The Book of Things to Come (Hand of Adonai Series 1)

by Aaron Gansky

  “It should,” he said. “Why isn’t it working?” He needed help. He needed a miracle.

  His amulet burned his chest again. Of course, he thought, and put it in his palm. He closed his eyes and put his hand on Lauren’s sore shoulder. He prayed in a language that still sounded foreign to him. At times, he had no idea what he said. Other times, he knew exactly what the words meant.

  Rich and full in his mouth, they marched up from his stomach, balled up like fists, and shot out. They came fast in places, punctuated with hard consonants and softened by long strings of vowels. His tongue rolled; it pressed his teeth and his lips; it clicked on the roof of his mouth.

  The more he prayed, the more the words made sense. He distinguished a pattern, a long, repeated phrase. “A miracle, a healing, Your power, Your glory.”

  Lauren shrugged, her head snapped back on her long, thin neck. The red sores turned black. The welts of raw flesh began to close. “Lauren,” Oliver said. “Can you hear me?”

  Aiden handed the torch to Erica and knelt beside Lauren. He took off his steel gauntlet and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m right here, Lauren.”

  * * *

  Lauren felt as if she floated in a tub of used motor oil. She tried to stretch out her arms and legs, but they hit an invisible wall. A black thought hit her hard, punched her like a fist—a coffin. She was dead and in a coffin. No doubt.

  Someone pulled the drain in the motor oil. It slid down over her skin, emptying from the space around her. The heaviness of her body returned, and immediately an invisible force pressed on her chest and her stomach. It pushed so hard, she wanted to throw up.

  The oil evacuated her coffin, but she was afraid to open her eyes, afraid if she did, she’d see nothing. But with the oil out of her ears, she heard chanting, some gibberish.

  I’m not dead, she thought. I’m crazy.

  Another voice, distant and echoing, clear as static, but familiar. She wanted to latch onto it like a rope and hope it would pull her home. “Lauren. Can you hear me?”

  A voice from the dark, “I’m here. I’m right here, Lauren.”

  She hardly recognized the word “Lauren” as her name. It sounded foreign, some strange adjective from a land far away or long ago.

  The pressing weight on her chest and stomach pushed harder, and she wanted to scream. Her head snapped back, but she would not open her mouth. The oil might return at any time.

  Harder, still harder it pushed. She would be crushed under something. She forced her eyes open, first, a little, a sliver of a slit between the lids. No oil. She opened a bit more. Darkness. Helpless against the urge to scream, she opened her mouth and screeched. The weight crushed her completely, and she fell. She arched her back, threw her head back until she thought she might tear the skin on her neck. She flailed her arms. The invisible walls dissipated, and she kicked her legs.

  Something clamped her ankles and wrists, pressed her shoulders down hard. Hands. Fingers. On her ankles and wrists and shoulders.

  The nar’esh? She remembered their long, sharp fingers, and she screeched like a bat. Her call echoed, came back to her again and again.

  Another noise over the ring of terror—her name. “Lauren.” She recognized it now.

  She screamed. She kicked and flailed.

  “Lauren!” A strong voice like deep water over a cliff. “Lauren, stop! You’re going to be okay, but we need you to stop struggling.”

  She didn’t trust the voice, didn’t believe it. But no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the voice compelled her to comply. She ceased her flailing and kicking and let the weight of her body settle her on the cold rock beneath.

  A dull orange glow in the shape of a halo spread out like sunsdown over a river.

  * * *

  The Halls who lived in the mansion near the lake were not the ones missing their daughter. Neither were the Halls who lived in the suburban development behind the Supervalu. The Halls who rented the dilapidated three-bedroom home on Shimmer Ave. hadn’t even heard of the missing girl. The Halls in the apartments east of North Chester High had only been married for a year and had no children at all. Bailey Renee liked them.

  She slid back into the Jeep and closed the door quickly. She rubbed her arms and shivered. “It’s starting to snow,” she said, brushing a few stray flakes from her hood and jeans.

  “Where to next?” Franky asked her.

  The afternoon sky grew dark with tenebrous clouds. Bailey Renee turned on the dome light and checked the list. She unzipped her parka, folded up the list, and put it in her pocket. “That’s it. No more Halls.”

  Franky didn’t start the car. “No more Halls in North Chester?”

  She shrugged. “None listed.”

  “So what’s that mean?” He started the Jeep and let it idle for a minute before shifting into gear.

