The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

  Wei instinctively accepted his son’s statement...after a day like today, it almost seemed par for the course. Thus, he told Byron’s story...quickly, but succinctly. Wing was deeply interested, although anxious, it was as if he sought something specific in a sea of details. Wei, not knowing what was driving the conversation but knowing it must end soon, finished by telling his son,

  “Last but not least...as if that weren’t all fantastic enough... During the JFK news conference today, just before the bulletin on the Israeli attack, they showed a picture of the gal that pulled all the fire alarms...I’m sure you saw the shot before we did...”

  Before he could finish his statement, he heard his son say, almost as if it made perfect sense,

  “It was her. It was her, wasn’t it?”

  Wei was so taken aback by his son’s response, that he hadn’t said anything before Wing ended the conversation with, “Dad...thank you. I’ll call or message by tomorrow, we’ll need to talk. Love you, bye.”

  That had been over two hours ago, and although exhausted, the old man sat in the dim kitchen, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

  _________________________________________________________

  James called their mother, seemingly to calm her after seeing her daughter on the newscast; but he mainly called to prevent her guaranteed arrival via taxi-cab if she didn’t hear back from one of her children soon. As he’d suspected, she’d attempted to call his silenced phone several times as well.

  Seeing it was not going to be an easy – or quiet – conversation, he gave Johnnie an exaggerated and knowing look as he headed to the kitchen to manage Mary, raising his voice as he left the room, “Mom...Ma! You need to calm yourself and listen.....no you listen....we have this under control, they’re not going to crucify her, for God’s sake...”

  Sandy stood and rubbed his face vigorously, still appearing unfettered by the general subject matter, then looked down at the other two from his substantial altitude. Johnnie stared into her glass, shooting occasional glances at Jeremy, who leaned forward on the couch, as if unsure of his role. Sandy stifled a smile and loudly announced.

  “I think I’d better take the three-legged diva out for a stroll while your brother and Mom wrestle. Betsy...wanna go out?” Betsy launched from her half-lap flop with Johnnie on the floor, spilling the drink and breaking the woman’s train of thought. Sandy half-heartedly apologized, as he attempted to corral the dog’s wobbly enthusiasm; Jeremy rose to fetch a bar towel for Johnnie.

  Handing Johnnie the towel as Sandy rummaged through the items by the door for Betsy’s leash, Jeremy asked in a forced conversational tone, “So, have you two had her for long? Did she come this way’?” He looked at the dog with amused kindness, then noticed the complete lack of response from either human.

  Sandy looked confused and Johnnie silently pointed from Sandy to herself, a smile breaking through the clouds which had settled around her. With a giggle, she looked at her friend, then Jeremy.

  “You think we’re a...couple?” She guffawed, mentally picturing the two of them atop a wedding cake; not a pretty sight. Sandy’s response was a bit different, as he stood straight and held both hands, palms out, toward Jeremy.

  “Oh no...love this girl, but that’s not happening, my brother. She’s not my type.” Jeremy, although quietly pleased with the news, was concerned he may have struck a nerve with Sandy; that was never his intent...besides, this man was twice his size.

  Half feigning indignation, Johnnie spoke as she scanned the area around her to spy spots caused by the spilled drink.

  “Sandy Sanders, you got a problem with a white girl?” She wasn’t even looking at either of the men as the words laughingly left her mouth, but stopped still when the six foot seven, critical mass of man said in the deepest of voices,

  “Not the ‘white’ part, Love, just the ‘girl’ part.”

  Jeremy felt like an audience at an impromptu play as he looked from one unlikely character to the other, a smile slowly creeping across his face.

  Johnnie stood, rumpled pajamas with random wet spots hanging on her slight frame. Her hair was still damp, but uncombed; her socks didn’t match. Jeremy thought she was beautiful, but he was apparently invisible at this moment.

  “You’re gay?” Johnnie’s question was accompanied by an incredulous smile.

