The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

  She’d agreed to think about it as they’d said their goodnights. She had wanted to get to sleep early with the childlike logic that she’d see Betsy and Sandy sooner if she closed the time gap with slumber. Now focusing on the arrival of her friends the next day she truly felt like a kid on Christmas Eve…and while it distracted her from her cyber-induced condition, it also presented a bigger obstacle between herself and sleep. The obstacle of pure anticipation.

  Even though big Sandy would play the role of full-time baby-sitter and Betsy would undoubtedly douse her in drool, she immersed herself in the foreign feeling of excitement without dread. It was a good feeling in the quiet of the night and, at last, she slept.

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  Marsha pulled into the short term parking lot at JFK. She wasn’t concerned about any term or parking fees because this was her final time driving this perfect car in this oh-so-imperfect world. She knew God expected great things from great people, and while she was absolutely confident in her ability to execute His will in order to send His message, her greatest challenge was exercising the patience required of her between now and the time she would receive her reward.

  Soon…within an hour, in fact, she would shed this “amazing” body, leave behind the stigma of her remarkable I.Q. and her magazine model face. She gladly forfeited all of the “gifts” for which she’d had little regard, but which this world held in such high esteem. These things would pale in comparison to her new existence, her prize…and the only title for which she longed: Mother! Distracted by her excitement, she didn’t see the other car pulling into a spot she’d chosen; she slammed on the breaks just in time to avoid a collision.

  “Motherfucker!” She spat in a less than matronly manner, more at the situation than the driver who could not know the detonation power sitting in her trunk. Indeed, the other driver had no idea.

  She never saw the person behind the wheel, but as the vehicle’s back window slid down, she briefly locked eyes with the rear passenger, a woman about her age who looked vaguely familiar. The woman stared at her and she froze, an electric chill shot down her spine and for just a second, her mind not only cleared of its rapturous thoughts, but of everything.

  The dark luxury car, larger than Marsha’s Beamer and almost limo-like, backed away to give up the spot although she was the one at fault. Light hit the receding car’s hood and due to a blinding glare she lost sight of the woman’s face; Marsha regained her senses, dazed and confused. For a split second she forgot why she was there, and upon remembering, she felt a brief and frightening reservation about her mission. But the minute the parking spot opened before her, her doubts cleared and her greatest sensation was one of relief, having just avoided a potential show-stopper for her duty. For her honor…

  She checked herself in the mirror to ensure she looked perfect, knowing that in this society, beauty was her ticket to get away with, well, murder. She exited and carefully retrieved her Louis Vuitton suitcase, gently setting it on its wheels. She smiled as she crisply rolled it toward the entrance to the terminal, feeling smug that her $4000 piece of luggage-turned-weapons-delivery-system would soon be nothing but dissolved matter; more proof of the wastefulness of this world.

  Her plan was flawless. Every woman goes to the restroom to freshen up before travelling. Many will take their bags with them before checking in due to a need relieve themselves after the trip to the airport or to wait for a check-in line to shorten. Most would go to the easiest access restroom; a convenient one between the ticket counter and baggage claim…particularly during the busiest time of the day, which happened to be now. But few would place a “Closed for Cleaning” sign (which fit perfectly inside the oversized suitcase outer pocket) outside the door, complaining to the entering ladies that she’d tripped over it because it blocked the entrance, but also telling them she was sure they could still use the facility before the cleaning commenced. Actually no others would think to do that. And that meant, she, alone, would wait patiently in the handicapped stall as the room slowly emptied.

  And once empty, she would lock the stall from the inside and slide under the door. No one would expect a first class lady to do such a thing…but her light brown suit would allow her to do so without the dirt from the floor being evident afterward.

  And then she, alone, would exit the restroom, leaving the sign in its place to keep the room vacant. Then she would position herself, feigning interest in her smart phone, in the busiest part of the terminal for that final moment. Take lives to save lives…

  As her shoes clicked on the pavement she filled with the glow of expectancy. Labor was supposed to be hard…but this was almost too easy. And her labor and delivery would be the most glorious of all. Looking around with disgust at the world that justified baby-murder, she hoped today’s message would be loud and clear and make a difference…but if it didn’t, she’d be waiting for the tiny discarded souls on the other side! It was a win-win for Marsha Renee Shreiver.

  The security officer near the terminal entrance gave her a once over as she entered with a pay load that would change his job forever. But, as she gave him a dazzling smile, she knew the thorough look he gave her had nothing to do with security.

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  Johnnie had jammed every button she could find in the back of the limo to either locate an intercom to speak to the elusive driver, or to lower the apparently soundproof partition between them. As he’d pulled into the short term parking lot, she was trying to get his attention to suggest that he just wait in front of the terminal while she went in to meet Sandy. They would have to hurry to the cargo terminal to fetch Betsy anyway; she was just certain the poor dog would be traumatized by required kennel-imprisonment, let alone the flight itself. In her button mania, Johnnie had inadvertently messed with the volume for the rear stereo and it was blaring.

  Just as she started trying the controls on her door, the car lurched to a stop and her window glided down.

