The Wiseman Revelation (The Wiseman Series Book 2)

by Hightower, R. C.

  Langston looked up at her. “Who?”

  “Dr. Wiseman.”

  “Oh.”

  Missy’s lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but she pressed them together and smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Langston nodded. “Thanks.”

  She gave a small wave, a peculiar smile on her lips. “Bye.”

  Langston watched her leave, releasing a breath he’d been holding. He hadn’t gotten a chance to meet, or speak with, Agent Roswell, but meeting Missy may have been better. She had her own motivation. Any information she found out for Langston could help her, too.

  Plus, Langston was fairly certain Missy knew he was Dr. Wiseman’s son.

  Langston sat up in bed, sweating and trying to catch his breath. Since he’d returned from Virginia over a month ago, his night terror had taken on new variations that included any combination of Missy, Dr. Chang, Dr. Wiseman, Carmen, or a faceless Agent Roswell.

  Getting up, he rubbed his eyes, walked into the living room and turned on the television. He stared dumbly at the screen as a woman with big, blond hair and a bleached white smile demonstrated how to make a smoothie in a blender.

  He and Missy had been playing a frustrating game of phone tag for the past two weeks, so he hadn’t been able to speak to her since meeting at Minty’s. In a voicemail, she said she’d spoken to her dad, and Langston was anxious to know the outcome of that conversation.

  “You are not going to find this price anywhere else,” the woman on television was saying. “We only have twenty more of the blue. That’s a very popular color.” She placed several fruits and vegetables in the blender with perfectly manicured hands. “You are not going to believe how delicious and healthy this is for you. You will definitely use this blender every day, folks.”

  Langston watched the blender’s contents liquefy and turn green and frothy. He stretched out on the couch and eyed his computer from across the room. He’d read every article and found every piece of information he could about William Wiseman and the trafficking case, but he was missing vital pieces of the puzzle that he was convinced only Agent Roswell could provide, if only he would.

  After an hour of restless channel surfing, Langston threw on a hoodie, jeans, and a pair of sneakers. He jogged downstairs and checked the time on his phone. Almost seven o’clock. It was the first day of spring, and it was freezing outside. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked around the block, breathing in the cool air and trying to clear his mind. He kept a good pace, fast enough to generate a little warmth.

  Traffic was picking up as people started their morning commutes. There were a few storm clouds in the sky, which had an odd and beautiful effect on the sunrise. Langston stopped next to his apartment building, staring at the colorful sky; deep orange and gold, like a fire on the horizon. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. He was convinced that his siblings were alive and wondered if any of them were here, in Seattle, watching this same sunrise.

  “Langston!”

  He jumped and whipped around. “Nate?”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Looking at the sunrise.”

  “That’s gay.”

  Langston rolled his eyes. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Looking for you. I was on the way to your place.” Nate pushed him toward the building. “Come on.”

  “Why? Does J.T. need something?”

  Nate looked behind his shoulder. “Let’s get inside. Hurry up.”

  Johnny was at the door. “Good morning, Langston.”

  “Hey, Johnny.”

  Johnny eyed Nate. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Um, this is someone I work with,” Langston said.

  Johnny pursed his lips. “Mmhmm.”

  At Nate’s urging, Langston said goodbye to Johnny, and he and Nate took the elevator upstairs.

  “Okay,” Langston said, closing the door to his apartment. “What’s up?”

  Nate looked around the apartment. “You need to watch your back.”

  “Why?” This was the first time Langston had seen Nate look genuinely earnest. “What’s going on?”

  “I had a delivery for J.T. this morning and I overheard him on the phone. He was talking to someone about your work and was using your real name.”

  “I thought he didn’t do that.”

  “I’ve never heard him do it until today.”

  Langston felt panic rise in his chest. “Who was he talking to?”

  “It sounded like a client. He was talking about weapons.”

  Langston had always thought Nate’s loyalty was with J.T. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You said someone shot at you a while back. Did you ever figure out who?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you were right. Maybe it had something to do with your work with J.T.”

  Langston studied Nate’s face. “Are you screwing with me?”

  “No.” Nate threw up his hands. “Dude, take it or leave it. Look, I gotta go. Do not tell J.T. I told you.”

  “I won’t.”

  Nate opened the door. “Later.”

  “Wait.” Langston held out his hands. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because we’re honest.”

  Langston cocked his head. “Honest?”

  “Yeah, what we do is honest.” Nate looked indignant. “It’s not legal, but it’s honest. We do what we say. If J.T. says he’s going to make a sale, he makes a sale. If he says he’s going to shoot you in the head...” Nate formed his hand into a gun. “Bam! It’s done.”

  “Still not following you.”

  “He tells the techs and the clients that he doesn’t deal with real names. He told me that. I don’t like being lied to.”

  “Me, either.”

  “So there it is.” Nate started walking. “I gotta go.”

  Langston nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Whatever.”

