Behold ! Page 4

  “No, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t believe me,” Pris responded dejectedly.

  “I’ll wager I can be a big part of her accepting the truth,” Frank offered, “especially if she learns of it while visiting my house with you during your visit to see Clara.”

  “And don’t worry too much about me,” Pris said as Frank opened the door. “Ham is all the protection I need; he’s telekinetic.”

  FIVE

  “WHAT MADE YOU DECIDE to join the debate club?” Ham asked as they rolled toward the classroom where the meeting was being held.

  “Really?” Priscilla responded. “Is there anything else I can do as far as after-school activities are concerned?”

  “I guess that’s right,” Ham replied, “and I don’t mind going along with you just to hear your wit and conversational skills exercised and honed,” he added.

  Priscilla cut him an inquisitory glance; she couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. She was beginning to get the hang of talking and turning the chair simultaneously while it was moving, but was still suffering through jerking turns, and stops when she sucked too hard. Turning into the hall toward the classroom for their activity, her sudden intake of air caused the chair to rock to a halt. Ham stopped and pivoted his chair around. He looked at her inquisitively, and her eyes pointed to the end of the hall as her blanched expression told him she had seen something unexpected.

  When she found her voice, Priscilla said, “I just saw Mr. Jenkins walk across the end of the hall.”

  “Mr. Jenkins is dead,” Ham said.

  “Do you think I don't know that?” Priscilla snapped. Without further discussion, Ham sped off down the hall. “Wait for me,” Priscilla called after him.

  Ham stopped abruptly, chagrined. “I'm sorry; I keep forgetting your chair doesn't go as fast as mine.”

  “I guess I'll just have to wait until the supervisor of the Medical Service Center can get me the display model he promised my mom,” Pris replied.

  “Oh,” Ham exclaimed. “I didn't make the connection that you were the student in my school who was waiting on the faster chair.”

  “And what other student in our school needs a faster chair besides you and I?” Pris snarked.

  “I thought it might have been Alice,” he admitted.

  Ham had begun moving down the hall again, and as they rounded the corner where Priscilla had seen Jenkins disappear they were drawn to the sound of voices raised in heated argument. Approaching another classroom down a short hallway, they stopped shy of the door to listen.

  “I don't care if they found one of the bodies,” shouted the first voice.

  “You have to care,” shouted a second voice, just as loud.

  “We have to stay on schedule,” the first voice exploded.

  “If we don't take a few days off and let things die down, there won't be a schedule,” shouted the second voice.

  Ham decided to move a little closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of who was in the room without being seen. The two men chose the same moment to stop speaking, and the whirr of his wheelchair was loud in the empty hallway.

  “What was that?” the first voice asked in a more reasonable tone.

  “I don't know, go check it out,” gruffly replied the second voice.

  Without thinking, Ham flicked his hand at the door and it slammed shut. Screwing up his face, he concentrated on the door lock. After a moment, they both clearly heard the clack of the tumblers in the locking mechanism turning into place.

  “Let's get out of here,” Ham whispered fiercely, spinning his chair around.

  Priscilla hard-sucked on the tube, commanding her chair to move backward. She was watching the convergence of the walls and hoping she didn’t run into one before she reached the main hallway. She had never practiced backing long distances, but it made more sense to her to back down the short hall than take the time to turn around. The muffled sounds of shouting could be heard through the door as both teens continued their retreat. Ham had just turned the corner and stopped to look back for Priscilla when the distinctive spit of a pistol silencer was instantly followed by the crack of wood as the door splintered around the lock.

  Backing into the main hallway, Priscilla soft-sipped to turn the chair left, then blew hard into the straw to move it forward. The drive mechanism complained at the abrupt change in direction, but responded correctly. Concussions could be heard down the hallway behind them as one or both of the men kicked at the door, trying to force it open. Priscilla rolled forward just as the door jamb broke and the door crashed into the hall, rebounding off the wall behind it. She saw movement out of her peripheral vision as the hallway disappeared from her view.

