Eye of the Oracle

by Bryan Davis

  As her hand touched her coat on the wall rack, the telephone rang. Bonnie froze in midstep. Dr. Conner breezed into the front room, holding a mobile phone to his ear. “Yes, Dr. George.” He pulled out a desk drawer and withdrew a thin stack of paper. “I have the test results right here. There is no doubt about the findings. My wife’s blood definitely has the allele we discussed.” He nodded and dropped the stack on top of the desk. “That’s right. An anthrozil. . . . Yes, I’ll bring the samples to you tonight. . . . That late? . . . Sure. I guess I can do that.” He glanced at Bonnie, and the color in his cheeks suddenly drained away. “Dr. George, I have to go. I’ll see you at my office.”

  Bonnie lifted her cell phone. “Daddy, Mama called. I’m supposed to meet her downtown. She’s taking me shopping for my birthday.”

  “Oh. Your birthday. Right.” Dr. Conner ran his fingers through his short nap of red hair, keeping his eyes from direct contact with Bonnie’s. “That can wait. I just need a couple of minutes.”

  Bonnie shuddered. “But you said you’d never ”

  “I know what I said.” He grabbed her wrist, tightly at first, but his grip slowly eased. “This really is the last time. I promise.”

  Bonnie pulled in her bottom lip and stared at her father. A tear welled in her eye. Finally, she whispered a shaky, “Okay,” and followed him toward the laboratory.

  Gabriel stalked behind them, his energy field flashing. Bonnie was no guinea pig! If only there was a way to stop this madness! He could plug himself in somewhere and short circuit the lights, but that wouldn’t last longer than the time it took to flip the circuit breaker, and the shock would paralyze him for hours. What else could he possibly do?

  When they reached the lab, Dr. Conner picked up a hypodermic needle. “You know the drill, Bonnie. It’s just a prick.”

  As Bonnie pushed her sleeve up, her hand quivered. She picked up a rubber ball from a letter basket, laid her arm on the table, and squeezed so tightly, her forearm muscles bulged.

  Dr. Conner tied a rubber band around her upper arm and swabbed the tender flesh in the crook. As the needle drew near, she closed her eyes and turned her head, her whole body trembling.

  Gabriel caressed her skin at the needle’s entry point. It poked a tiny hole in the midst of a dozen or more minute white scars. Dr. Conner attached a collection tube to the needle, and as blood began to flow, he unfastened the band and tossed it to the lab table. “Just a few more seconds, and I’ll be finished.”

  Bonnie kept her head turned, panting as she whispered something to herself. Gabriel moved closer to listen to her feeble, halting voice.

  “Yea, though I walk . . . through the valley of the shadow of death . . . I will fear no evil . . . for thou art with me . . . thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

  Dr. Conner pulled out the needle and pressed a ball of cotton on the wound. “I have what I need. You can go now.” He turned away and began entering numbers on a log sheet.

  Tucking her head low, Bonnie hurried out of the lab. After grabbing a coat off a rack, she ran to the front door. Gabriel zipped alongside her, but, of course, he could offer no comfort, only a sympathetic embrace with his wing, another hug she couldn’t feel.

  Bonnie threw the door open, ran outside, and banged it closed. As she stuffed her arms into her sleeves, trying to fit her coat over her backpack, she slipped and almost stumbled down the porch steps. Stopping for a moment on the lawn, she heaved in a couple of deep breaths and mumbled to herself. “Okay, Bonnie, get a grip. You don’t want Mama to know you’ve been crying. She’ll just get upset again.”

  She took a final deep breath, and a thin smile grew on her lips. Combing her fingers through her hair, she hustled to the open garage and snatched a helmet from a shelf next to her bicycle. After strapping it in place, she straddled her bike and guided it onto the driveway. Overhead, tiny flakes of snow floated silently down from the gray sky.

  She pushed a pedal and rolled out onto the street. Gabriel rushed ahead of her and hopped onto the front, attaching his energy field to the metal handlebars. Bonnie pumped the pedals hard until the bike reached a brisk cruising speed, then relaxed and pedaled more easily.