  By the time Langston had taken a shower and gotten in the car to head to Bronze Leaf, he had a full-blown headache, left with more questions than answers. Something had to give, and soon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Langston and Everett sat at Mario’s across the street from Bronze Leaf. As was his practice, Everett ate half of his pastrami sandwich before discarding the top slice of bread. He started pulling off slices of meat, eating them layer by layer.

  “I have something to tell you,” Langston said.

  Everett looked up. “You hear something else about Antoinette?”

  “No, this is about me.”

  Everett raised his eyebrows.

  “My mom admitted that she’d been keeping some secrets about by biological parents.”

  “Like what?”

  “First off, she totally lied about my biological mom.”

  “Celeste?”

  Langston shook his head. “That picture I have? That’s not her. It’s just a random picture of a girl.”

  “That’s messed up!”

  “Agreed. I went a little nuts when she told me.”

  “I would have, too.” Everett resumed eating. “Why’d she do that?”

  “She said that she was trying to protect me.”

  Everett looked dubious. “From what?”

  “From the truth.” Langston took a breath. “William and Eve Wiseman are my parents.”

  “Of course they are. And this morning I came to work on the USS Enterprise. Parked it right on top of the deck. Captain Picard is in our office right now.”

  Langston wiped his hands with a napkin. “I know how this sounds, but Dr. Wiseman did have a son named Langston who would be my age now—”

  “Except for that pesky business of being worm food.”

  “Really, Everett?”

  “Sorry, PC police. Deceased. That better?”

  “No. Not better. I’m alive.” Langston waved his hands in front of Everett’s face. “See? I’m here.”

  “God, I hope you’re on drugs. That would
make everything better. To know there is a reason why you can be so whacked sometimes.”

  “Just listen.” Everett shook his head, but Langston continued before he could say anything else. “My mom told me I need to talk to this Homeland Security agent, Jake Roswell. I called and called and he never called me back, so I went to his house. That’s what I was doing that weekend I went to Virginia. His wife wasn’t any help, but his daughter Missy said she wanted to talk to me.” Langston took a bite of pickle. “I met her the next day and we talked about our matching marks and her dad and tried to figure out what he was hiding.”

  Everett watched a guy ride by the plate glass window on a Segway scooter. “You must be on the best blow ever. Like Breaking Bad quality.”

  “Blow is cocaine. They made meth on Breaking Bad. Crystal. Crank.”

  “Oh.” Everett took a gulp of soda. “I hadn’t realized you were a drug street slang expert.”

  Langston shrugged. “I read things. Can we please get back on subject?”

  Everett dropped a slice of pastrami on his deli paper, pursed his lips, and crossed his arms. “Sure. But just know that none of what you said made sense.”

  Langston turned his head and folded his right ear. “See this?” He released his ear and turned back to Everett. “Agent Roswell’s daughter has this exact same mark on her foot. Neither of us thinks it’s a coincidence. Her dad knew William Wiseman. I think Agent Roswell was involved in the cover-up story about the Wiseman kids getting killed in that car crash. He is the key to everything, and I think that’s why he’s not returning my calls.”

  Everett sighed, blowing pastrami breath across the table. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, saying slowly, “I can’t do this with you.”

  “I’m not crazy,” Langston said. “My mom came clean about everything. That’s why I bailed on work that day I pretended to be sick. She’d told me the night before and I couldn’t handle it.”

  Everett dropped his usual playful tone. “Your mom seems like a nice lady, and I’m sure she believed what she told you but—”

  “Everett.”

  “I’m just saying that we trust and rely on our parents as we grow up, so it’s a little hard to accept when they, you know, stop running on all four cylinders.”

  “My mom’s not crazy. People used to say that Dr. Wiseman was a genius and that he had the potential to revolutionize the field of genetics.”

  “And he did. What’s that got to do with this?”

  Langston stood. “Let’s go. I need to show you something.”

  They got up, threw away their deli paper, and stacked their red plastic baskets over the trash can. Everett didn’t speak as they walked across the street.

  “Missy was in a wheelchair for almost two decades,” Langston said. “She was never supposed to walk again. Her dad took her to a clinic and she was knocked out for two days. When she came to, she had the mark on her foot and was walking within a year.” Langston opened the door to Bronze Leaf and waited until they passed the security guards before continuing. “Every paper I’ve read about Missy’s condition says she’s not supposed to be walking right now, but she is. That mark signifies something. It means we’ve been set apart.”

  “Okay, fine. This Missy person just happens to have the same mark as you, and her story sounds unbelievable. Literally. I don’t believe it.” Everett punched the elevator button. “If the mark is so special, what can you do?”

  “Glad you asked.” Langston waited until they were in the privacy of the elevator and looked up at the dead security camera. The cameras had recently been installed and, according to Dana, they weren’t scheduled for activation until later in the month. “Take that change out of your pocket.”

  Everett pulled a few coins from his khakis and tried to hand them to Langston.

  “Hold them like this.” Langston held out his hand flat with the palm up. Everett followed suit. Langston stared at the coins—a quarter, a dime, and two pennies—and, one by one, they levitated out of Everett’s hand.

