Gather the Sentient (13 page)

CHAPTER

22

WESLEY

Thursday, September 15

Cote d’Azur

Wesley was 30 minutes into a 60-minute four-hand hot stone massage when the doorbell rang.  Earlier in the day he’d seen Patrick’s arrival in his mirror but had been unable to deduce just when the man would be arriving.

“Of course,” Wesley muttered under his breath, waving the masseuses away.  “He couldn’t have shown up just an hour later.”

By the time Wesley showered and changed, Patrick’s irritation was palpable as he greeted him in the front sitting room of his 12,000-square-foot estate.

“Your timing is impeccable as always,” he said to Patrick as he shook the man’s hand, taking the seat beside him.  “I assume you’re here about Eshanti’s drawings.”

Wesley had, of course, already looked at the landscapes.  Days ago in fact.  Had he gleaned any insight, he certainly would have contacted Patrick immediately, but as there was nothing of consequence in the images, he’d remained aloof, a sort of experiment to see just how long Patrick could last before showing up at his doorstep for answers.

He’d lasted longer than Wesley expected.

“I don’t like having to take time out of my day to come hunt you down,” Patrick scolded.  “I wouldn’t have sent them to you if I didn’t think it was important.  I need you to go look at them now.”

Wesley loved toying with the man.  He loved toying with everyone.  Pushing people’s buttons was what he did best and it gave him great satisfaction.

“Sure,” he said, jovially.  “Let’s go look at them now.”

He led Patrick through a maze of lavishly furnished rooms and corridors into his study.  He certainly didn’t mind that one of the perks of being part of ‘Patrick’s Prophecy’ was that the billionaire supported the other dark psychics, providing an endless supply of funding to assure both their safety and their comfort.  His life was now a far cry from the carnival circuit he’d been plucked from several years ago.

“Here they are,” Wesley said, gesturing toward a stack of canvases leaning against a mirrored wall.

He watched as Patrick crouched down and began sorting through them, running his hands across the rough splays of dried paint as if he too had the power to harness their energies.

“This is all of them?” he asked at last.

Wesley nodded.

“They’re all landscapes.”

“Yeah.  Eshanti said that from the beginning.”  He couldn’t resist the urge to pick at Patrick’s psyche.  “You know, she’s been wrong before.  And not everything she creates has to do with the prophecy.  You get that, right?”

“Don’t be insolent,” Patrick warned, returning to his feet.  “The Amazonian landscape helped lead us to Akantha.  There’s no reason this won’t do the same.”

Wesley saw the desperation on Patrick’s face and thought it comical.  Although he too was looking forward to ushering in the age of darkness, he lacked Patrick’s urgency.  He was certain everything would all work out in the end.  It always had for him.

Patrick pointed at the mirrored wall.  “Go ahead then,” he said.

Earlier in the day when he’d seen Patrick’s impending arrival, Wesley decided he would put on a show for his associate, just like he’d enjoyed doing during his carnival days.  As Patrick looked on, he made a great production of setting out the canvases in a tidy row against the wall.  When he was satisfied with their placement, he took several steps back, centered himself in front of the mirror, and began staring into its depths, training his unfocused eyes somewhere beyond the confines of the room.

Wesley hadn’t always been the brute of a man he eventually became.  As a child, he was small.  Elf-like even, with large pointed ears which earned him the nickname ‘Bilby’ after the small, nocturnal rodent frequently seen in the Australian desert.  He’d grown up in Broken Hill, in the arid lands of far-western New South Wales.  Originally established as a mining town, the Broken Hill of Wesley’s youth consisted of mostly sheep herding families and pub owners, of which his family was the latter.

His father, Wesley Sr., ran the pub at the West Darling Hotel, and Wesley attended second grade at the Broken Hill Public School, a short walk down the street.  With little interest in academics, he spent most of his days avoiding the heckling of his peers as well as the consternation of his teachers.  Toward the end of the school year, he discovered a hole in the playground fence, just large enough to squeeze through if he crawled low on his belly, and he began ditching his afternoon classes in favor of hiding out in the alley behind his father’s pub.  There, he retreated into his imagination, setting up kingdoms of knights and serfs using beer cans and bottle caps he found lying around the dumpster.  It was peaceful and no one made fun of him for his ears or being small or not knowing his subtraction facts.