  Amidst a flurry of snow, girl and guardian raced through the neighborhood and onto the main thoroughfare’s bike path. Having left her gloves at home, Bonnie raised a hand to her mouth from time to time and blew on her fingers. As a thin dusting of snow coated the street, she slowed her pace and guided the bike toward the clearer pavement. Traffic dwindled, and with it the danger of colliding with a car, but she maintained a tight grip on the handlebars to keep from losing traction and taking a spill.

  After several minutes, they reached a two-story white building at the edge of downtown Missoula. As the snow thickened, Bonnie parked her bike next to a hedge in front of the building and jumped over the two steps that led to the entrance. Blowing on her cupped hands, she pushed open the front door with her elbow and slipped off her coat. As she unhitched her helmet, she scanned the spacious lobby, then smiled. Her mother sat on a cushioned bench just outside an office.

  Tucking the helmet under her arm, she ran to her mother’s side and kissed her cheek. “Mama,” she whispered, “what’s going on? Why here instead of the mall?”

  Irene combed back Bonnie’s mussed hair. “I heard from my brother. He believes that a slayer has moved into our area. That means he’s probably on my trail.”

  “How could a slayer find you?”

  “My brother gave me no details.” Irene unfolded a telegram and began reading. “A dark knight is coming quickly.” She lowered the paper and looked at Bonnie. “That’s a coded message all dragons are supposed to know.” Clearing her throat, she continued. “Go to the surrogate nest. Your daughter’s passage has been arranged.” She refolded the telegram and put it into her purse.

  “What does it all mean?” Bonnie asked.

  “My brother is concerned that something might happen to me, so he arranged for a safe hiding place for you, just in case. He is well-connected with adoption and foster care services in England and in the U.S., so he can make sure you are buried in the system where no one can find you.”

  Bonnie gripped her mother’s forearm. “But nothing’s going to happen to you, right?”

  “I don’t think so.” Irene patted Bonnie’s hand. “But we have to be ready, just in case.”

  “So why did you call me here?”

  “I wanted to show you where to go.” Irene nodded at the office door next to the bench. “If something awful happens, get here as quickly as you can. Mrs. Lewis works in this office. She knows what to do. I wanted to introduce you, but she’s in a meeting right now.”

  “I . . .” Bonnie turned her head away. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  Irene stood and lifted her purse strap over her shoulder. “You don’t have to dwell on it. Just remember this place and this office. It might never happen, but we have to face the possibilities.”

  Bonnie kept her head turned. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “Okay, Mama. I’ll remember.”

  Irene laid her hand on Bonnie’s cheek and gently turned her head back toward her. “Bonnie, I love you very much. That’s why I’m telling you these things.”

  Bonnie wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and laid her cheek on her shoulder. “I know. I’m just scared.”

  Irene kissed the top of Bonnie’s head. “There’s one more thing. If the worst does happen, you need to find another dragon. My brother thinks he lives in Castlewood, West Virginia. His human name was Jared at one time, but I don’t know what it is now. I did hear, though, that he has a son about your age, so that might help you find him.”

  “If you’re gone,” Bonnie said, still leaning on her mother’s shoulder, “how will I get there?”

  She nodded at the office again. “Since you can’t get past airport security, they will arrange to transport you to Castlewood by
train. It might take a while, and you might have to endure quite a few transfers, but you’ll get there eventually.”

  Bonnie pulled away and looked her mother in the eye. “You want to hide me from Daddy, don’t you?”

  Irene turned away, her voice barely audible. “He can’t protect you from a slayer.”

  “Won’t, you mean. He’s in love with his research, not you or me. He thinks we’re lab rats.” Bonnie took her mother’s hand and extended her arm. “He’s stuck you even more than he’s stuck me.”

  “You know I can’t stop him.” Irene pulled her hand away. “Not without revealing our secret.”

  “I know.” Bonnie stuffed a hand into her pocket and lowered her head. “You’re right.”

  “If something happens to me, you’ll be safer in foster care than you would be with your father. They’ll change your name, so he won’t be able to find you.”