  Students from an earlier club meeting emptied out of a room into the hallway, which Ham and Pris gratefully blended into as the crowd moved toward the exit doors. Flowing with the other students, they headed for the parking lot.

  “I hope my mom is here early,” Priscilla gasped between efforts to keep her chair moving straight down the sidewalk and talking. She was breathing so heavily from fear she was over-controlling the chair commands.

  “If she's not, we’ll have to blend in with the other kids in the parking lot and hope your Mom gets here before they all leave,” Ham replied.

  Behind the group of students, a short, heavy-set man with thick jowls and a bald pate stopped short of exiting the building. His rumpled suit hung open as he braced his arms over his head on the door frame, struggling to catch his breath. The grip of a pistol could be clearly seen under his left armpit. He glared after the group, not sure what to do next. Turning, he went back to the room where he and Jenkins had been arguing, but the room was empty. Swearing an oath under his breath, he gathered his briefcase and cell phone before heading toward the rear entrance.

  Having reached the parking lot within the relative safety of the crowd, Ham told Pris, “Stop here, facing the parking lot.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked; concern heavy in her voice.

  “I’m just maneuvering around to face in the opposite direction,” he said, stopping alongside her. “This way, we can watch the front of the school and the parking lot simultaneously.” Ham seemed overly proud of his quick thinking. “And this way, if we have to move, you’re already pointed in the right direction.”

  They sat in silence, allowing their breathing to return to normal. After several minutes, Pris asked, “So your dad is the supervisor my mom has been working with?”

  “Yeah, and now that I know it’s you, I’m going to push him to make it happen,” he replied. “As soon as I can find him sober,” he added quietly.

  “Did your dad drink before your mom left?” Pris asked.

  The expression in Ham’s sorrowful eyes answered her. “Her leaving just seemed to break him,” he replied dejectedly. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a good man and a good father, and he never abuses me; he’s a happy drunk,” he finished with a wan smile. “And he never goes to work drunk, or drinks on the job,” he added, seeming to want to assure her his father was dependable.

  “So, how long have you been able to lock doors with your power?” Pris asked, changing the subject.

  “About 15 minutes, I’d say,” Ham replied, glancing at his wristwatch.

  “You mean you didn’t know you could do that until you did?” she breathed.

  “I just seem to be discovering more and more about my abilities, especially whenever you’re around,” he replied, unwilling to meet her eyes.

  “What do you mean by that?” Priscilla asked warily.

  “I mean, my powers have all manifested whenever I’ve felt like you were in danger,” he replied, finally meeting her gaze.

  “So, you’re a protector, then,” Pris surmised.

  “I’m your protector,” he replied with thinly-veiled intent.

  It was Priscilla’s turn to avert her gaze. “I’m not sure how to respond to that,” she said almost too softly to hear.

  “Well, I guess you’ll ju
st have to get used to the idea that someone other than your mom cares about you,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “We need to tell Frank what just happened,” Pris blurted out after a moment, changing the subject.

  “I’ll do that when I get home,” Ham replied. “He’ll probably want to ask more questions, I’ll bet. And here comes your mom. I’m okay with getting a ride home this time,” he finished, and Pris just smiled.

  SIX

  “ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY certain it was Jenkins?” Frank asked Hamilton on the phone. Ham had called as soon as they were situated in the van; right after they’d told Marrisa. Doubt apparent on her face, she had approved when Ham insisted on calling the investigating detective.

  “I didn’t see him, sir,” Ham replied. “Pris did.”

  “Does your phone have a speaker function?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, sir, forgive me for not thinking of that right away,” he replied. Looking at Marrisa, Ham said, “Frank wants me to put the phone on speaker.” Marrisa nodded, pulling off the residential roadway into a small parking lot.

  “You’re on speaker, sir; go ahead,” Ham informed Frank.

  “Priscilla, how certain are you this was Mr. Jenkins?” He asked without preamble.

