts the door.

  “Do you know that you could’ve really hurt your sister?” His voice sends a chill up Michael’s small back.

  “I don’t want her here,” he mumbles.

  His father sinks his fingers into Michael’s thin shoulders and shakes him. “She’s a part of this family and I love her as much as I love you. You should be ashamed for what you did,” he says. “Pull your pants down. You’re getting a spanking you’ll never forget. To make sure you never give me a reason to do it again.”

  Michael’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t want to pull my pants down. I don’t want a spanking,” he says in a little voice.

  “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what you deserve. Now do it!”

  He cries as he pulls down his shorts and his big-boy underwear.

  “Come here,” his father says calmly. He lifts Michael up and puts him over his knee, exposing his naked bottom. Then he spanks Michael with the flat of his hand.

  Michael continues to cry, now because it hurts. Only bad boys get hit on the bottom. He won’t do it again. She can stay, he decides. I don’t want Daddy to make me feel bad and not love me.

  His father stands him up when he’s done. Michael wipes away the stray tears on his wet cheeks with the back of his hand.

  “Go stand in the corner for a ten minute time-out,” he says.

  Michael reaches down to pull up his shorts.

  “No, keep them down,” he commands, “as a reminder. Go.”

  Michael hangs his head and shuffles over to the corner, shorts and underpants around his thin ankles. He cries softly in the corner.

  “I’ll come back when the time is up.” The anger is gone from his voice. “I’m sorry, Son. I love you very much, but you can never do something like that again. I hope this felt bad enough that you’ll never try.”

  “I won’t. I promise,” he cries in a small voice. Michael would never do anything again that would make his father angry. Or make him not love him. He would never, ever, be bad again.

  Sienna woke from the dream with a start, tears streaming down her face.

  Michael was gone but he’d left a note on the pillow next to her. “Thank you and please forgive me. Love, Michael.”

  She released a wail and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her heart hurt like she’d been punched in the chest.

  “Oh, Michael.” She wanted to take that young boy into her arms and tell him that she loved him. Even more, she wanted to take the man he is now into her arms and tell him the same.

  Now she understood. His mind had been stuck in that terrible moment when he’d been punished as a child. He believed he needed to be punished for his guilt of not wanting to share his father with the others, for feeling betrayed by his father and ashamed for having all those feelings. In his mind, he needed to be punished the only way he ever remembered.

  It explained so much.

  He’d become so afraid of ever letting go, of losing control. To him that meant punishment and that he wouldn’t be loved, while control of his emotions meant safety.

  That’s why he was afraid to relinquish his control to her.

  But he’d trusted her with his secret.

  She read the note again. In the subtext, she sensed he thought he may have lost her, too. He signed the note with Love. For Michael, that was a lot.

  Letting out a heavy sigh, she used the covers to dry her cheeks. She had to call Cara, but didn’t her want to know she’d been crying.

  Her brain sifted through the events with Michael. There wasn’t much she was willing to share. This rarely happened, a situation that she couldn’t talk about with Cara. But this time, it was Michael’s privacy she protected, not her own.

  She cleared her throat and hit Cara’s speed dial.

  “Zeke said Michael showed up to see you,” Cara said breathlessly.

  “Yeah. But before we talk about that, it happened—the Cal
ling thing,” Sienna said.

  Cara gasped. “Are you okay? How did it go?”

  “Totally fine. Just confused as hell. I feel Michael like a second skin. It’s kind of weird. What now?”

  “That’s how I feel with Kai. Hang tight on next steps. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. I promise.”

  Sienna scowled, and then sighed. “Anyway, Michael stayed here last night but he left before I woke up.”

  “How was he?” Sienna could hear Cara’s apprehension.

  “He was groggy from some sleeping pills. I got him showered. He was upset but better by the time we fell asleep.”

  “You sound exhausted. Will you be okay?” Cara asked.

  Sienna’s lips tugged up in a smile. “Yeah… He called me ‘Senny’ last night. He’s never done that before.”