  “I’d better get going,” Bonnie said, taking her helmet from under her arm. “It’s starting to snow pretty hard.”

  Irene tapped the helmet with her fingertip. “If we can’t fit your bike in the car, we’ll just leave it here until tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll let us.”

  Bonnie wiped the water droplets from the shiny surface. “So, are we really going to the mall like you said?”

  “Of course.” Irene hooked her arm around Bonnie’s elbow and led her toward the door. “Thirteen is a special birthday. Have you decided what you want?”

  “That pen set I told you about, and maybe a new journal. I’ll probably fill my old one up in the next couple of weeks.”

  Irene pushed the door open. “Don’t you need anything else? Books? Music?”

  Bonnie dipped her head. “Do you think it’s weird to just want pens and journals?”

  “I didn’t mean that at all,” Irene said, waving her hand. “You have a writing talent that amazes me! You write with a fiery passion that I could never hope to equal. In two thousand years I have never seen anyone your age who comes even close.”

  Bonnie let a thin smile break through. “Thank you.”

  “And do you know where your talent comes from?”

  “From being a dragon?” Bonnie guessed.

  “You might have inherited it from a dragon. I’m not sure. But I do know this; your talent comes from God. However you choose to use your writing, make sure every word honors your maker. If you do that, I’ll be delighted to give you all the pens and journals you’ll ever want. I was just wondering what else you need.”

  As they descended the front steps and pierced the curtain of falling snow, Bonnie looked up at the dark sky, blinking at the thousands of flakes. “As long as I can write prayers in my journal, I have all I really need.”

  Gabriel floated near the ceiling in Bonnie’s room, admiring the new wallpaper wide vertical purple and pink stripes that matched the purple blanket and pink sheets on Bonnie’s poster bed. Ever since they moved to this new house, her father had promised to decorate her bedroom, mostly to assuage her pain at leaving Carly and all her friends at her old school across town. Finally, after four years of her father’s promises and excuses, a pair of handymen came in and slapped the paper up with little care for craftsmanship.

  Using his glowing finger to trace a narrow gap between two sheets of wallpaper, Gabriel shook his head. At least the worst spots were up near the ceiling where no one else would notice.

  He drifted slowly down toward the bed. With the thick blanket pulled up to her waist, Bonnie reclined on her side, propping her head on a stack of pillows and gazing at a spiral-bound notebook that lay open on her sheet. One wing rested on her arm and leg, while the other extended beyond the edge of the bed and touched the floor, her usual sleeping position since the age of ten when her wings truly blossomed.

  She had just finished retacking her posters to the wall a unicorn with a long, flowing mane, and, adjacent to that one, a girl kneeling at her bedside in prayer while a winged angel watched over her. She chose that one years ago, a week after her first day at school.

  Tired from her strenuous day, and with snow spoiling her plans for a walk, she had decided to go to bed early, opting for her short-sleeved nightgown in spite of the cold. Of course, Gabriel had excused himself to the hallway while Bonnie dressed for bed, and when he returned, he wanted to scold her for her selection, but, as usual, he had to complain in silence. Still, Irene had turned the heat up, and the blankets would likely keep Bonnie warm if a chill draft seeped in around the window. She would be fine.

  Gabriel chuckled to himself. After only a few years, he had become a mother hen, yet without an audible cluck to nag his little chick. Sinking closer to the bed, he peered at Bonnie’s journal. She often left it out on her night table, and Irene came by now and then to read her latest entry even while Bonnie was in the room, so it seemed that she didn’t consider her daily missives to be private, at least to friendly eyes.

  As her silver Papermate flowed across the page, leaving behind a beautiful blue script, Bonnie’s thoughts came to life. Gabriel read them slowly, pondering each phrase, hoping to feel the emotions with the same passion the young author poured into her words.

  Dear God,

  I descended into the shadowlands today. A specter of fear wrapped his cold, cruel fingers around my heart and led me into his chamber of treachery, a sanitary cube of torment that once again enclosed my mind in darkness. Can any instrument of torture deliver cruelty as savage as love betrayed? Does a dungeon’s rack stretch a body as sadistically as betrayal stretches trust? Can faith endure a traitor’s sinister hand as it turns the wheel, each notch testing conviction until the sword of despair separates peace from its rightful habitat?

