Earthbound

by Melora Johnson

  “Honey?” Mom squeezed my arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I guess I just hadn’t considered having a family with Matt yet.”

  “Well, maybe not yet, but the time will come. I was thirty-five when I had you, you know.”

  “I know.” I smiled. “I’d like to work on having a better relationship with you, Mom, but there are some things going on which are going to make that difficult, make having a relationship with Matt difficult.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, first of all, I’m a wanted woman.” When my mother appeared nonplussed, I added, “By the law. Haven’t they been in contact with you? Asked if you’d seen me?”

  “No. We’ve been out of town until today. We just got back from Maine. Allyson, what on Earth? Is that why you came to the back door? I can’t imagine you’ve done anything to warrant that. Do you need a lawyer? What can I do?” Her alarm was palpable.

  “It’s, unfortunately, not that simple. I hit someone with the car. It was an accident, sort of. I think they actually ran out in front of the car.”

  Her hand fluttered to her throat, plucked at her collar. “So, then it was suicide?”

  “Yes, but he was a locally prominent businessman. Some people don’t think he would have done that, so I was in jail.”

  “What happened? Were you not supposed to leave town? You said you were wanted. Does that mean they’re searching for you?”

  “Yes. Matt broke me out of jail.”

  “Oh, Allyson,” she wailed. “Doesn’t that just make everything worse?”

  “Yes, but the man had some very powerful friends. I wouldn’t be alive if I’d stayed in jail.”

  “I see.” She calmed down a little and took a deep breath. “Then of course you had to get out of there, but who is this Matt that he would even know how to break you out of jail?”

  How to explain? How far did I want to go here? I wanted to tell her everything, be completely honest with her, but I didn’t know if she would believe or even try to understand. “Matt is an ornithologist. He’s very intelligent and very resourceful.”

  “Okay, so he broke you out of jail. What are you going to do now? How are you going to clear your name? Won’t it appear as though you’re guilty and running from the police?” She got up and started to pace in front of the fireplace.

  “Yes, I imagine it will look that way, but, like I said, I have to be alive in order to clear myself. We’re going back there now. That’s why I wanted to see you. It’s going to be very dangerous. I wanted to see you before we go through with this.”

  “Oh, Allyson. Maybe it would be better if you went away, far away. I came into the marriage with money my father left me, and your father left me very well off as well. I could give you enough money to set you up under a different name, in a different country. They do that sort of thing.”

  I laughed. I wanted to hug her. “Yes, Mom, but wherever I go, these types of people will be there, and it’s something I have to face.” I decided it was best to be honest. She’d seen what I could do, she’d just have to accept it. If you couldn’t be straight with your own mother, who could you be straight with?

  “Mom, do you remember the man that came to the door when I was eight, and you and Dad came home, and he was dead?”

  Her eyes widened at the turn the conversation had taken. “Yes,” she said cautiously.

  “I’ve found out since then he was a demon, and what happened was that I exorcised him.”

  Her mouth opened and hung there for a moment before she snapped it shut. “A demon? Why would you think that?”

  “Because there are more of his type. Matt and I are able to discern them and can banish them. Mom, I know this is going to be hard to hear and to understand, but Matt and I are angels who were born as humans to fight the demons.”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Finally, she said, “I simply don’t know how to respond to that.”

  “Take a minute. Let it sink in,” I advised.

  We went several rounds, but the ability of some people to deny reality in order to hold on to their perception of the world was a force to be reckoned with in my mother. “Honestly, Mom, I’m just saying you’ve had the evidence of your own eyes. You came home and found me with that man dead. His face had literally melted because I touched him.”

  “Oh, honey.” She looked around, her face creased in lines and seeming older than she was, sad, as if I were forcing her to face something she had hoped never to have to contemplate again. “It was a long time ago, I don’t know what I saw. It all happened so fast.”

  She held her arms crossed against her stomach. “Is it possible, and just hear me out on this, but is it possible this man, Matt, is taking what he learned of your history and suggesting things to you, then taking your own reactions and building on it all to tell you something that isn’t true?”

  I started to roll my eyes in annoyance but reminded myself to be patient. I had had more time, and had experiences, to help me assimilate it all. She was doing it in little more than an hour. “Mom, you have to trust me on this.”

  “Well, dear, we’re very well off. I’m sorry to ask, but is it possible he’s after money?”

  “I wasn’t sure I believed him at first either, but I have proof.”

  Mom sighed. “Well, let’s talk to your stepfather. I don’t know what to think.”

  I agreed it was probably for the best.

  Mom called Jake when we were done talking to see where he was. He had been out volunteering with the soup kitchen, then something had come up with a job.

  We were in the kitchen with tea by the time he walked in, his slight limp from a construction accident when he had taken a wrong step and fallen off a low roof, damaging tendons in his knee, more apparent because he was tired. He had been stubborn and not stayed off it the way the doctor ordered, so it never quite healed correctly. Jake was tall with hair that was still blond even though he was in his fifties, with just a touch of white. He wore jeans with a maroon sweater over a buttoned-down shirt. The sweater had a few streaks of dirt on it. “I’m going to have a talk with that team on Monday. They were a bit sloppy with their job, and I had to do some repairs.” He saw me and smiled easily. “Ally, I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t know you were going to be visiting.” He walked forward with his arms open to offer a hug.