  Everett immediately snatched his hand away and retreated into a corner of the elevator, his eyes wide. “What the f—”

  “Relax!” Langston said, letting the coins fall to the elevator floor. “Relax.”

  He reached for Everett, but Everett slid along the wall, avoiding his touch and saying, “What kind of shit was that?”

  “Chill. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Everett kept dodging Langston, running around in small circles.

  “Would you stop?” Langston laughed. “You’re making the elevator bounce.”

  Everett stopped, still wide-eyed and breathing heavily. “How long has this been going on?”

  Langston thought. “Around three months.”

  Everett kept looking back and forth between Langston and the coins on the floor until the doors opened. Langston picked up the coins, and they walked to their office. He put them on Everett’s desk and shut the door.

  “Are we cool?” Langston asked.

  “I don’t even know.” Everett inclined his head, eying the coins. “Do it again.”

  “Okay,” Langston said warily, “but you can’t freak out and go running around. This is supposed to be a secret.”

  Everett nodded.

  Langston sighed, moving over to block the door in case anyone tried to walk in. “Okay.” Slowly, the coins rose up from the desk. They spiraled around Everett’s chest and then kept an orbit around his head. Everett stiffened, but didn’t yell or run. He didn’t turn his head, but his eyes followed the coins.

  “How are you doing this?” Everett asked through clenched teeth.

  “I concentrate on where I want them to go… and they do.”

  Everett reached up tentatively and poked the quarter. It wobbled out of orbit, but continued floating. He plucked it out of the air and examined it. Then he grabbed the dime and two pennies, staring at them in his hand. He gawked at Langston. “That mark gives you superpowers?”

  “I think it’s more like those who have special abilities get the mark, like my telekinesis or Missy being able to walk again.”

  “Can you do anything else? You can’t shoot lasers out of your eyes or anything like that, right?”

  “I’m not Cyclops.”

  Everett smiled mischievously. “You ever try that on a person?”

  It hadn’t crossed Langston’s mind to move people. “No.”

  Everett raised his eyebrows.

  “What?” Langston said.

  “Wanna try it?”

  “On…?”

  Everett flung his arms out wide.

  Langston smiled. “Seriously?”

  “Why not?”

  “For starters, you were totally freaking out ten minutes ago.”

  Everett dropped his arms. “Give me a break. It’s not like I pissed myself.”

  Well, no better time to test this. “Okay, but remember I’ve never done this, so I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  Everett squatted, closed his eyes, and held his breath like he was about to jump into a pool.

  “What are you doing?”

  Everett peeked out of one eye. “Getting ready.” He closed the eye.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  He maintained his stance. “Just do it.”

  Langston shook his head, took a deep breath, and concentrated for several seconds.

  Everett peeked at him again. “Nothing’s happening.”

  “Give me a second. You’re heavy.”

  Everett shut his eyes. “You don’t have to be insulting.”

  Langston focused on Everett. He felt a twinge in the back his head as Everett’s eyes popped open.

  “Whoa!”

  Everett’s feet came off the carpet, and he threw his arms out for balance. His jaw dropped, and he watched himself rise a few feet off the floor. Langston had intended to move Everett only a few inches to the right, but lost control and slammed him, still in midair, into t
he file cabinet.

  Everett’s feet flailed. “Watch it!”

  “My bad.” Langston moved Everett away from the cabinet and raised him higher, all the way to the ceiling, right up to the florescent light.

  Everett laughed hysterically. “Oh my God, this is so weird.”

  Excruciating pain shot through Langston’s temple. He gasped and grabbed his head. He fell back on his desk as he heard a loud thump and Everett cry out.

  “Ow!”

  Everett was on his back on the floor. His foot had gotten caught in his chair on the way down and one leg was propped on the seat.

  “Sorry,” Langston said, trying to blink away the pain. “Are you okay?”

  Everett frowned and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no thanks to you.” He pulled his foot off the chair and righted himself after a lot of grunting. “Langston?”

  Langston was still leaning against his desk, letting the pain subside. He held up his hand. “I’m alright. This happens sometimes.”

  Everett sat heavily in his chair, making it squeak. “This is madness.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and Langston opened it.

  “Are you guys hearing this?” Cody asked.

  Langston and Everett looked at each other.

  “Hearing what?” Langston asked.

  Cody opened the door wider. “Listen.”

  There were raised voices down the hall.

  “That’s Dr. Pillay,” Everett said.

  Cody nodded. “Wanna go see what’s up?”

  “Yeah.” Everett got up and limped to the door.

  “What happened to you?” Cody asked.

  Everett gave Langston a furtive glare. “Nothing.”

  “Coming?” Cody asked Langston.

  “Nah. Tell me what you find out.”

  Cody left the office with Everett in tow. When they were out of sight, Langston went into the hallway and waited. Antoinette came down the hall, walking huffily. He got onto the elevator with her.

  “Why is Dr. Pillay yelling?” he asked.

  She tossed her long hair behind her shoulder. “Because he’s a greedy bastard, that’s why.”

  “What happened?”

  Antoinette pursed her lips and dug through her bag. She pulled out a phone and started texting.