Behold ! Page 5

  Ham looked curiously at Frank, who said, “Clara needs my attention, I’ll be right back.”

  While he was alone, Ham took a moment to call his father, who answered on the first ring. “Are you all right?” Martin Nichols asked immediately, concern audible in his voice.

  “I’m fine, dad, I just haven’t had a chance to call until now,” Ham replied in his most apologetic voice. “I’m sorry I worried you, but things have been just a little crazy. I’m over at Detective Kratos’ house, and we’re all fine.”

  “Hamilton Nichols, how can you say things are fine and I’m with the police in the same breath?” Martin asked heatedly. He sounded like he’d been drinking for a while.

  “Dad, can I explain it once I get home?” Ham asked hopefully. “It’s much too complicated to get into over the phone. Just trust me when I say everything is fine; in fact, everything is great,” he concluded on an upbeat note.

  “How long before you get home, and have you eaten since lunch?” his father asked. “It’s nearly seven, and you know how you get when you don’t eat on schedule.”

  “Actually, I’m eating now,” Ham reassured. “Frank made me a sandwich.”

  “Oh, it’s Frank now, is it?” Mr. Nichols replied.

  “Dad, can we not do this right now, there’s still a lot going on,” Ham pleaded. When his father got a drunken notion in his head, he could be dogmatic about it. “I promise, I’m fine. Please don’t come over to get me, Mrs. Benson will bring me home. Everything is really good, and you’ll see that when I’m there. I promise you’ll understand it all once I’ve explained what’s been happening.”

  “When will you be home?” Martin asked again, pointedly.

  “I don’t know right now,” Ham admitted. “But I’m here with Mr. and Mrs. Kratos, Mrs. Benson, and Priscilla. What kind of trouble could I possibly get into?”

  EIGHT

  “SO, YOU’RE THE YOUNG telepath Frank told me about,” Clara said. Frank had returned to the kitchen to inform Ham that Clara needed to see him right away.

  “Ah, ma’am?” Ham replied, puzzled.

  “Did you or did you not force a young man to bludgeon himself with a plastic pitcher, after making said young man toss its contents on himself?” Clara asked, grinning.

  “Well, yes ma’am, I did. But that doesn’t make me a telepath; I’m telekinetic, according to Pris,” Ham replied.

  “Well, according to me, young man, you’re both,” Clara quipped. “No one can push someone to do something against their will without telepathic abilities. And that is the term used in the vernacular. The fact you can also swat people with tree branches does indeed, make you telekinetic.”

  “When you put it that way, I sound like a superhero,” Ham blushed.

  “You are indeed, and so is this amazing young lady,” Clara agreed, looking at Pris.

  “We’ve been working through her repertoire of skills, and I must say, she’s a more powerful superhero than I am. I can’t decide whether to call myself Clara the Great, or Kratos the Magnificent, though they both have a nice ring.” Her grin split her face, and everyone joined in the good-natured laughter.

  “Can I be Hamtastic?” Ham asked as the mirth died down.

  “Oh...boo...Ham...” came from three separate mouths simultaneously.

  “Seriously, there are powerful and uncertain forces at work in this city, and we all must be as prepared as possible if we’re going to defeat them,” Clara said, breaking the jovial mood. Her eyes were on fire once again, and Ham and Frank both noticed it. Frank thought it was a trick of the light, but Ham wasn’t sure what it was.

  “This is beginning to sound like one of my comic books,” Ham quipped.

  “Yes, and there is true evil in the world today, never doubt that,” Clara rejoined. “I would prefer more seasoned warriors, or at least adults with fully-developed abilities to join with in combat, but you go to war with the army you have, not the army you wish you had, to quote Donald Rumsfeld.”

  “Is it really that immediate?” Frank asked. It was the first time he had spoken since they had all rejoined in Clara’s bedroom.

  In answer to his question, Clara looked at Ham and commanded, “Light that candle,” pointing at a six-inch pillar setting on a shelf opposite the foot of her bed. When Ham began to turn his chair, Clara’s eyes flared white and she barked, “Stop.”

