Redemption (41 page)

Leann burst into tears, burying her head in her arms on the table. “But they still won’t talk to me!” She sobbed uncontrollably. “What does it take?”

Jane felt deep compassion for the kid. She softly stroked Leann’s hair. “It’s okay.”

Leann lifted her head. “No! It’s not! I told the sheriff it was a Chevrolet sedan because that’s what my mom drives.”

“What did you see?”

“I was standing outside over there on break,” Leann said, weakly pointing toward the street. “I happened to look over by the curb. There were a lot of people walking by on the street. I looked up again and I saw a girl get into this car. She had short blond hair.”

“Charlotte’s got long blond hair.”

“I told myself her hair was tucked down her jacket.”

“What color was the jacket?”

“Pink. But I told myself it was red. Just like Charlotte’s jacket.”

“How old was the girl you saw?”

“Eighteen...but I told myself she could have been younger.”

“How many people were in the car?”

“Three. But I told myself I could have been wrong.”

“Because you wanted to help.”

Leann looked Jane in the eye. “I
never
thought they’d arrest somebody just ’cause of the car description. I feel so bad for that
man. But then they said on the news that he had something on him that belonged to Charlotte. So maybe the cops just lucked out!”

“How many times have you told yourself that over the last week?”

The tears flowed again. “A lot!” Leann sat back, a look of real discouragement crossing her face. “
Please don’t hate me
. I mean, that’s the messed up part of this, isn’t it? I just wanted people to talk to me and now, if they find out what really happened, they’re gonna hate me!” Leann started to hyperventilate. “I won’t be able to go to school. I’ll have to move! I’ve never lived anywhere else but here—”

“Calm down!” Jane patted Leann’s hand. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

Leann got control of her thoughts. “You’re the psychic. Can you look in the future and tell me what I should do to make it right?”

Jane calmly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes and gazed above Leann’s head. “Go to the sheriff. Tell him you have thought long and hard about that day and that you are no longer positive that you saw Charlotte get into any car. Insist that all your testimony be erased from the record and that you would feel more comfortable if they explored other angles.”

Leann looked at Jane in stunned silence. “Are you
serious
?”

“You have to do this. If you let this mess fester, trust me, by the time you’re in your thirties, you’re going to be self-medicating with drugs or alcohol. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder, wondering if someone’s going to figure it out and come get you. That’s no way to live.” Jane leaned forward.
“Do it.”

Leann nodded in reluctant agreement. “Okay.”

“I need to go now. I’m glad we could talk. It seems like it was destined, doesn’t it?” Jane thought of something. “By the way, when you talk to the sheriff, there’s no use mentioning me to him. He’ll tell you that he didn’t hire a psychic. Law enforcement never recognizes our valuable work,
especially
in a small town like this.”

Jane started to walk away when Leann spoke up. “Wait. Since you can see in the future, where’s Charlotte?”

Jane wasn’t prepared for that question. “It’s still in God’s hands.”

“Is that what you’re going to tell the sheriff?” Jane nodded. “Can I ask you one more question?”

“Sure.”

“Am I ever going to be somebody?”

Jane stared at Leann. “Yes. You’re going to keep doing well in school. Then one day, you’re going to leave this town and discover that there’s a world of people who can’t wait to know you. Don’t mess up that good future of yours. Okay?”

Leann choked on her tears. “Thank you.”

 

 

Back at the cabin, Jane revealed to Kit what she had learned from Leann. Kit was more impressed by Jane’s ability to pull off a New Age persona. “I knew she was lying,” Kit declared. “Now, we can focus on the
real
criminal!”

Jane wolfed down her late lunch and changed out of her psychic garb and into a comfortable pair of sweat pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She clipped her cell phone to her waistband to keep it close at hand. While Kit busily went about changing the colorful water jugs outside the cabin and rinsing the pieces of jade that soaked in the water, Jane went online to check out the Bartoshs’ Ministry Forum. She’d never participated in an Internet Forum but Jane quickly figured out how to navigate around the long list of individual threads. Their titles ranged from “A discussion of God and family” to “Prayer needed for a Member in Oregon.” The third thread on the list showed a lot of activity—over 2,000 hits—and was titled “The Power of Sacrifice.” Jane selected the thread. Unlike many of the others, this particular thread was started by Dr. Bartosh in early November. His initial posting read like a sermon with the usual fist-pounding cadence.

There is great power in sacrifice. Without understanding sacrifice, how do we learn the true meaning of what our Savior went through on the cross? Sacrifice cleans our bodies, spirits, and minds. It makes us pure again. Look around you and you will see that there is nothing truly pure in this world anymore. Man has turned away from God. Children have been drawn into the dark hole of temptation. They know nothing of real sacrifice. They only know what feels good to them. Ask yourself this: Did Jesus ask what felt good to Him or did He do what his Father asked without question? Did Jesus fight his Father when He was told of the sacrifice he needed to make for Mankind? No! He bore His suffering with dignity, knowing that His Divine sacrifice would save the souls of Mankind for eternity.

Bartosh’s rambling continued on for another page. Jane sat back, letting out a long, tired breath. She could literally feel Bartosh’s fist coming through the screen. How could anyone live with this man, she wondered. With that, her thoughts turned to Mary Bartosh. So what if she got pregnant fourteen years ago? If that was her only way out of her father’s house, Jane reasoned it was a good trade-off.

Jane scanned the following posters—almost all with Biblical names—who were more than happy to discuss what sacrifice meant to them in relationship to God. Each post was equally dry until she came upon two posters who engaged in a heartfelt repartee. One called himself Luke.D.61, the other Manul.Crst.123. Their passionate, written exchange began in early November and continued up to the present, with the last posts dated December 30. Jane scrolled down and read those posts.