  “It means Erica’s family isn’t listed, or they don’t live in North Chester, or someone lied to us.” Her tears threatened to return, but she was tired of crying, especially in front of Franky. A senior football star, he could have any too-pretty cheerleader he wanted. But he’d chosen her, a freshman, as his girlfriend. If she broke down and sobbed like a baby, it’d freak him out for sure. Why hang on to a freshman drama queen?

  “Hey,” Franky said, pulling her chin toward him. “You’re going to cry.”

  “No I’m not,” she said. Crying twice in one day might stab their new relationship.

  “Yes you are. You need to, anyway. Mom says it’s healthy. She cries all the time.”

  Bailey laughed a little.

  “You can laugh, or you can cry. It’s okay either way.”

  Though she wanted to choose laughter, crying won out. She reached out for him, hugged him hard.

  He wrapped her up in his arms and held her tightly. “We’ll find them,” he said. She fisted the back of his jacket and let herself cry.

  * * *

  With Lauren on the mend, Oliver turned his attention to Erica’s bleeding arm. She’d been standing too close to Lauren when Lauren started her convulsing and took one of the ice-spines in her shoulder. That’s when Oliver pinned Lauren’s shoulders to the rock. Aiden grabbed Lauren’s wrists, and Ullwen restrained her ankles. Still, Lauren’s knees pumped up and down.

  The deep, jagged wound on Erica’s shoulder made Oliver regret his decision to make the monk the only healer. Healing took time, took energy. And if anything ever happened to him, what would the others do?

  “I’m fine,” Erica said, holding her hand over the wound. Blood seeped from between her fingers.

  Lauren opened her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  Oliver released her shoulders and ran his hand over her forehead. Her skin had cooled to near normal temperatures. He felt for her pulse again. Faint, but there. He thanked God, and, in a flurry of emotions, kissed Lauren’s forehead. He whispered, “Don’t you ever do that again.”

  Lauren whispered, but it sounded like a squeak.

  “Easy,” Aiden said. His face twisted in concern. He took her hand. “Rest. I’m here.”

  Ullwen sneered at Aiden.

  Oliver told Aiden to monitor her pulse. “She should be fine now, but we want to be sure.” He walked to Erica and tried to swallow the knot of guilt that sat like an apple in his esophagus. “I can help,” he said.

  Erica shook her head. “It’s not that bad. You need to watch Lauren.”

  “Lauren will be fine.”

  “It’s that kind of thinking that just about killed her,” she said. Her eyebrows shrank toward her nose. “Don’t you get it? If you had told her to be careful not to be touched—”

  “She would have panicked and never gone alone with Ullwen.” Oliver didn’t feel the conviction with which he spoke. He didn’t believe what he said either, but he tried to. If he could believe it an accident, he could move on. If not, the guilt would crush him.

  “Are you listening to yourself?�
�� Erica asked. “You can be pretty dumb for a genius.”

  Oliver frowned, and guilt pushed up a geyser of nausea. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I only wanted to get us home.”

  Lauren coughed. “Oliver,” she said.

  He turned, at once grateful to hear her voice, and sickened at what she might say. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Like death,” she whispered.

  “You’re not all that bad,” he said with a smile. Less than a minute ago she had no pulse. A Lazarus-style miracle in any world.

  “You’re a liar,” she whispered.

  She had a right to be upset. “I didn’t want this for us. You have to believe me.”

  “I’m the one who wanted it,” she said, her hand firmly in Aiden’s. “I was dead, wasn’t I?”

  Oliver didn’t want to tell her the truth, but he nodded. His eyes tightened.

  “I remember it,” Lauren said. “I remember everything.”

  “What do you mean?” Aiden asked.

  “Everything,” she said. She spoke slowly and softly, taking big gulps of air. “If we die here, we are absolutely dead.”

  Chapter Twenty

  He who is without a name shall proclaim the name of the One who saves. He shall be of them, but not with them. And they shall give him a new name, and he shall rule over them, and restore his people to the mercy of Adonai.

  —The Book of Things to Come

  AIDEN PRICE’S FAMILY LIVED on Riverwood Drive, about ten blocks north of North Chester High, in a house smaller than the first Hall home, but a good deal larger than the apartments. The lights outside the gray split-level house glowed warmly.

  About fifteen minutes earlier, somewhere around four o’clock, the sun dropped behind the mountains. The snow clouds blocked what little light remained in the late afternoon. “Do you think anyone is home?” Bailey Renee asked.

  “His mom stays home, so she should be here.”

  “But there are no lights inside.”

  “She may be upstairs. The light in the study is on in the back of the house.”