  Ham looked to her, puzzlement awash on his face; there was definitely something wrong with her eyes. “What?” He asked after receiving no additional directions.

  “Do it from here,” Clara directed, “with your mind.”

  “That’s not funny,” Ham said more sharply than he’d intended.

  “Am I laughing?” Clara replied. “Many, in fact most, telepathic/telekinetics are also pyrokinetic,” she explained. “You just need to believe you can.”

  “But I don’t know how,” Ham replied softly.

  “You didn’t know how to break tree branches, but you did,” Clara responded. “Concentrate on the candle, think of the wick, think of fire, and snap your fingers.”

  Ham made a show of following her directions, turning to face the candle and twisting his face in concentration. Holding his hand out in the same direction, he snapped his finger; nothing. Taking a deep breath and settling himself in his chair, he tried again, and again; still nothing.

  “Well, apparently that doesn’t work, and I’m okay with it,” Ham observed. “Although it would be really cool to be able to start fires with my thoughts.”

  “Ham, you’re not concentrating,” Clara chastised. “Your mind was in four other places besides the candle. Your father will be fine, we’ll figure out who the Jenkins clones are, Pris loves you already, and no one is going to die tonight. Now concentrate,” she barked, her eyes flaring yet again.

  Ham’s face flamed red at the mention of Pris loving him, and Pris glared at Clara as if betrayed. Ham had turned and was also glaring at Clara, as he said, “I don’t know how you knew I was thinking all that, but I don’t appreciate my innermost thoughts being shared so publicly. And I can’t light a candle just by snapping my finger,” he shouted, snapping his finger in demonstration.

  Across the room, behind him, the candle leapt to life. Ham didn’t see it, but he heard the soft whoosh of the ignition, and all other heads in the room had turned to stare at the dancing flame.

  “Holy shit!” Ham exclaimed.

  “Here, enough of that,” Clara remonstrated. “Thou shalt not take my Father’s name in vain.” Her eyes were flaming, and her hair seemed to rise from the sides of her face.

  Frank looked searchingly at his wife. “Did you mean to say Our Father?” He asked.

  Clara sighed in resignation. “It was bound to come out eventually, and it may as well be now, as Priscilla and Marrisa already know,” she replied. “Frank, when I had my first attack from MS, it almost killed me,” she referenced. “An Archangel of the Lord appeared to me and said I had many great things to accomplish in His name, but I had to be willing to accept her into my body in order for her power to manifest on Earth.”

  Pausing, she looked beseechingly at her husband, willing him to accept. “I did, Frank, and I can now speak, and think, and guide these precious children with her help. Her name is Raquel, and she is the Archangel of justice and vengeance.” Noting the look of utter disbelief on everyone’s face, she hurried on. “It is her job to cast demons into Hell, and bring peace to our troubled world. We believe these clones, as Ham calls them, are actually demons manifest in human hosts, much as I am now.”

  Frank stared for a moment longer, then asked, “How do I know who I’m talking to when you speak; it all sounds the same?”

  Clara looked deep into his eyes and replied, “Does it matter, as long as we both love you?”

  Frank sputtered and stammered, trying to wrap his mind around this immense revelation. “You both love me?”

  “Yes, Frank,” Raquel replied, and now they all understood why her eyes glowed bright
on occasion. “The care and love, compassion, and nurturing you’ve demonstrated in tending to our needs has given me every right to love you.”

  Frank stepped to the chair beside the bed, holding his hand to his forehead while groping blindly for the chair with the other. His mind was so overwhelmed by the prospect of all he’d just heard; it failed to register anything as mundane as a chair.

  “An Archangel of the Lord loves me,” was all he was capable of saying.

  Everyone else in the room stared in awe at Raquel. She beamed joy and love at them for a moment before speaking. “We have so much work to do, and so little time. Ham, light the remainder of the candles in the room; all at once, please.”

  Ham shook himself like a dog after a bath. Even parts of his body over which he had no control seemed to cooperate in the great awakening caused by this divulgence. Closing his eyes, his face became impassive, and every candle in the room ignited.