That was until the day they found him, three of the worst offenders, after school on their way to O’Neil Park.  He’d heard them coming down the alley, their sneakers pounding on the packed gravel, leaving a trail of dust billowing in their wake, but they were upon him before he could skitter completely behind the closest dumpster.

They’d spotted him trying to hide.

“Hey, Bilby!” the biggest boy, Hudson, shouted as they approached.  “You been hidin’ out in the dumpster like a bilby in a burrow?”

They all laughed, not waiting for Wesley to reply.

The second bully, Luke, took a step closer and kicked at Wesley’s shins with the toe of his sneaker.  “Hide in a hole, little Bilby,” he teased.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wesley spotted a long-neck bottle of Tooheys he’d been using as the monarch of his imaginary kingdom.  There was something unusual moving behind the glass, however, and although he was certain it wasn’t the case, there appeared to be a sort of milky liquid inside.  It began to swirl around and an instant later an image appeared in the glass.

An image of Wesley lacerating Luke with the jagged edge of the very same bottle.

He blinked once.  Twice.  The rage building inside him as the boys’ torments continued.  The vision in the glass persisted, as if to encourage him into action.

Luke struck Wesley’s shin with a powerful kick.  “Why ya lookin’ so scared, little Bilby?  You gonna cry?  Huh?  Hey, Hudson, check it out.  The little Bilby’s gonna cry.”

Luke turned toward the others for a split second, but it was long enough for Wesley to grab the bottle, smash the bottom against the side of the dumpster, and embed the serrated neck into the meaty flesh of the boy’s thigh.

As Luke let loose an agonizing scream and the other two dispersed, Wesley felt the relief of a job well done wash over him.  He picked up a broken fragment of the bottle from the ground beside him and saw someone smiling at him.  It took him a moment to realize the image was merely a reflection of his own face, and he laughed at the absurdity of it all.

And then, as Luke’s cries began to draw the attention of the pub’s kitchen staff, Wesley slipped the piece of glass into his pocket and scurried around the corner like the good bilby he was, confident in the knowledge the boys would never bother him again.

“Please tell me you saw something I didn’t,” Patrick said as the image of the snow-covered mountain faded from the mirror.

Wesley shook his head.  “Nada.  Nothing but mountains and trees and more mountains.  Not a single soul.  Not a single indication of where the mountains are located.  They could be anywhere.”

“Well, that’s something then,” Patrick said.  He was pacing now.  “Since there were no people, we know the location is remote.  We know whoever these renderings are leading us to is probably not in any of our databases.”

“Maybe they’re just paintings,” Wesley offered.  “Maybe they’re not leading us to anybody.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes and Wesley knew he’d gotten under his skin yet again.   It was almost too easy.

“Are we done here?”  Wesley asked casually as he gathered the paintings and restacked them in the corner of the room.  “Or would you like to stay for dinner?”

Patrick huffed.  “I have business to attend to this evening,” he said condescendingly.  “But don’t let me trouble you further.  I’ll see myself out.”

Wesley watched him disappear down the hallway and once he was out of sight, pulled the well-worn shard of glass from the bottle of Tooheys out of his pocket.  He gazed into it, looking past his own reflection to an image of the future.

Another time.

Another bully.

Only this time Wesley wouldn’t just harm the bully.  This time he would kill him.

CHAPTER

23

LANYING

Saturday, September 17

Baltimore

Lanying stood at the edge of the harbor with the toes of her ballet flats hanging over the edge of the concrete. The water lapped the manmade seawall several feet below, and she watched as an empty Coke bottle bobbed on the surface.  While she waited, the mouth of the bottle dipped below the surface and as the water began to flood inside, the rest of the bottle disappeared into the murky depths.

