The Wiseman Revelation (The Wiseman Series Book 2)

by Hightower, R. C.

  Langston turned around and looked at the back of Everett’s head. “What do you know about keeping the black man down, Everett?”

  Everett turned around. “Dude. I’m all about truth.” He pointed at Langston fervently. “Cancer treatment generates a ton of revenue. Wiseman was messing with their money! That dude was treating people right and left! They had to get rid of him and his peeps.”

  Langston rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”

  “I am serious. Welcome to Amer’cah, bitch!”

  Langston stared at him, deadpan.

  “Okay, fine.” Everett dropped his hands. “For reals? I don’t know what happened with that family, but it was obviously messed up. I know people make Wiseman out to be a hero—and he was—but you can’t tell me something wasn’t dirty about that whole thing. I don’t care what the news says. Nothing is that coincidental. And anyone who’s had that great of success in medicine probably isn’t going to give away all his secrets.”

  Langston nodded, turning back to his screen slowly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought, too.”

  Langston and his mother sat on the floral sofa in her den.

  “I did some digging around last night,” he said.

  Khone patted his knee. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Langston looked around the room. The walls and mantel were decorated with photos of Khone and Langston over the years. A watercolor painting of a red barn in a wheat field, a product of a class Khone had taken, hung over the fireplace. The cream, navy, and gold striped wallpaper was a bit dated, but felt right in the cozy room.

  “I’m sorry about the mirror,” Langston said. “I should have stayed to clean it up.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, I don’t think you understand.” He swallowed. “I can’t explain it, but I think I might be—and I know this sounds crazy—but I think I might be…” Langston struggled to find the right way to explain.

  “Telekinetic?” Khone offered calmly. “I wondered when you’d find out.”

  Langston gaped at her. “You knew?”

  “As a parent, it’s kind of hard to ignore.”

  Langston sputtered out his jumbled thoughts. “What? When? How?”

  “You were three, and I’d just gotten you your first set of Legos—the big kind so you wouldn’t choke. I spread them out on the floor and went to get your blanket. I heard you laughing and came back to see what was funny. Plastic blocks were hovering in the air, spinning in a circle.” Khone shook her head as if the memory still gave her a shock. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing at first. I just let you play.” The smell of coffee wafted in, and Khone got up. “I’m brewing a pot. It’s decaf. Want me to make your drink?”

  Langston nodded and followed her to the kitchen. She continued, taking out two mugs from the cabinet. “I couldn’t send you back to daycare in that condition. I thought about home school, but I needed to keep working if I didn’t want to do too much damage to my savings. So, I did what I had to do.”

  “Which was what?”

  “I gave you a little help.”

  She sat the mugs on the counter, filled them with coffee, and stirred in cream and sugar into one and malted powder into the other.

  Langston dragged his cup across the counter. “Meaning…”

  “Remember those fruit-shaped vitamins I used to give you every morning?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They weren’t vitamins.”

  “What were they?”

  “Mmm.” Khone tilted her head from side to side. “I guess you could call them suppressants.”

  “You guess?”

  She blushed. “Well, when you’re young and new to a place and your English isn’t great, you find people, some of whom are doing illegal things.” She held up her hands when Langston started to protest. “He was a good friend who had ties with a few people in medicine. I told him I needed something that would calm you. At the time, everyone’s child had ADHD, so I said you had it, too.”

  Langston leaned against the counter and took a sip. “Wow.”

  “I was careful. You know I’d never hurt you.”

  Langston shook his head. He knew her intentions had been good, but he wasn’t sure she’d exactly been careful. “So what happened?”

  “You stopped making your toys float, so you went back to daycare.”

  “But I quit taking the vitamins, or whatever they were, when I was what? Seven?”

  “My friend had to go away for a while.”

  “I assume you mean jail.”

  “And,” Khone continued, ignoring him, “I didn’t know who else to ask. When you came back from school day after day with no incident, I figured it was gone, like a muscle you didn’t use anymore.”

  “And Agent Roswell never said anything?” Langston asked.

  “I called him after your Lego episode. By then I’d put two and two together about Dr. Wiseman and all of that. I asked him if you were Dr. Wiseman’s son.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me that information was ‘classified.’ He liked that word. I told him you’d done something odd—I didn’t say what—but I said I was worried. He said,” Khone looked down at her shoes, “wait, let me get this right.” She lowered her voice and tried to adopt a Southern accent. “‘Khone, this case is unique. You may find that you’ll need to come up with creative solutions for your son’s condition.’”

  It was an awful accent. Langston burst out laughing.

  She smiled. “Well, that’s what he sounded like.”

  Langston thought about his ability being like an atrophied muscle. Just in the little time he’d had to practice, he felt like his control was improving. He sipped his steaming drink and tried to broach the next subject carefully. “I read the trial transcripts.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Khone said.

  Langston wanted to tell her he was sorry. He wanted to thank her for surviving so that she could be his mom, to praise her for never letting what had to be overwhelming emotional repercussions affect his upbringing, and to express the rage he felt toward Dr. Chang. Instead, he put down his cup and hugged her, holding her tightly and resting his chin on the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  She patted his back. “Don’t worry, Langston.”