  His eyes sprung open, and he breathed the single word, “Yes.”

  NINE

  “WHAT DID YOU MEAN WHEN you said there are demons inhabiting the clones of people?” Pris asked. She had been first to recover from the onslaught of information they had all just received. “Is Mr. Jenkins a clone?”

  “If our theory holds true, that’s a very real possibility,” Raquel replied. “And they can replicate numerous clones of the individual who willingly offers their body for service to Lucifer,” she continued. “They’re usually made from organic matter, and are referred to in Jewish religious history as golems.”

  “I thought those were made up in the Tolkien stories,” Ham replied.

  “Really?” Raquel replied. “Did you not know my Father made the original pair of humanity out of clay?” Looking to the ceiling, she spoke to no one in particular. “What are they teaching children these days?”

  “So, the story of creation is true?” Marrisa interjected.

  “That portion of the story is true,” Raquel replied. “Much of what mankind has done to the original writings of my Father’s prophets is a sad state of affairs. They’ve taken very simple guidance and twisted it around to fit their narrow-minded, shallow, self-serving need to control everything. Those two were what you today might call Troglodytes, and they were around long before modern man, even before the numerous Ice Ages your scientists are fond of talking about.”

  “How long are we talking about?” Frank asked.

  “Darling, why on Earth does it matter?” Clara asked through clear blue eyes. “It has no bearing on what we must now focus upon.”

  “I suppose that’s true, but it would be interesting to hear from an actual reliable source regarding how long it’s been between creation and now,” he replied.

  “If I answer your question, can we drop this discussion and get to work on saving the current residents of the planet?” Raquel asked sarcastically, her eyes flaring.

  “Ooh, a sarcastic Archangel; I like it,” Pris exclaimed.

  Raquel looked at her and beamed. “I really enjoy the many subtle nuances of your language,” she said. “We don’t speak where my Father resides, we’re all connected eternally.”

  Turning to Frank, she added, “Frank, those you refer to as Adam and Eve were created by my Father over six million of your years ago. My brothers and sisters and I were remonstrated at that time to always care for and watch over you. The multitude of them who are present this very moment on the planet would stagger your imagination. But we are charged with not interfering in the daily aspects of your lives. We can only intervene when other angelic forces are at play, or if one who is of great importance stands to be injured or killed.”

  “Are any of us of great importance?” Marrisa asked, making air quotes in front of her.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot reveal that to anyone, about anyone,” Raquel replied. “And, as I’ve said much more than I should have,” she said, glancing at the ceiling. “We really need to work out what we’re going to do to find out what the Great Deceiver’s plans are.”

  “Can Clara see any of them, like when she helped me with cases before?” Frank asked.

  “I probably could, but it would be easier if Priscilla did it,” Clara replied, back in control.

  “If I did what?” Pris blurted, dumbfounded. “I can’t see where people are.”

  “You can’t yet,” Clara reminded her. “We have much to train you on, and it needs to be done quickly. In the meanwhile, it’s getting late.” Turning to Marrisa, Clara said, “I would ask you to consider allowing Priscilla to come here after school every day for the next week at least.”

  When Marrisa took a deep breath to object, Clara held a hand up for patience. “I fully understand your reluctance to involve Priscilla in anything dangerous, but we’re all so far beyond that.” Clara’s eyes glowed brightly again, and they could all tell Raquel was back in charge. “If we don’t successfully thwart Lucifer’s plans before they begin creating their armies, we may not ever be able to stop him.”

  “I’m sorry, what do you mean; armies, and stopping Lucifer?” Ham posed. “You make it sound like the end of the world, or something.”

  “My dear, sweet Ham,” she replied. “That is exactly what I’m talking about.”

  TEN

  “HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED to find out if one of the Jenkins clones is here or not?” Pris asked Ham under her breath. They were seated in first hour, waiting for the tardy bell to ring. Marrisa had taken to dropping Pris off early after she had found out Ham was usually there by seven.

  “We can just look around, silly,” Ham replied nonchalantly. “This is America, you know. We can look around if we want.”