  Cara was quiet on the other side for a moment. “Sweetie, in his heart I know he loves you. Please be patient with him. He’ll be worth the effort.”

  “He’s already worth it. But I don’t know if he knows how to love,” Sienna replied softly, thinking back to all she’d learned about him. The question remained: would he be able to face her again after last night?

  “I believe in you both. Have some faith,” Cara said.

  “I’ll try.”

  “I’ll stay in touch and let you know when I find out anything else.”

  “Okay. Me, too. Thanks.”

  “Love you, Senny,” Cara said and hung up.

  Sienna called Michael’s cell. It went straight to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message. Putting down the phone, she braced herself to start the day. It was an effort for her to get out of bed.

  If he comes back, I’ll teach him how to love, or die trying, she thought as she headed to the shower.

  Chapter 72

  MICHAEL

  United Airlines Flight, UA500, Thursday, May 30, 11:00 AM ET

  MICHAEL STARED OUT the window over the clouds, heading for Chicago. He’d slipped out of Sienna’s while she slept, but not before he’d inserted the dream into her subconscious. He’d never be able to tell her out loud what had happened, but he could show her. She deserved to know… at least about that.

  Gratitude filled him for what Sienna had done for him last night. He wouldn’t recover overnight, but he’d made a personal breakthrough that would allow him to move forward, hopefully with Sienna by his side. Professional help would get him through the rest.

  The question was: would Sienna forgive him for what he’d put her through? It wasn’t everyday your lover showed up at your door in a drugged daze asking to be beaten with a paddle. She’d handled it incredibly well, considering. Not to mention, she’d done a bang-up job—his ass still hurt.

  Then there were all the other things he had yet to tell her. Would she forgive him for those, too? Or was he just destined to lose her?

  Looking out over the puffy cloudscape, he played with the silver ring on his finger. He hadn’t worn it in years. His father had given it to him on his sixteenth birthday, and told him to always keep it safe. He didn’t wear jewelry because of his profession, so he stored it in his safe. When Constantina had requested he bring it with him to the Sanctuary, he’d been surprised it still fit.

  After leaving Sienna’s, he’d stopped at his apartment to change and to pick up his bag. That’s when he realized he’d left his cell phone back at the Sanctuary.

  He had to use a landline to call his mom to tell her he was coming. She seemed to be expecting his call, another indication that this was all really happening. He needed to know what she knew.

  He took a deep breath, enjoying the soothing view out the plane window. Something about it calmed his troubled soul. The plane was due to touch down at O’Hare at twelve noon central time. Michael had planned on taking a cab to his mother’s house in Oak Park, but his sister, Susan, had insisted on picking him up since she didn’t have classes today. One summer session away from her undergraduate degree in psychology at Northwestern University, she planned on continuing straight through the Master’s program, starting in September.

  After his father had died last October, his mother had sold their Brooklyn brownstone in Park Slope almost immediately and moved back to Chicago where his parents had grown up. Michael had been born and raised there up until his father had accepted a senior position at Watson & Haskins in Manhattan the summer before he entered high school. He’d been fourteen years old, and Susan had been nine.

  Michael missed his family, but considered Brooklyn his home now. It was where he belonged. He’d worked with single-minded focus to get to where he was ever since he’d won his first competition at nine years old. At twenty-six, he was living his dream.

  But, it wasn’t until last year that he’d received a cash infusion to help his plan come to fruition.

  Although Michael’s family was affluent, his parents had insisted he and Susan make their own money from the time they were old enough to work. Michael started modeling at sixteen when his mother’s friend, an agent for a prominent Manhattan modeling agency, approached him. By the time he was twenty, he was in high demand during college breaks, scoring the Calvin Klein campaign when he was twenty-one. At twenty-four, he was teaching at a local dojo and still modeling to have enough income to rent an apartment and save for his own business.