  He bared my skin. He pierced my flesh. He robbed more than my life’s blood; with his brazen face and callous dismissal, he robbed my innocence. He shattered my image of a father’s love.

  Once upon a time, a tall, strong knight took my little hand and led me to the edge of a cliff. Comforted by his powerful grip, I felt no fear, for this valiant knight would never let me fall. Below lay the jagged rocks, the raging river, and a thousand feet of cold, empty air. As I leaned over the precipice, the joy of beholding danger with unflinching eyes flooded my soul. I have an anchor. I have a sure hold in the land of promise. My father would never let me go.

  Yet, he did let me go. Nay, he pushed me over the side. And now I fall, staring up at him as he coldly walks away. The wind chills my heart, and the certainty of eternal torment rushes at me with no savior in sight.

  God of wonders, catch me now in your loving hands. Fly down on your stallion and rescue me from this plunge into despair. Let us ride together, buoyed by wings of faith and energized by the love that delivered your only begotten son, for he is the king who catches his falling sparrows. Let us waltz together in this dance of death, for you have called me to suffer with you in willing sacrifice and to burn the image of your crucifixion in my heart. Let us live together in the light of your resurrection, for I cannot survive this walk of faith without the comfort of knowing that you will never let go of my hand.

  You are Jehovah-Jireh, my provider in times of trouble. You are Jehovah-Shalom, my peace in the midst of turmoil. And above all, you are Jehovah-Shammah, the God who is always there, a true father who rises to my aid when the specter has taken off his fatherly mask and exposed his treacherous heart.

  Ask me for my blood, and I will give it freely. Yea, ask me for my life, for you have already crucified me on Calvary’s hill and raised me from the dead, purging the life of sin I left behind. Ask me for my soul, for you have already paid for it with your own precious blood, the holy blood of Jehovah-Yasha, my savior.

  And now I see it. I can give you nothing that you have not already given to me. I am purchased, a slave of love. I am your vessel to be used in whatever way you wish. If you make me an urn for ashes, a common earthen jar to bear incinerated bones, leaving me to collect dust in a forgot
ten tomb, even then, I will be content. For just as you would not leave your son forever in the ground, I know you will raise me up from the land of the dead. You have not ignited this fire in my heart to be wasted in Sheol’s pit. Though dead, buried, and forgotten, I will rise again.

  No matter what happens, I will never forsake you, for you will never forsake me. You are with me, no matter where I go.

  Love,

  Bonnie Conner

  Bonnie nestled her head into her pillow and stared at the window. Snow cascaded across the screen, some of the flakes dusting the glass with powdery splashes. A lamp on a table cast a dim glare on the surface, but it suddenly vanished in a shadow.

  “Bonnie?”

  It was her father’s voice. Bonnie slid her journal under her blanket. “Yes?” she replied without turning.

  His outline shifted back and forth in the window. “I have to meet someone at my office. Your mother’s taking a bath, so I thought you’d like to know in case the phone rings.”

  Bonnie cleared her throat. “Can you make it to the campus in this weather?”

  “The radio said the main roads are clear. Once I get out of the neighborhood, I should be fine.”

  “Okay.” Bonnie threaded her pen between her fingers. “Um . . . Be careful.”

  His shadow seemed to come a step closer, but it halted. “I’m . . . I’m sorry about today. That really was the very last time. I promise.”

  Bonnie closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

  “Do you . . .” He paused, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “Do you forgive me?”

  Bonnie’s eyelids clenched tightly, and a pair of tears squeezed through. For a few seconds, it seemed that she wouldn’t answer, but she finally nodded, and her voice squeaked. “I forgive you.”

  The shadow disappeared, and the lamp’s light returned. Bonnie opened her eyes and dabbed her tears with the edge of her pillowcase. Pulling out her journal again, she set her pen next to the page as if ready to write, but, after a wide yawn, she closed her eyes. Seconds later, her breathing settled into deep, rhythmic pulses.