Two young girls with matching braids darted past, closely followed by their parents who called for them to ‘slow down’ and ‘watch out for other people’ as they nearly knocked over a couple holding hands in front of the aquarium.  She scanned the Inner Harbor’s crowded retail district for a third time, searching for Thomas and Mia.  It was her last night in the city, and her flight back to China was scheduled to depart from BWI first thing in the morning.  Over a crowd of spectators watching a juggling street performer, she spotted Thomas’ sandy blond hair.  Perpetually fearful of being stood up, relief washed over her as they drew closer, and she waved furiously in their direction until they saw her.

“The smell of those crabs is about to send me over the edge,” Mia was telling Thomas as they approached.  Then she turned her attention to Lanying and leaned in to give her a hug.  “I’m so glad we’re getting to see you again before you have to go home tomorrow,” she said.  “So tonight, we are gonna show you what living in Baltimore is all about.”

By way of greeting, Thomas wrapped his arms around her as well.  This caused her to feel somewhat uncomfortable, as she had never been touched by a man in such an intimate way before.  It seemed perfectly normal to him though.  “How was the conference?” he asked.

As they began strolling together toward Phillips Seafood, she filled them in on her week.  “I learned so much and met a lot of nice people from all over the world.  My favorite speaker was on Wednesday afternoon, Dr. Marlene Vance from Johns Hopkins.  She had a lot of valuable insight into how I can help my clients establish reasonable, attainable goals for themselves.  She also spoke a lot about the psychological side of obesity which we are just now starting to understand in China.  It was absolutely fascinating.”

“What exactly are you planning to do with your degree when you graduate?” Mia asked.

“It’s my dream to be a counselor for overweight teens.  There’s a lot of defamation associated with being overweight in my country.  It’s quite difficult for young people to endure.”

Thomas asked, “A lot of bullying?”

She nodded.  “It’s actually something that’s encouraged in my culture.  It’s perfectly acceptable to shame someone for being overweight.”

“That’s awful,” Mia said.

They arrived at the restaurant to find a mob of patrons milling about the entrance, waiting to be seated.  Mia threaded her way through the crowd to where the hostess was standing with her tablet just outside the door to inquire about their reservation.  A moment later she was calling for them to join her, and to Lanying’s surprise, they were taken back to their table immediately.

“Being the police chief’s daughter has its privileges,” Mia whispered as they followed the hostess through the restaurant.

After ordering mini crab cakes and a round of drinks to start, Lanying settled into the evening, enjoying the playful banter between her new friends.

“There’s no such thing as too much Old Bay,” Mia was arguing with Thomas.  “You can’t ruin something by being too ‘heavy handed.’  It just isn’t a thing.”

“When I can’t feel my lips after a meal, that’s too much,” he countered.  “Remember the time your lips got all shriveled up when we had steamed crabs with your dad?  I told you you should have washed some of that seasoning off.”

Mia turned to face Lanying.  “Don’t listen to him.  When those crab cakes come, you’re gonna want to add extra Old Bay.  Trust me on this.  There’s no other way to eat them.”

As it turned out, Mia was right.  The spicy heat of the seasoning was the perfect complement to the sweet, flakiness of the crab.  There was very little conversation as the three devoured the appetizer.

In the lull before the main meal was brought out, Lanying decided to broach a discussion about the prophecy.  During her free time at the conference, she’d spent time exploring more about it online.  It was important for her to learn as much as she could about the topic before returning to China since the government censored much of what citizens were able to see over the World Wide Web.  Certainly sites regarding psychic prophecies had the potential for being banned.

“I spent some time reading about the Sevens Prophecy this week,” she began.  “And I’d like to discuss its implications a bit more with you before I have to leave.”

Thomas swallowed his last bite of crab cake.  “Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean we’re never going to talk to you again.  I think it’s a fair assumption that you aren’t getting rid of us that easily.  Especially if we’re bound by the prophecy.”

“Yeah,” Mia chimed in.  “We have Skype and Facetime so I’m sure we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.  But let’s definitely chat about it now.  What’d you want to know?”