  I’d never been exactly comfortable with the fact he was a hugger, but I was determined to change that, so I stepped into his embrace.

  My mother took the reins. “Jake, Ally has something she needs to talk to us about.”

  “Oh?” He looked from me to Mom. “Well, let me get a cup, and let’s talk about it.”

  Mom hopped up briskly. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee, dear. You sit down.”

  We sat at the kitchen table. It was Sunday, so the housekeeper was off. Mom filled the coffeemaker and got out a package of crisp cookies to put on a plate. Matt appeared at the back door and let himself in. Jake started to rise, but Mom said soothingly, “Jake, this is Ally’s Matt.”

  Jake’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t ask why he’d never heard anything about him before, just gave him an appraising look and shook his hand.

  Matt returned his handshake firmly. “Nice to meet you, sir. Ally has spoken fondly of you.”

  Jake regarded me. “Likewise, nice to meet you, though I can’t say Ally has spoken of you before.”

  “I met Matt rather recently when I went to New York to help out at the ornithology lab at Cornell. He was working there.”

  “I see.”

  I smiled. I could tell he wanted to ask how recently but was biting his tongue. Jake always said he didn’t want to replace my father, but he was showing every sign of being plenty protective of me.

  “Well,” Matt added. “We had met before, but it’s been rather a long time, you could say.”

  “Ah, okay.”

  I switched to coffee with the guys. After everything that had happened, I needed
more caffeine. Then I went over everything I had told Mom, with Matt adding a word here and there.

  When we were done, Jake looked from one of us to the other and gave a bark of laughter. “What is this? A late April Fool’s Day joke?”

  “No, Jake. It’s the truth,” I replied firmly.

  He shook his head doubtfully, then got up and limped over to the counter to pour a new cup of coffee. I figured he was buying time to think.

  When he sat back down, I had an idea. “Is your knee still bothering you a lot?”

  “Not that much.”

  “You’re limping. Let me see what I can do for it.” I got up and knelt down by his leg.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked, his body going rigid.

  I smiled up at him reassuringly. “It’s okay, Jake. It’s just a laying on of hands. I’m not even going to move your knee, like a chiropractor would.”

  He didn’t seem convinced, though he sat back and let me proceed. I laid my hands over his knee, closed my eyes, and imagined his knee healed, the tendons rejuvenated, the scar tissue receding, and him walking easily.

  “Geez, your hands are hot.”

  I opened my eyes as I felt the healing energy slow to a trickle and stop. I took my hands away and stood. “How does it feel?”

  He flexed his leg, extending and contracting more fully than he’d been able to in years. His face reflected his astonishment. He got up and walked from one end of the room to the other with ease. “I don’t believe it. It’s as if I never hurt it.”

  I just smiled. He watched me, as if he were adding up all the things he knew of me and figuring in this new information until he reached a sum. He sighed and nodded. “Okay, I’m going to get a hold of my lawyer, and we’re going to figure this legal stuff out.”

  Chapter 18

  I walked into the judge’s chambers, closely followed by my stepfather’s lawyer, as well as Matt and Father Patrick. The room was far bigger than I would have expected, with a large wood desk and bookshelves to the right and a good-sized table to the left. The desk was neat, but clearly a place for work with papers in trays and a book open on the surface. The state flag and the United States flag stood behind it.

  The judge sat at the far end of a long wooden table, with the bailiff for the court standing behind him, and the district attorney seated to his right. The taller of the two policemen who had been involved in arresting me, Detective Samson, and the guard from the jail were also seated at the table. I suspected Samson was possessed, but I had to know for certain. I also questioned the guard’s allegiance.

  How would I ever get close enough to touch one of them? If I just blurted it out, the judge would think I was nuts. For all I knew, he was possessed, too. I had to get close enough to touch all of these people. But how?

  My stepfather’s lawyer, Geoffrey O’Neill, was a short man with slicked back blond hair. His pinstriped suit was slightly rumpled, as if he had been running from one meeting to another. He spoke briskly but authoritatively.

  “Judge,” Mr. O’Neill said deferentially.

  “Mr. O’Neill,” the judge acknowledged without standing up. He was a thin, ascetic man, balding on top. “I presume this is Miss Allyson Reynolds and Mr. Matthew Scott Blake?” He had a soft, restrained way of speaking, but a sharp nose, and he didn’t miss a thing.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Mr. O’Neill inclined his head. “And this is Father Patrick.”

  Father Patrick stepped forward as if to shake the judge’s hand. The judge simply looked at his hand pointedly, so Father Patrick stepped back.

  “Everyone be seated,” the judge said.

  Curious.

  We filed in the far side of the table with the lawyer closest to the judge then myself, and Matt. Father Patrick took up the end of the table opposite the judge. We all sat.