  “I recognized him immediately, because he had a black aura, just like before, and no sparkle,” she said, looking at her mom. She knew there would be more questions, but for now, the police needed to know something very strange was afoot.

  “As your mother is listening, I’m going to suggest you come over to my house as soon as possible,” Frank replied. “That way, we’ll accomplish two goals at the same time.”

  “What two goals would that be, Detective?” Marrisa called from the front seat.

  “Confirming what Priscilla saw, and convincing you she sees what she does,” Frank replied without hesitation.

  Oh, Jiminy, Pris thought. Talk about grabbing the bull by the horns.

  “And what exactly is it you think my daughter sees?” Marrisa inquired dubiously.

  Rather than answer her directly, Frank decided on the logical conclusion approach. “Mrs. Benson, do you believe, as I am a police detective, that I’m a logical, reasonable man?” he asked.

  “I’ll give you that, for now,” Marrisa replied pointedly.

  “So, if I told you, as a logical, reasonable man, I had enlisted the aid of a psychic to help me solve over 20 unsolvable cases in the past three years, would you be willing to accept that as a premise?” Frank asked.

  “I’ve read and watched television shows about such a concept, so I will say I don’t immediately discard it as bunk,” Marrisa replied.

  “Excellent, I appreciate your scientific approach,” Frank continued. “In theory, all people possess undeveloped mental skills, with many often go through life without ever utilizing them. I believe the accident awakened those skills in Priscilla, and I believe I can persuade you to accept that by having you meet the psychic I’ve worked with.”

  “What makes you think my meeting a total stranger, one who claims to be a psychic, would help me accept this awakening?” Marrisa asked, doubt plain in her voice.

  “Because the psychic I’ve worked with over the past three years I’ve also been married to for fifteen,” he finished. “She, like Priscilla, had her abilities activated when Multiple Sclerosis crippled her ten years ago.”

  “CLARA IS HAVING A GOOD day, then?” Ham asked Frank after the van pulled into the driveway of a sprawling ranch-style home.

  Large picture windows opened up onto the front lawn from two separate rooms, and the neatly manicured garden on the verge of the property would be clearly visible from the farther one.

  “Yes, we had a nice conversation this morning, and she’s looking forward very much to meeting a soul-reader,” he smiled from outside the open sliding door of the van.

  Pris was lowering toward the broad driveway, and Frank had opened the garage door, making access to the ramp into the house easier. A similar lift-equipped van was parked in the second slot.

  “What exactly is a soul-reader, Detective?” Marrisa asked in confusion. She was trying to keep an open mind, but this new term had her befuddled.

  “As well as seeing auras, we also believe Priscilla can see a person’s soul,” Frank replied. “Before you get too wrapped up in the terms or titles, why not let Clara explain how all this works?” he cajoled. “She’s far better at it than I.”

  “If I were a clairvoyant named Clara, I’d change my name,” Marrisa observed under her breath. “It sounds like a carnival routine.”

  When Frank cast Marrisa a sidelong glance, she realized she had spoken too loudly. “No insult intended.”

  Trills of silver laughter pealed from the open doorway to the house. “None taken; by myself or, apparently, Clara,” Frank responded, nodding toward the sound of the laughter.

  “How can she be laughing at what I said when there’s no way she could have heard me unless she’s right inside the door?” Marrisa wondered aloud. “I thought you said she was bedridden?”

  “I also said she was clairvoyant, and a very powerful one at that,” Frank smiled proudly. He led the procession through his house, down overly-wide hallways, and large, open arches. It was obvious the house had been built, or renovated, to accommodate wheelchair use. When they entered the room for which they had seen the second picture window, they saw a woman reclining in an elevated hospital bed. Her beatific smile and radiant countenance spoke of how happy she was to see them all.

  “Priscilla,” Clara said warmly. “Come here next to me so that I may touch you.”