  “And if the man with the gun decides he might want to keep us quiet, he just might shoot us, even in America,” Pris countered.

  “Yeah, there is that,” Ham allowed.

  The bell rang, and they were headed for their first period. Most of the other students were already in their classrooms, as Priscilla had yet to obtain the coveted faster chair. As they rounded the corner in the hall to go to their science class, Butch stepped out in front of them from behind the end of a row of lockers. His usually surly expression was slack this time, and he simply stared at them for 20 seconds.

  Ham finally had enough and said, “Butch, either do something stupid or get out of the way.”

  Butch took one step backward, without breaking eye contact. He reached toward the wall, and put his left hand on the doorknob of the janitor’s closet.

  “It’s a trap,” Ham yelled. “Pris, back up, now!”

  He commanded his chair forward, heedless the danger which might befall him. Butch grabbed his chair and manhandled it into the closet before quickly closing the door. The closet was narrow enough Ham couldn’t turn his chair around, and it was dark. Groping for the light switch he figured must be next to the doorknob, his fingers brushed the cover plate. As he reached again, someone grabbed him from in front, and clamped a hand over his mouth and nose.

  Instantly, his right hand closed into a fist and he lashed out at whoever was holding him, with unexpected results. Whoever was holding him had not anticipated being punched by a thirteen-year-old boy in a wheelchair. They had especially not been expecting this boy to be telekinetic. When his fist made contact, there was a momentary resistance like punching a pillow; then there was nothing. The hand covering his mouth and nose was gone.

  Gasping for breath, he punched the air over his head in a backward motion, thinking about the door bursting open; and it did. The knob rebounded off the locker next to the closet, and Ham was rolling backward into the hall. Glancing around, he spotted Priscilla being pushed down the hall toward the rear exit by a man and a woman, neither of whom he had ever seen.

  “Hey, stop,” he yelled as he turned his chair and gave pursuit.

  The woman looked back before redoubling her effort to push the chair faster. But Priscilla’s slow chair was now to her benefit. The gearing could be disengaged for pushing if one knew how, but apparently, these t
wo did not. The gear drive in her chair complained loudly as the pair tried to move it faster toward the exit. Ham was gaining on them, and he was frantic with fear. What were they going to do with Pris? he thought in almost blind panic.

  “Help,” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Help me.”

  And then he remembered what the police officer in the seventh grade had told him if there was ever anyone trying to abduct or harm him; yell fire.

  “Fire,” he screamed, “Fire, fire, fire,” he repeated. A separate part of his mind told him he sounded like a captain in charge of a firing squad, but he ignored it.

  Closing to within ten feet of where the couple had the door open, Ham could see a dark green service van outside with a driver and another large, muscular man standing beside the open sliding door. Still yelling, Ham released his hold on the joystick of his chair and thrust his clenched fist in the direction of the man’s back, even though he was still eight feet away.

  Immediately, the man arched his back as if he’d been punched in the kidney, grunting in pain and grabbing his lower back with both hands. The woman whirled on Ham, flying at his face. Her hands were extended, fingers hooked into claws, and a harsh growl emanated from deep in her throat.

  Ham punched at her hands as he caught a glimpse of the man outside lunging for the door. When his fist contacted her wrist, the woman vanished. The man outside skidded to a halt, eyes as large as the orbits would allow. Spinning, he leapt and dove into the open van door screaming, “Go, go!”

  The driver spun the tires as he floored the gas pedal and the van hesitated for a moment, seeking traction. The man inside had seen his partner vanish, and suddenly his aching back was of little importance. He charged through the double-glass doors, striking the right one hard enough to crack the tempered glass.

  In three leaping strides he dove into the van just as it rocketed away down the service lane behind the school. It didn’t slow as it reached the street, but slewed left as the driver cranked the wheel over, trying to turn into the thoroughfare. The two inside tires left the pavement, and the large, top-heavy vehicle precariously wobbled down the road for 30 feet. Righting itself, it fell back onto all four tires and swayed side-to-side as it sped away.