  Lulled into the soothing pull of blue skies over the wing of the plane, Michael thought back to how everything had changed on his twenty-fifth birthday…

  Michael had just finished a modeling job for a men’s cologne when he’d arrived at his father’s Upper East Side office. Watson & Haskins was posh with polished mahogany paneling, fine art, and Persian rugs up the wazoo.

  “Hey, Son. Thanks for coming.” Michael’s father clapped him on the back warmly. Taller than Michael at six foot three, his father was handsome, slender with a runner’s body, and finely clad in a custom-made suit. He reminded Michael of a young Robert Redford with sandy blond hair, intense royal-blue eyes, and just as much charm. Michael had inherited his mother’s dark hair, but had his father’s eyes and sense of style.

  “How could I refuse?” Michael said with a crooked smile.

  “I’m sorry that I was so cryptic, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” his father said.

  Michael gave him a puzzled look, thinking his dad was just going to take him to lunch. His father just smiled, and turned on his heel. Michael followed him through the maze of hallways to his office.

  “Don’t look worried,” his father teased, as Michael sank into one of the guest chairs. His father settled behind his desk, and pulled out a leather portfolio with a round silver clasp.

  “What’s that?” Michael asked.

  “It’s your twenty-fifth birthday present,” he replied and clasped his hands. “Michael, your mother and I decided when you and Susan were young that it was important for you both to learn core values, like the value of money, for one.”

  Michael nodded. He’d spent most of his life surrounded by affluence, yet everything he had he’d provided for himself with the exception of a roof over his head and the core of his college education. Obviously, his parents had given him gifts for holidays and birthdays, but they’d never given him money just for asking or purchased things without a reason.

  “I know you’ve worked hard at everything you’ve ever done, but your dream is to have your own business. You’re mature enough now to make the right choices. With that said, I’ll sleep better at night knowing you own the roof over your head, and that you have the opportunity to do what you love. So, I’m giving you a trust fund with enough money to open your business and for a substantial down payment on a modest house or co-op. On top of that, $100,000 will be deposited on your birthday every year into an account to cover the expenses of your home and your business regardless of whatever income you make. This should allow you the flexibility to offer some of your time to your special groups, something I know that’s important to you,” he said, referring to Michael’s volunteer work—t
eaching martial arts to the mentally challenged and disabled two afternoons a week.

  Michael sat speechless, his eyes wide in disbelief.

  “Cat got your tongue?” His father teased with a twinkle in his eye.

  Michael turned liquid in his chair. “Thank you,” he said. A tear of happiness escaped his eye. He quickly brushed it away as his mind raced with possibilities.

  His father smiled warmly, “I’m very proud of you, Son. You’re a good man. You deserve to have the life you’ve dreamed of…” For a split second, something passed through his father’s eyes… a memory. His father had realized that Michael caught it, and gave him a brief warning look.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t pry,” he responded telepathically. The truth? He’d been tempted. He and his father were both Telepaths and shared many of the same gifts. But Michael suspected his father had even more gifts he never mentioned.

  “Thanks,” he said out loud, and slapped the desk. “So, how about some lunch?”

  Chapter 73

  MICHAEL

  Chicago, Illinois, 12:15 PM CT

  MICHAEL SPOTTED SUSAN standing next to the baggage carousel.

  “Hey, Susie-Q,” he said with a wide smile.

  “Hey, Handsome,” she said and threw herself into his arms. Susan was tall for a woman at five ten and had their father’s runner’s build. An accomplished triathlete, her strength came from more than good genes. She had their mother’s dark eyes and wore her dark hair short. Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, she kept her face devoid of make-up.

  “So, how’s Penny?” he asked as she released him.

  Susan had “come out” right after she’d started Northwestern. She’d met Penny the first week of school slightly less than four years ago, and they’d been together since. His parents had been accepting and supportive. Although Michael had acted surprised, he’d suspected it, having already picked up on a stray thought or two. He was glad she’d never felt the need to hide it. There were already too many secrets in his family.