  “You’re not?” Sandy shot back, looking her up and down, eyebrows arched. She quickly looked down realizing she had not one ounce of feminine flare...and at the moment she suspected Sandy was messing with her, she jerked her head up with a suspicious glare and the big man filled the room with laughter. He located the leash and attempted to stop Betsy’s incessant circles around his legs, saying,

  “See how that felt? Yet another lesson on stereotyping for you....and you of all people? You should know better. Just don’t think there is anything wrong with my ‘condition’ and do not try to whip a healing on me.” He stood, still chuckling. He glanced at Johnnie, then Jeremy, as Betsy pulled him to the door.

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with me. To quote my favorite artist...I was born this way! Listen for the buzzer...we’ll be back!”

  As the door clicked closed, the remaining two looked at the door, then each other.

  Jeremy stood very close to Johnnie, and as he looked at her, she was petrified. Although James’ voice rose and fell in the distant kitchen, the two of them were alone. One of Jeremy’s arms rested across his body, and held the other elbow; his forefinger and thumb rested on either side of his chin as he regarded her. And he smiled.

  Johnnie was mortified when her knees nearly gave way, yet she couldn’t move or look away. Attempting some stance of control, her hands found her hips as she weakly challenged,

  “After all you’ve heard, aren’t you afraid to be alone with me?”

  He seemed more confident than earlier in the evening and remained immobile, still smiling slightly.

  “Nope. Been there, done that. Still standing...” In her life, in her worldly and less-worldly experiences, Johnnie had never felt this way and while it wasn’t unpleasant, it scared her into movement. She broke the gaze and edged backwards. When she saw her comb on the arm of the chair, she grabbed it and sat down, attempting to break the tangles in her half-dry hair.

  Much to her relief, Jeremy dropped his arms and reclaimed his spot on the end of the couch, and although she still felt him...she wasn’t quite as terrified by this proximity. She mentally begged James and/or Sandy to come back so she could stare at this man in the safety of others. He wasn’t attractive in the classic sense, but she was mortified to admit to herself that she was attracted to him in a way that she couldn’t recall, ever. It intensified her fear that the attraction may be mutual, and, of course, that was preposterous. But then again... what wasn’t preposterous these days?

  “So,” she said in her most casual tone, “Who did you piss off to have to drive me around today? You seem like you’re pretty close to James, but isn’t he your boss? What is your job, anyway?” Her mouth, often her greatest defense mechanism, didn’t let her down now, although it wouldn’t stop. “I figure you must be friends since he sent you today and kept you here tonight...but I don’t know who would do this to a friend....” The words moved far more smoothly than the comb, which had gotten stuck in her hair. Her eyebrows knitted in frustration as she pulled at the knot.

  Jeremy smiled in amusement, hands folded in front of him.

  “I’ve known James for years; we went to college together in Chicago – last night we figured out that you guys even lived in my hometown for a while, but James and I were probably a few grades apart in school.” he said quietly. Johnnie’s mental math told her that would make this guy around late 30-something, maybe 40? It was hard to tell, and she really didn’t care about ages... She was grateful he interrupted her thoughts.

  “I’m a lawyer.” He said softly, looking at her almost apologetically.

  “A lawyer?” She was aghast, yanking the comb upward, hand susp
ended in the air.

  He stood again and stole the air between them as he moved toward her, laughing as if he were embarrassed by his revelation.

  “I guess you liked me better when you thought I was a chauffeur, huh? But believe it or not, I put myself through college with hair. Want me help you with that?” He took the comb from her hand and just as she thought she’d end this deal on the spot by peeing her pants, her brother saved the day, entering from the kitchen and off the phone.

  “Before you get into your true calling there, Jeremy...I think she should use this.”

  James tossed a box in the air, which Jeremy caught, literally without looking, because he still looked at her. Great, Johnnie thought, he’s a super hero too. If she’d seen his actions earlier in the day, she would have been certain of it.

  Jeremy handed the box and comb to Johnnie with a small look of regret.