  Obligingly, and without hesitation, Pris did as requested. When Clara reached her hand out and laid it on Priscilla’s arm, her eyes glowed as if backlit by an inner fire, and a frisson of light and heat leapt between them. Pris had anticipated some reaction, and had turned her head as much as possible away from the control tube. Even so, her sharp intake of breath caused the chair to quiver momentarily.

  “Young lady, you have such a rare and special gift, we must work on helping you maximize your ability to use it,” Clara said, as if the decision to do so were a foregone conclusion.

  “Um, excuse me,” Marrisa interrupted, stepping forward. “I’m not ready yet to allow my daughter to maximize anything until I have a few questions answered.”

  “But of course you have,” Clara smiled, turning the full impact of her gaze onto Marrisa. Again, her eyes glowed with the same strange fire, and the effect was immediate. All the tension Marrisa had felt since entering the house quietly drained away, as if someone had open a valve on the bottom of her worry-tank.

  Without being aware she had done so, Marrisa walked around the other side of the single bed; dreamlike. Reaching out her left hand, Clara laid it gently on Marrisa’s left forearm. Clara was still holding onto Priscilla’s right forearm and the same display in her eyes, and of light and heat, repeated upon contact with Marrisa.

  Marrisa’s nostrils flared, and her pupils dilated until almost none of the iris was visible. Eyes widened in surprise and shock, Marrisa suddenly burst out in gleeful laughter. Here head snapped from Clara’s gaze to Pris, and she immediately began to cry, rivulets of joy coursing down her face while sobs shook her. The scene lasted no more than 15 seconds, but for Pris and her mom, it was an eternity. Clara had become a conduit from mother to daughter, and both experienced the love, fear, and full avalanche of emotions each elicited in the other.

  Recovering, Marissa returned her gaze to Clara, but now her vision was laser sharp. “How can I help?” was all she asked.

  Some form of communication was apparently happening between the three, as their faces ran the gamut of expressions. Ham had been observing from the doorway, and now Frank walked over to him.

  “This might take a while,” he observed, knowingly. “Would you care for something to eat?”

  Hamilton had been so enraptured by what was transpiring with Pris, he had barely noticed Frank’s approach. Shaking h
imself, he pivoted his chair around and wordlessly moved down the hallway back toward the front of the house. Frank followed.

  SEVEN

  “WHAT DID PRIS MEAN when she said you were telekinetic, and how does a roast beef sandwich sound?” Frank asked as they entered the kitchen. As with most homes in America, they didn’t eat in the dining room; they ate in the kitchen at a counter which separated it from the dining room.

  “Do you have horseradish mayo?” Ham inquired. “I’m glad you said roast beef, as I don’t eat ham.”

  “Oh, Nichols doesn’t sound like a Jewish name?” Frank replied curiously.

  “Not Jewish, just not a cannibal,” Ham replied with a grin.

  Frank stared at him for a moment before it registered. “That’s some defense mechanism you’ve got there, young man,” he observed.

  “How’s that?” Ham asked.

  “Making fun at your own expense, or being self-deprecating, is a common defense mechanism for someone who either doesn’t want people to get too close, or who has low self-worth,” Frank explained. “I’m fairly certain you have strong self-esteem, so I’m guessing you just don’t want to let people in. It’s common among adults with disabilities, but not so much with teens.”

  At Ham’s look of dubious respect, Frank replied, “I’ve read a lot in the past ten years while I’ve helped Clara adjust to her condition. Now, she helps me adjust to mine.”

  “Oh, and what is your condition?” Ham asked, his curiosity piqued.

  “That you eat this sandwich while I make one for myself,” Frank deflected in turn, setting a plate holding the quartered sandwich and a handful of cheese puffs in front of Ham at the counter. “I don’t know what Priscilla or her mother will want, so I’ll wait to ask.”

  Rather than continuing the sparkling repartee’, Ham dove into the meal. As Frank finished making his own and turned from the kitchen counter to sit opposite Ham, a soft chime sounded.