  He let go. “What happened to the others?”

  “I don’t know. I never saw them again after I left the hospital, and Jake wouldn’t tell me where they were.”

  “I can’t believe Dr. Chang was released from prison. Something about a legal loophole?”

  “I’m glad he’s gone. I don’t care where he is as long as he’s not near me.”

  Langston wrapped his hands around the warm mug. “They think he fled the country.”

  “Good,” Khone said. “He can stay there. If I ever lay eyes on him, I’ll kill him.”

  Not if I kill him first, Langston thought. “I also saw that Agent Roswell lives in Virginia now.”

  Khone didn’t say anything.

  “And, I was thinking that maybe I should… try to contact him. Just, like, a phone call.”

  She nodded slowly.

  Langston bit his bottom lip. “What do you think?”

  Khone sighed heavily and peered into his half empty cup. “Want more?”

  “Yes, please.” He waited for her to top off his mug. “So what do you think?”

  “I wish I could shelter you from this a little longer, but now that the door is open, it can’t be closed, can it?” Langston shook his head, and Khone sat at the dining room table. “When?”

  “Soon,” he said.

  “What do you hope to find?”

  “The rest of the pieces to my life. The answers to questions that only come in my nightmares.” Langston looked down. “I’m going to call him whether you agree or not, but I
really would like your blessing.”

  “I know,” Khone said. “And you have it.”

  Langston felt a weight lift. “Thank you.”

  “And when you talk to Jake, ask him about that mark behind your ear.”

  Sometimes Langston’s barber teased him about the small crescent shape behind his right ear. It was something that Langston was aware of, but since he couldn’t readily see it every day, it was out of sight, out of mind. “I thought you said it was a birthmark.”

  “That’s what Jake told me it was, but ask him anyway.”

  Langston rubbed behind his right ear, though he couldn’t feel the mark, and wondered what more his mother might be keeping from him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Langston had been searching the Internet for fifteen minutes before Everett arrived at his apartment.

  “What’d you find?” Everett asked, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch and sidling up next to Langston in another chair.

  “So here’s the thing.” Langston turned the laptop so that Everett could see. “Antoinette Grayson popped up in California seven years ago. I can’t find where she’s from, what year she was born, where she went to school… nothing. She just appears.”

  Everett scratched his chin. “What about the company?”

  Langston opened another window. “Here’s ELP.” He gave Everett time to skim the article.

  “It doesn’t say anything about ELP, though,” Everett said. “It mentions that her husband owns the company, but doesn’t say what the company does.” Everett raised his eyebrows. “PR rhetoric at its finest.”

  “Right. I found seven other sources that mention Eve, Lane and Pope, but they all just cite one another. There’s no unique or independent source.”

  Everett pulled the computer away from Langston and typed. When he clicked on a link a picture appeared. Antoinette was sitting at what appeared to be a fundraising dinner. A fit young man sat beside her in a baby blue pinstriped suit. His hair had been carefully coiffed, his eyebrows precisely shaped, and he sat cross-legged, holding a place card like a cigarette.

  “Please tell me that’s not her husband,” Everett said.

  Langston read the caption. “Eric Lane with wife Antoinette Grayson.”

  “Yeah,” Everett said slowly. He typed in “Eric Lane and Eve, Lane, and Pope,” and they started reading.

  “So he grew up poor, held odd jobs…” Langston said.

  Everett typed. “And took a lot of selfies with other guys.”

  Langston opened a package of Oreos. He took four for himself and slid the rest to Everett.

  “Did you see that Eric didn’t finish high school?” Langston asked, popping a cookie in his mouth.

  Everett nodded. A grainy, wobbly home video started playing. A teenage Eric was pleasuring a man who appeared to be in his late sixties.

  “Jackpot!” Everett shouted.

  Langston coughed and cookie crumbs flew everywhere. “Close it! Close it!”

  Everett let the movie play, laughing and holding the computer away from Langston.

  “Everett!” Langston snatched the laptop and closed the window.

  “I believe Mister Eric Lane found himself a sugar momma!” Everett sounded delighted.

  Langston brushed off the crumbs from the desk and his shirt. “I was not ready for that.”

  Everett took a cookie from the package. “Are we sure Antoinette and Eric are legally married, or is this some sort of common law situation?”

  Langston typed. “Here’s the wedding announcement. I can’t get through the Register of Deeds for the official license, but I think this will do.” Langston read. “How convenient.”

  “What?”

  “They got married the same year Antoinette appeared out of nowhere. Seven years ago.”

  Everett leaned back in his chair, chewing loudly and smacking as he talked. “Okay. Let’s think about this. Antoinette’s the one with the money. Why would she marry Eric? And why is his name in the company name, but not hers? And who the heck are Eve and Pope?”

  Langston looked at the screen. “This has got to be her idea. He might be riding her money train—”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing of hers he’s riding.”