  “Good idea.”

  The box contained hair color...dark hair color.

  James explained that although they may not be able to prevent her being identified and recognized, with a change of appearance and her general anonymity, they may be able to “hold off the wolves,” until they could help her figure out whatever she needed to know.

  She protested as she jumped up to let Sandy and Betsy in; the intercom revealed the dog’s bark before Sandy’s voice requested entry.

  “I am not coloring my hair...maybe we can cut it or I’ll wear a hat. Or I can shave my head.” After opening the door, she looked at up at her personal bouncer and pointed accusingly at her brother,

  “He wants me to color my hair...”

  “Oh great...because I’m gay, you think I’ll do your hair now? Man, it just doesn’t end...”

  They compromised that night on no hair color, but agreed she would at least wear a hat when she finally left the building; as of yet, they still had no indication if anyone besides Mary would even identify her, especially now that the news gave little attention to the JFK bombing.

  James also told Johnnie that all their intended efforts should be accelerated since they had no idea where her situation “was going.” Unlike Byron and Wei, he didn’t sense her path and world events were somehow connected, but the man didn’t believe in random events and knew his sister was catapulting rapidly toward something profound with no sense of direction...and he needed to help her steer.

  She had reached the point of total saturation by the time he told her two of his trusted colleagues would visit the next day; he’d called upon an expert in hypnosis and a renowned psychic healer. She didn’t have the energy or words to protest. She accepted a folder from him with a little “light reading” regarding hypnosis, which he hoped would ease her obvious apprehension. After Sandy lifted her off her feet with a bear hug, James sent her off to bed with her reading and her dog.

  Feeling something like a tractor beam pull from behind her as she headed to her room, she peered over her shoulder. Jeremy stood calmly immobile near the front door with his hands in his pockets and captured her gaze once more.

  How did he do that?

  She surprised no one more than herself, when she asked, “So. You’ll be back?”

  Jeremy glanced at James, who nodded, and he looked back at her as if she were the only person in the world. He smiled, so kindly, as he reached for the door.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Ten minutes later, Johnnie was cursing as she shoved the pillows around. Betsy laboriously hauled herself alongside her keeper, sitting so close, Johnnie had to include her in on the conversation.

  “This is batshit...all of it, Betsy. Some crazy bitch wants to blow up the world and I happen to have to pee right then. Like that wasn’t enough, Sandy likes boys. That’s OK, but seems like I might have known, but look at him; he’s a freakin’ gorilla, for President’s sake.”

  Betsy sighed loudly in agreement and shoved her nose under Johnnie’s hand. Rubbing the dog’s muzzle, the woman continued to lament to her confidant.

  “Some former tabloid dude is apparently on my frequency...and my brother wants me to use Lady Clairol.” Truly feeling an unprecedented “girlfriend moment,” she seized the unsuspecting dog’s face, forcing direct eye contact.

  “What the hell? How could anyone who is a lawyer be that nice, and be a hero...which he must be...but be so nice...and that sexy and be that...way?” Betsy snorted and with a slightly panicked look, pulled her head from Johnnie’s grip. After shaking slobber across the bedding, she shoved her head into a pillow, probably feigning sleep till this woman regained her senses.

  Johnnie, realizing if she alienated a typically loyal dog, knew she needed to get a grip. Forcing visions from her overactive mind of exploding airports, creepy psychics, and images of herself ripping Jeremy’s clothes off, she leaned onto the pillow pile and opened the folder James had provided, focusing only on the portions of the text James, or whoever prepared this information, had highlighted. He knew her better than she realized; she never would have read this whole stack of papers, and was only interested in what might pertain to her. When she noted which portions stood out in yellow, she accepted he really did know his sister.

  “The most misunderstood element of hypnosis is the fear of being out of control...or under the control of another...Hypnosis is a completely natural state, in fact, people spend a large amount of time in self-induced hypnotic state.” She settled back and flipped through the data, picking up on such statements as, “...subject will not and cannot submit to suggestions for actions they would not do in a conscious state...will not share information they are uncomfortable sharing.”