Ever since she’d arrived in the states, and especially since meeting Thomas in the hotel lobby her first night, she couldn’t shake the sense that she was right where she belonged.  And when Mia and Thomas shared their insight about the prophecy and her probable link to its long-term effect on the world, the feeling only strengthened.  This call to stay was counterintuitive to the reason for her visit in the first place, which was of course to learn how to better counsel her clientele back at home.  It was ridiculous to imagine she could remain in the states while fulfilling her dream of becoming a certified obesity counselor in China.

“I must be honest with you both.  When I think about leaving, about going back to China, I feel a pain in my heart.  A physical ache.  It’s something I can’t describe and something I have never felt before.  Perhaps it’s the power described in the prophecy which compels me to stay.  And perhaps I should try to find a way, at least until the other four light psychics are called to meet us as well.  I could apply for an education visa, at the very least.  It might buy us some time.”

Thomas took an uncomfortable sip of his Coke while Mia folded and refolded the paper napkin in her lap.  “You wanna tell her or should I?” he said.

Mia lifted her chin and met his gaze, an unspoken gesture for him to go on.

“You’re actually the fourth light psychic who’s been drawn here to Baltimore.”

“That’s what you said the other night,” Lanying interrupted, clapping her hands to her chest.  “Do you think we could meet?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mia explained, sadness pinching the lines of her face.  “She passed away.  Earlier this year.  Before we really got a chance to know her.”

She saw Thomas reach under the table, giving Mia’s knee a gentle squeeze.

Mindful that there were moments in life when there was nothing appropriate to say, “I’m sorry,” was all she managed.

Before either could respond, the waitress delivered their meals and the trio began picking at their food in uncomfortable silence.  As she swallowed each bite of her Chesapeake fish and chips, she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something she was missing.  And then it hit her.

“If one of the seven of us is dead, the dark psychics will gather before us.”  She hesitated, following her thought through to its miserable conclusion.  “We have no chance of saving the world.”

Thomas set down his fork and wiped the sauce from his crab mac and cheese off the corners of his mouth.  “We thought the same thing at first.  But then we realized there’s still hope.”

“Hope for saving the world?”

Mia chimed in.  “Hope for keeping the dark psychics from ushering in the age of the seven deadly sins.”

“I don’t understand.”

He took another bite of macaroni.  “Mia and I have already begun searching for the seven other psychics born on our birthday who are part of the dark side of the prophecy.  We’re hoping if we can find them before they find each other, maybe we stand a chance of keeping them apart, thereby negating the prophecy altogether.”

Lanying brightened.  “Who else have you found?”

“No one yet.  We’ve only recently gotten our hands on a list of known psychics, and we’ve been slowly going through the list, searching for the ones who share our birthday.”

“Can I help?”

Mia nodded enthusiastically.  “That’d be fantastic.  If you want I can email you part of the list and you can start going through it, assuming you’ll have viable web access back in China.”

“I don’t know if I will, but I can certainly try.”

“That’s good enough for us,” Thomas smiled.

The sun had set by the time they emerged from the restaurant into the pungent, warm city air.  Twinkle lights illuminated the path around the harbor, leading in one direction toward Harborplace, the USS Constellation, and the Maryland Science Center, and in the other direction to Fells Point.

“You have karaoke in China?” Mia asked Lanying as they strolled along the promenade.

“Yes,” she admitted, “but I’ve never done it before.”

Schoolyard grins passed between Thomas and Mia.  “I told Jack and Stella we’d meet them at Max’s Taphouse between nine and ten.”  She checked her phone for the time, then turned to Lanying.  “It’s not that far a walk if you’re up for it.”

Gazing across the busy harbor with its dinner cruises and water taxis, she realized for the first time in her life she was about to enjoy a night out with people who genuinely liked her, despite her size or shape.  Ostracized and avoided for so many years, the excitement of being included in an activity some would consider banal thrilled her to no end.  A karaoke bar with friends?  It was almost as if she’d been waiting her whole life for this one opportunity to arise, and there was no way she wasn’t tagging along.

She crossed her purse strap over her chest and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.  “You think they have Billy Joel?” she asked.

“
Piano Man
, here we come!” Mia replied, linking arms with her as they headed into the night.