  “Shi…” She began to swear between simultaneous realizations that she, again, had activated the wrong control and but more acutely because her open window revealed a smoky blue BMW about to T-Bone the limo right where she sat. She was unable to complete the sentiment because the music, suddenly inside her head, magnified and elongated the lyrics

  “….blow wide open, we’re blowing wide open…” and all she saw was the woman’s face behind the wheel of the BMW. And they were connected. She couldn’t breathe and knew she was being drawn away. Her resistance appeared futile, but as her own driver jammed their car in reverse, her head jerked back and she seized the moment to grip her consciousness; with mental claws, she hung on.

  And it worked. Surprised and confused, but relieved, she stuck her head out of the open window just in time to see the Beamer pull into the spot. The woman’s face was out of sight and the “moment” had passed. She recognized the singing voice, now thankfully outside of her head, as Benee, a well-known pop singer on the blasting stereo. Johnnie dropped her chin to her chest to calm herself, which may have worked if it weren’t for the eerie sensation that the lyrics felt entirely too personal and…contrived?

  “…We’ll burn together…burn out loud…then you’ll understand and won’t be so proud.

  Explode... Implode...The world will be a cloud…”

  What was this?

  She gripped her knees, shaking and wondering if something else would happen. It did...the damn partition slid down and the driver turned to face her with an apologetic smile. He reached to the dashboard with his left hand and turned the stereo volume down so she could hear him.

  “Sorry, Ms. Carter, I guess that lady thought that was the magic parking spot.” Once he focused on her, a look of concern crossed his face, “Are you alright?” He turned and immediately exited, circling the car to open her door. She awkwardly composed herself, offering a regretful smile as he took a knee on the pavement.


  “Oh yeah...I’m just suffering from technical overload...I think I found every button but the one for ejection and the one to lower that stinkin’ partition. What was your name?”

  He paused a moment before answering. They hadn’t spoken earlier as James had shooed his sister into the backseat; this was their first face-to-face. His eyes narrowed on her face as if he were trying to place something in his mind. He shook it off and smiled.

  “Jeremy.” He leaned in and pointed to a control she’d apparently overlooked...and pushed one button which sent the partition back up. He laughed at her resulting expression and took her arm as she stood.

  “Did you need something?” He asked, as he closed her door, instantly activating the locks with his key fob. He wasn’t dressed like a chauffeur...his clothing was casual, but nice. He was nice; but he was something else that added to her general wobbliness.

  A little shaky, she took the opportunity to lean against the car door and tell him, “Well, not really, I was just trying to save us some time and have you drop me off in front; James Sanders, my friend, should be coming out any time and we still need to go get my dog...” She was less interested in pleading her case now than she was in getting her head, and legs, right.

  “His name is James too? Funny.” He grinned, taking her arm as the car next to them began to back out. She rolled her eyes, thinking silently, yeah, funny, and it just gets funnier. Satisfied they weren’t going to be flattened by the unwitting driver, Jeremy led her through the parking lot as she muttered,

  “He goes by Sandy, fortunately. That keeps it simple.” Like anything was going to be simple ever again, she thought, sneaking in a glance at the man steering her along.

  “Got it.” Jeremy continued, scanning the parking lot as he released his grip and gestured toward the terminal. How weird was it that she felt like she knew him, she asked herself. Not weird, she answered herself silently and vehemently as she pushed forward putting full weight on her legs.

  “I have very strict orders not to let you out of my sight, even though those orders included keeping the partition up on the way to the airport.” They walked the same path Marsha had trod just minutes before. “I don’t have a habit of accosting women, especially my employer’s sister, so I really don’t get the deal with the partition. But you’re stuck with me till we get you back.” His smile was so reminiscent of young Jason Barker that she may have been flooded with warmth, if it weren’t for that chill that played her spinal cord with lingering tentacles. This guy was older than her former subordinate, more mature and the effect was considerably different. And not in a bad way. Shake it off!

  There was no doubt in her mind that her brother had issued all of Jeremy’s orders to try to keep her out of the “messiah-zone” while somewhat alone with the him, as well as to protect her in the airport until Sandy arrived. It wasn’t reasonable that a Plexiglas partition would block her Super-girl powers, she supposed, but she reluctantly understood James’ precautions.

  She had still not completely gained her equilibrium after the, whatever that was...with the woman in the Beamer and she was suddenly grateful for the company as the terminal loomed closer. Johnnie gingerly allowed herself to accept that just maybe there was a reason she had this so-familiar stranger at her side. What the hell, wasn’t like things could get any stranger...

  She accepted the flow and knew she’d have to wait a little longer to rescue her dog. Besides, she told herself, Betsy was a survivor; she could hang with a few extra minutes in her “FAA-Approved Container” in the cargo terminal. May God help those around the hound if the pet holding area wasn’t well ventilated.