  She was particularly interested in one expert’s analogy that the mind is like a massive tape recorder, cataloging nearly every detail of one’s life and that in most instances, near total recall is attainable under hypnosis.

  As a self-identified control freak, Johnnie assumed that she would probably not be susceptible to hypnosis; she’d heard there were people who could not be hypnotized. She reluctantly realized after a very small amount of study, that she was actually not only susceptible, as were most people, but that she’d spent large portions of her waking hours in self-induced hypnosis...immediate examples offered that came to mind were her time in the MRI tube, and the more recent and scary example of almost driving off the road because she was so removed in thought. The literature, primarily from the files of the very hypnotist she’d meet the next morning, repeatedly reinforced that it was a natural process. This may have been of more comfort to the woman if she felt her world were in a natural state these days.

  An hour later, as she gratefully drifted to sleep, she accepted that she either trusted her brother and the other team members, or she didn’t. This hypnosis thing may be a way to remember her blocked times...and maybe more...

  Her last thought was one that nothing could be scarier than going further on the journey alone in the dark... she relaxed with the comfort that she wasn’t alone anymore. Then she was in the dark, but fortunately, without thought.

  _____________________________________________________________

  Approximately 1000 miles west, the Hoffstedders piled folded clothing and selected toiletries on their bed. The suitcases were already out, and neither had changed clothes since returning from the home of Wei Liang.

  “Byron...I haven’t packed for years. And last time, okay, every time I’ve packed, I at least knew where I was going...” She was tired and excited, but as she stood over the complete chaos on her side of the bed, she was obviously exasperated. Nearly mimicking her busy husband’s neurotic habit, she raked her fingers through her own short gray hair, then dropped her hands to her hips.

  Byron had thrown clothes into his own suitcase, and was sorting through his still partially packed old toiletry bag to see what he needed. He had been so preoccupied, he hadn’t realized they hadn’t spoken in several minutes and Margie didn’t have an “autopilot” such as his when preparing to travel. He stopped in mid-dig, clearly in mid-thoug
ht, and looked absently--then apologetically—at his exasperated wife.

  “Geez, I’m sorry, Honey. Well, let’s see. What do you need...” He started empathetically, but she interrupted him.

  “Do you have any idea where we’re going or for how long? Honestly, I don’t care but...” She swung her hands around at the heaping options. “But unlike you, I need to account for more than two pairs of pants and a pile of skivvies... Are we leaving tomorrow?” She wanted so badly to be a game participant, but she showed signs of unraveling; Byron’s regret reminded him of his prime directive...Margie’s happiness.

  Feeling like a fool, he circled the bed, hands taking his guilt out on his battered hair.

  They faced each other and he took her hands,

  “We don’t have to do this...I don’t have to do this...” He started and she covered his mouth with her hand, speaking with a tired smile.

  “Stop. I haven’t changed my mind...and honestly, I’m not sure we will be allowed to turn away...” He was struck by the near exactness of her words to his own thoughts just days before. She saw his expression and stopped talking herself.

  “Margie, I feel the same way. I also feel like we need to stop believing in coincidences, at least while we’re in the middle of this.” He accented his last word, by squeezing her hands. His eyes smiled into hers and after kissing near her ear in the exact spot to extract goose bumps, he told her, in the same ear, “You have no idea how happy I am that we’re in this together.” He pulled away and sighed as she reached up and pinched his creased cheek.

  “Me too. Byron...when and where are we going?”

  He shrugged, heading back to his side of the bed.

  “East. Definitely. And I have a distinct feeling we’ll know something else by tomorrow...in fact, we leave tomorrow.” He stopped and looked across the comforter at all she’d collected so far, and added, “I can’t tell you anything beyond that, except, if I were you, I’d get at least one more suitcase...girly stuff takes up more room.”