  “—but she’s got to be getting something out of this.”

  As they perused more information, Langston saw that, as the years had progressed, Eric’s flamboyance calmed. The brightly colored suits became dark and modest. The whimsical hair was cut short. The Broadway show smile was replaced with diplomatic pleasantness.

  Langston and Everett watched a short video of him speaking at an entrepreneur’s convention. His stance and language were worthy of any politician. He’d attended most of the events alone. It appeared that in the last three years, Antoinette had only shown up to a handful.

  “This woman is like a puppet master,” Langston said. “Look how she’s pulling this guy’s strings.”

  Everett grabbed another cookie and separated it, exposing the cream in the middle. He scraped it off with his teeth. “She basically bought Eric and turned him into a representative for her company. She slapped his name on it, but clearly she controls it, and him. That’s probably why she didn’t take his last name. Didn’t want things to get too intertwined.” He ate the remainder of the cookie. “Seeing her at Bronze Leaf is probably like sighting Big Foot. This woman likes flying under the radar.”

  “And it appears that she paid Dr. Pillay to screw over LifeCorp and lie to us, and probably the university too. There’s no telling how far her reach goes.” Langston stared at Antoinette’s picture.

  “Do me—and you—a favor,” Everett said. “Don’t go looking for her anymore. I think this woman is serious trouble.”

  There was a knock on the door and Langston heard Jade’s voice from the other side. “It’s me.”

  Everett perked up. “Ooo!”

  “Behave,” Langston said, opening the door.

  Jade smiled and hugged him. She jumped when she spotted Everett. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”

  “No problem.” Langston pulled her inside. “Jade, this is Everett. He’s the one I work with at Bronze Leaf. Everett, Jade.”

  Everett got up and shook Jade’s hand. “I know who you are. You’re the only thing Langston talks about. Jade this, and Jade that. Jade, Jade, Jade.”

  She smiled. “Oh really?”

  “He never shuts up about you. I’m like, ‘Dude, we have to do work!’ And he’s like, ‘But I gotta talk about Jade for three more hours.’”

  She laughed.

  Langston grabbed Everett’s jacket from the couch. “Thanks for stopping by, Everett.”

  “Oh. Am I leaving?”

  Langston pressed the jacket against Everett’s chest. “You are. Bye.”

  “I see how it is. Your girlfriend walks in the room and your boy takes a back seat. That’s foul, bro.” Everett winked at Jade.

  “Bye, Everett,” Langston said, pushing him out and closing the door before he could say anything else.

  Jade sat on the couch. “He’s funny.”

  Langston sat beside her. “He is.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to stop by, say hey.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Langston kissed her. “I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

  “About what?”

  He turned his head and pushed his ear forward. “Can you see that?”

  “Aww! It’s so cute!” She touched the birthmark.

  He looked at her. “Do you think it looks weird?”

  “No, why?”

  “My mom mentioned it.”

  Jade pulled out a small pack of gummy bears from her pocket. “My niece has a birthmark on her leg that looks exactly like a shamrock.” She offered him a few bears. They were warm and stuck together. “How are things going with your mom?”

  “Better.” Langston worked the sweet gummy pieces from between his teeth with his tongue. “There’
s a man in Virginia who knew my birth father. I’m thinking about giving him a call.”

  “Do you think he knows where your dad is?”

  Langston shook his head. “He passed away already.”

  “I’m so sorry. How did you find out?”

  He scratched his chin, feeling the stubble. “My mom came clean about some stuff. She knew who he was all along, but chose not to tell me.”

  She slipped her arm around him and rubbed his back, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Why?”

  “She had her reasons.” He stared at the black television screen, the Christmas gift from his mom. “I feel lost.”

  She squeezed him. “Can I do something?”

  He smiled. “You’re doing it.”

  They sat in silence, Langston enjoying the steady stroking of her fingers on his back.

  At dawn, Jade sat with Langston on the cool bathroom tiles as he sweated and heaved after another nightmare. He got up on shaky legs and rinsed his mouth at the sink. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Jade said.

  “I’m barfing all over the place. It’s gross.”

  She shushed him and held a cool, damp washcloth on the back of his neck. “Was it her again?”

  Langston nodded, remembering the nightmare. “She’s just gushing blood and screaming. It’s driving me crazy.”

  They padded back to his bed and sat on the edge. Out of habit, Langston took out the picture from his bedside table drawer and flipped it over.

  “Celeste,” Jade read, leaning over. “Who’s that?”

  Langston crushed the photo in his fist and threw it at the trash can. It bounced off the metal rim and landed on the floor. “The person I thought was my biological mother.”

  “Is that what you and your mom fought about?”

  “Yeah.” Langston got in the bed and Jade slipped in beside him. They watched the moon and clouds make eerie shadows on the ceiling. “She said she adopted me from an unwed teenager named Celeste and gave me that picture to hang on to. The day I broke her mirror, that was the day she admitted not only that the girl in the picture wasn’t my biological mother, but that she didn’t even know who the girl was.”