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  Byron and Margie didn’t know if the individual who answered Wei Liang’s door was household help or secret service. They didn’t know if protective coverage was afforded the President’s father, but they kindly announced who they were and the sharp-eyed, but polite man let them in. Wei lived humbly and they eyed each other with a conspiring air as they entered, silently agreeing, “Secret Service.” In truth, they would never ask or know for sure what this man’s role was, but later decided it seemed much more exciting to believe the well-dressed “butler” was wired and armed to the teeth.

  “Welcome to my home!” They heard Wei before they saw him and when they faced their greeter, the Hoffstedders were warmed with the sincerity of the man’s demeanor.

  “Please! Would you like to join me in the kitchen? Tea?” He asked Margie, then shot a knowing look at Byron’s smiling face and stopped, cocking his head and placing a forefinger and thumb on his chin as if to study his guest. “Or perhaps, for you, coffee?”

  Byron, to Margie’s horror, lit up like a Christmas tree and pounded the small back of the President’s father with a boisterous response.

  “My man, you are singing my song!” Wei laughed heartily and walked down the hallway ahead of the couple, missing how the wife planted a sharp elbow in her husband’s side. She needed no words; the jab was accompanied by a frantic expression he’d seen before; behave yourself! He gave her a look of feigned remorse and shrugged, patting his wife on the back as he told their host that he took his coffee black.

  The couple chose the less formal atmosphere of the kitchen table for the visit; Wei seemed grateful for the choice and visibly relaxed. As he produced a steaming tea cup for Margie, he said, “It is my pleasure to serve a lovely lady in this room. It’s been over ten years since I lost my wife, but I miss her. Even though I haven’t changed a thing in here, it doesn’t seem the same without the essence of a woman.” He smiled, like a guilty child, adding, “I’m sure my son would be horrified with that seemingly sexist remark! Political correctness is not my forte.”

  Regardless of the reason for their meeting, the Hoffstedders were already enamored with this man. They laughed at his joke, then offered condolences for the loss of his wife. Byron put his hand on Margie’s, and told Wei that they had just lost his dear mother-in-law and understood the emptiness left by a loved one. Wei’s compassionate expression touched them both deeply as he sat at the table and unconsciously took Marg’s other hand in both of his. As if she’d known him forever, she said, “Something about the kitchen, huh? That’s where we miss Mom the most, too, I think.” And for no reason in particular, the couple explained Marg Senior’s plight to the intent man, as well as the fact that she would always be “with them” in the family home, now their home. He listened intently and as they conversed they could see how the President bore a strong resemblance to this man in ways other than appearance. He was kind, yet strong; intelligent but not in the least pompous.

  Sadly, he was familiar with Alzheimer’s, as he had lost his brother to what he called, “an insidious disease; a thief of the mind and kidnapper of the character.” His description was so apt, Margie was moved to tears.

  “Oh, see what I’ve done?” He stood, releasing her hand and placed his on Margie’s shoulder as he offered a box of tissues. He shook his head, and to lighten the moment, he lifted his eyes to Byron, “Please, Sir. Never tell my son I’ve made this dear lady cry! He will have me deported...I’m pretty sure he can do that!” Byron laughed and Margie grasped the older man’s small hand, squeezing it with a smile.

  Wei refilled their cups and rejoined them at the table.

  “My friends, I am enjoying this visit more than you can know. I don’t need a reason for anyone affiliated with my son to visit, and, Sir,” he looked seriously at Byron, “My son always held you in high regard.” Byron smiled and nodded humbly. This was going somewhere.

  “I fear, however, that you didn’t come to avail yourself of my charming company, although, I must say, you are welcome any time.” Wei was obviously sincere, which made Byron feel just a little guilty. Margie, knowing her husband as she did, touched his arm in a silent gesture of support.

  Wei folded his hands and looked from one to the other and with a kind smile, his
salt and pepper eyebrows popped up.

  “Tell me, to what do I owe this pleasure? And I assure you, it is my pleasure.”

  Byron put his hand over Margie’s, and looked at her. She smiled with such confidence, he knew they were okay, no matter what. His next expression said, here goes nothing! He turned to Wei, swallowed, and said, “Mr. Liang, this is very personal and probably crazy...but we just wanted to see if you’d be willing to talk to us about some things that happened a long time ago...it does have to do with Wing, but you as well. And it’s someone you may or may not remember.”

  Wei turned his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as if trying to catch a thought. He smiled and held up one finger...“Just a moment, please...” He disappeared for what seemed like a lifetime, and the couple sat nervously, feeling more than a little like small children sitting outside the principal’s office.

  Wei returned with a laptop, apologizing for the interruption. He sat the computer on the table, fingers at work on the keyboard as he moved his eyes from them to the screen.

  “It’s just that I’d told Wing in an e-mail that you were coming,” The two exchanged delighted smiles, pleased that they’d rated an honorable mention to the President.

  Wei was clearly getting closer to the object of his search, “Ah! And here is his response. I asked him if he wanted me to pass on a message...and well, after what you just said, I figured ....let’s see. Yes...” He smiled as he read the note from his son, obviously skimming over more personal portions. His face cleared and he touched his finger to the screen to mark a place in the text. He looked at Byron.