  I noticed Samson, opposite me, wore no gun. Only the bailiff had his sidearm. That made me feel a little better. Maybe I could ‘accidentally’ touch Samson with my foot? But with my shoes and socks on, I didn’t think it would afford me much connection. Plus, from his behavior during my arrest, it seemed pretty definite he was possessed. I hoped Detective Darkov remained in control of her faculties and safe.

  The guard was just as I remembered. Nothing screamed demon, but something about him made me uneasy. I just didn’t know if it had anything to do with demons or that I didn’t like how he had stared at me when I’d been in prison. Maybe he’d simply been a supporter of the mayoral candidate I’d hit with the car.

  I put my hands on the table, and then it hit me. There was a current running through the table. It wasn’t incredibly strong, but the wood had once been alive and still held moisture. If each of them put a hand in contact with the table, I might be able to get enough of a reading to know whether they were demons.

  Unfortunately, none of them were touching the table at the moment. The judge sat back with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his hands folded in front of him, across his belly. Consciously or unconsciously, Samson had mirrored him.

  I would just have to be patient. One of them, or all of them, would at some point touch the table. They had to. Perhaps I could do something to draw them into touching the table and revealing themselves. If I baited them into an argument and leaned forward with my hands on the table, perhaps they would mirror me? Or maybe Mr. O’Neill could pass them a piece of paper across the table. The contact might be momentary, but if I were prepared for it, it would be enough.

  I hoped such tactics wouldn’t be necessary.

  “Miss Reynolds, I hope it goes without saying that you are in a great deal of trouble here,” the judge said as I turned to look at him. “As are you, Mr. Blake.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” we chorused in contrition.

  I didn’t know how my stepfather’s lawyer had gotten him to talk to us in chambers. Maybe called in a favor? I looked over at the DA, a short man with overly long salt and pepper hair swept back from an olive complexion. He was another variable in the room, but I’d at least had the chance to shake his hand in his office before we came over. He was just a man, one dedicated to helping those who couldn’t help themselves.

  The judge cleared his throat. “Okay, Mr. O’Neill, I agreed to this meeting so your clients would turn themselves in. Let’s get this over with. Give me one good reason why I should not throw the book at them. One may have committed vehicular manslaughter, and the other stands accused of breaking her out of jail.”

  O’Neill looked over at me. He had been briefed on the reason for the meeting from our standpoint. I had proven to him, without a doubt, that we told the truth, by the simple expedient of Matt cutting his own arm then having me heal it before his eyes. He had agreed to it all, but now he looked a little green around the gills. He knew he had to stall as long as he could, but now he raised his eyebrows at me, as if to ask whether I had a read on who was a demon yet. I shook my head slightly.

  O’Neill took a breath and turned to the judge. “Well, Your Honor, Miss Reynolds is a fine, upstanding figure in our community and has been for some time. She is a veterinarian who does animal rescue, specializing in raptors. She met Mr. Blake when he called to request her help with a case in New York at the prestigious Cornell University where Mr. Blake works in the ornithology lab. She had only recently returned from New York when the incident took place.”

  The judge merely tilted his head and looked at Mr. O’Neill as if to ask why he should care.

  O’Neill cleared his throat nervously and continued. “She had been quite concerned about a friend of hers who is in the hospital burn unit after a very serious car accident. In fact, she and Mr. Blake had just returned from visiting with the patient when this accident happened. Miss Reynolds contends she saw the victim and actually tried to avoid running into him, but he deliberately stepped into the path of her car.”

  The DA cleared his throat, but did not actually say anything. The judge leaned forward with his forearms and folded hands on the table. “Whic
h would make a fine argument in the courtroom, Mr. O’Neill, but does not explain Mr. Blake breaking her out of jail or Miss Reynolds running off with him, leaving the state, and the injuries to the guard who is not able to be with us today because he is in the hospital in a coma.”

  Praying it would be enough, I gripped the edge of the table and concentrated, sending out my senses along the table. The surge made contact with the judge and bounced back at me. I gasped slightly and sat back. Matt touched my arm. I met his eyes and shook my head slightly. The judge was not one of them. He was completely in control of his own faculties and decisions. One down.

  “A moment to confer with my client, Your Honor.” O’Neill leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Whatcha got?”

  “The judge is clean, but there was no guard hurt when we left. He’s either one of them, or someone else hurt him. If I hadn’t seen Lula vanquished, I’d say she probably did it, but maybe one of the other guards?”

  O’Neill nodded once and turned back to the judge. “Your Honor, my client does not deny she hit the deceased man with her car, just that there was no intent. However, she does assure me no guard was hurt when they left the jail and denies any responsibility for that circumstance.”

  “Well, unfortunately, that does little to reassure me,” the judge said wryly. “Considering they were in the process of breaking her out of jail, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take her word for it.”

  I looked across the table at the guard and Samson. I had to get them to connect with the table. How would I deal with them once I had identified them? I had a feeling if I went over the table at anyone, the bailiff would have his gun out in no time. The question was, would he shoot? There were a lot of people in the room. Of course, not having any contact with him, I had no way of being sure he wasn’t one of them, too. I would have to take my chances.