Luke.D.61 wrote:

Manul.Crst.123 responded:

Manul.Crst.123 signed off all his postings with those three words: “God with us.” It seemed an odd fragment of words that strangely hung in limbo. Jane reread two sentences in the last post: “The Great Commission of Christ demands that we do it! We will ratchet up our ministry to a new level!” She was almost positive
that Dr. Bartosh used those
exact words
during their interview. Jane sat back and entertained the notion that perhaps Bartosh was masquerading on the Forum as Manul.Crst.123. But why would he do it? There were at least forty posts by Manul.Crst.123 over the past two months, and many of them were long-winded. Did Bartosh have the kind of time it took to write this much passionate banter? Furthermore, Jane got the distinct impression during their visit that Bartosh knew little about the verbiage used in the Forum. She recalled how Ingrid gently corrected him when he used the word “print” instead of “post” when talking about the Forum. And yet, Manul.Crst.123 seemed to be a cutout version of Dr. Bartosh.

Jane sat back, letting out another tired sigh. Didn’t these people have anything better to do than write ad nauseam about sacrifice? Perhaps it was Jane’s naturally instigating personality, or just something to momentarily entertain her, but she decided to put in her two cents. In order to do so, she needed to create a name and an e-mail address that would not be shown on the discussion board. Requiring an e-mail address for such Forums always separated the true-blue seekers from the lookie-loos. She set up a fictitious e-mail account and then decided on her name. What better name than Mary, mother of God, she thought. Thus, she became known as “Mary.mog” on the Forum. Jane couldn’t help but smile as she logged onto the Forum with her new moniker. She hit the POST REPLY button and wrote a brief response meant to goad the faithful.

Sacrifice? I know the beast all too well. If sacrifice is such a great thing, then why do I still feel let down? How much sacrifice am I supposed to endure before I feel as good as all of you?

Jane reread her post and decided it had just the right venomous twist to rile the troops. She gleefully hit the POST button and watched as her strident words were added to the thread.

Kit entered the cabin, holding a piece of jade in her hand and a jug of water in another. “Weather’s turning bad again.” Kit situated herself on her bed, poured water from the jug into a glass, took a few sips, and then lay flat on her back with her head slightly propped up. Jane watched askance as Kit placed the piece of jade over her forehead, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths, exhaling each time with great gusto. Kit let out a mellow sigh, opened her eyes, and reviewed the stack of newspaper clippings that Jane and she had collected earlier that day.

“What are you doing?” Jane asked, a bit afraid to hear the answer.

“I need insight,” Kit replied matter-of-factly, the piece of jade wobbling precariously on her forehead. “Jade brings to light that which is hidden.”

“
Right.
Of course. I figured that’s what you were doing.” Jane’s tenor was obviously sarcastic, but in a gentle way. She pulled out the bottle of Arnica and popped another four pellets under her tongue before sprawling on her bed.

“You really should try walking backward,” Kit advised, never taking her eyes off the newspaper clippings.

“Uh-huh,” Jane tiredly replied.

Kit balanced the clippings on her belly and stared straight ahead. “The strange calls,” she said, slightly preoccupied. “The ones you got on your cell with the restricted ID? Have they stopped?”

“Yeah.” Jane was close to relaxed until Kit brought up the disturbing and mysterious caller.

“You never told me what the person said.”

“She whispered to hide her voice. She said, “
‘Let me help you’
three times during the short conversation. Then she said,
‘You’re looking for Lou Peters?’
”

“She said his name?” Kit replied, stunned.

“Yeah. I said I was and asked how she was supposed to help me. She told me to meet her in front of the Stop ’n’ Save on Buena Street in thirty minutes—”

“Wait a second,” Kit said, turning her head. The piece of jade dropped next to her shoulder. “How did she pronounce ‘Buena?’”

“Like it sounds,” Jane said offhandedly. “
Bwaa
-na.”

“But don’t you remember what Barry said to us when we checked in? He made a dramatic point of informing us how the locals were always correcting tourists when they called the street ‘
Bwaa
-na’ instead of the local pronunciation, ‘
Boo
-na.’”

“So what?”

“You’re certain the caller pronounced the street ‘
Bwaa
-na?’”

Jane reflected on the memory of the call. “Yes. I’m positive.”

“So that means the caller is not a local resident,” Kit enthusiastically responded, sitting up and facing Jane.

“Or they are local and they’re just pronouncing the street name the way the rest of world says it.”

“I’m telling you, small-town locals have a covetous mentality. If they choose to refer to something by an odd-sounding name, they will continue to do so quite unconsciously. Whoever called you is
not
a local.”

Jane considered Kit’s theory. It felt right to her. “Okay. So they’re visiting and, for some reason, they want to meet me. But they didn’t show up.”

“Maybe they did. Maybe their ultimate goal wasn’t to meet you. Maybe they just wanted to see you from afar. Or perhaps, it was the ol’ bait and switch. Put you one place while the real action’s going on somewhere else.” Jane had already entertained both options. But somehow, hearing them from someone else lent a plausible credence to them. If the latter was true, did that mean that the actions of Shane Golden at mile-marker forty-four during that time were what the caller wished to push Jane away from? Then again, how could the caller know that Jane would be anywhere near mile-marker forty-four and spot Shane’s Firebird? The bait and switch theory didn’t make plausible sense to Jane. So perhaps the former was true. Maybe Jane’s presence was demanded so the person could view her actions from afar. But what actions, she thought. All she did was stand in front of the market.