  Bailey nodded. She slipped her parka back on. “Will you come with me?” She shouldn’t have to ask, but sometimes Franky needed a nudge.

  “Sure. Yeah.” Franky stepped out of the Jeep and Bailey followed him up to the front door, careful not to slip on the icy walkway. He knocked.

  Bailey stood close to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and they shivered together. He hummed, and her heart warmed.

  What a voice he had. Incredible warmth, a resonating vibrato. It was one of the things that had first made her notice him.

  But when she started dating him two months ago, she hadn’t figured it would last long. A senior and a freshman together just didn’t happen. And what would her mom say when he turned eighteen in six months?

  But it hadn’t mattered to her then. She liked him, and he liked her. Who cared about anything else? Now, though, here in his arms, his voice soothing her anxiety, she wanted it to last. “I like this.” A solemn sorrow lined her voice.

  “Me too.”

  The inside of the house lit up in yellow. The door swung open, and Mrs. Price stood at the threshold with mousy blonde hair askew. She’d not put on any makeup to disguise her red, swollen eyes. “Franky?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Price. This is Bailey Renee. Lauren’s sister.”

  Mrs. Price put a hand over her mouth. “Oh my.”

  “Can we talk for a bit?” Franky asked.

  “Of course.” She stepped out of the way and closed the door behind them.

  The Prices had a nice home. The furniture all smelled fresh from the showroom, from the modern black leather couches (a terrible idea for Minnesota—too cold in the winter, too hot in the summer), to the big screen LED television. By the look of it, dust had never touched the place. The smell of pine said Mrs. Price spent a good amount of time keeping things tidy.

  Two medieval swords hung above the fireplace. Paintings of fantasy scenes hung on the walls in rich, golden frames.

  “You like fantasy?” Bailey asked.

  “My husband,” Mrs. Price said. “I’ve never really been into it, but he’s a sucker for anything with dragons or swords.” She moved to the kitchen and motioned them toward the living room. “Let me fix you something to drink. What would you like?”

  “Nothing, thanks,” Bailey said.

  “I’ll take a Coke, please.”

  “Absolutely.” She sounded grateful for a distraction, for anything to take her mind off the tragedy of a missing son. “What are you guys doing for dinner? Do you want to stay here? Steven should be home in another thirty minutes or so. I have a roast in the crock pot, and there’s plenty to go around.”

  She tried to sound nonchalant, but her offer came out more as a plea.

  “I’m not sure what my mom has planned,” Bailey said, though the offer sounded good. For now, she’d give her mom a little more time to cool down and then call her.

  “So, what brings you two by?” Bailey understood the subtle, unspoken qualifier—since Aiden isn’t here. She poured Coke from a two-liter bottle into a Miami University glass.

  “We wanted to talk a bit, if that’s okay,” Franky said. “About Aiden.”

  Mrs. Price paused as she put the Coke back in the stainless steel fridge. “What do you want to talk about?”

  Bailey Renee cleared her throat. She held Franky’s hand and said, “Did he know any of the other three?”

  She took the glass to Franky and sat on the arm of the couch. “I don’t know. I think he knew your sister. He said something about her helping him with an essay a couple days ago. That was the last night I saw him.” Her voice took on a slight accusatory tone.

  “I remember. Franky had to give me a ride home after practice. Normally Lauren does. Did they know each other before then?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “What about Erica or Oliver?” Franky spoke softly. The gentleness of his voice amazed Bailey.

  “I don’t know anything about them,” she said. “I’ve already told the police all this. I’m sure they’re doing a fine job of locating the kids.”

  “I know. I’m trying to put the pieces together in my mind, too. I want to be able to help them as much as possible. I get this feeling,” Bailey said, “they’re all related somehow. Like they’re all together, and okay.”

  Mrs. Price stood up. She walked back to the kitchen to check on the roast. “A nice thought.”

  “You don’t feel that way?” Franky asked.

  She opened the lid of the crock pot, smelled the steam, poked at the roast, and replaced the glass lid. “What am I supposed to think, Franky? We haven’t been out here more than six months and already my son is missing.” She pointed out the sliding glass door to the small lake at the center of the residential area of North Chester. “For all I know he’s in the bottom of the lake!”

  Franky stood up. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Price. I don’t mean to upset you. We can go if you’d like.”

  Mrs. Price shook her head. “No. Please stay.” Her voice quavered, and she suddenly buried her face in her hands. She pounded a fist on the counter and cried in loud, quaking sobs. She turned her back to them, slid down to the floor, and cried and shook and cried and shook.

  Franky walked to her. He sat beside her and put an arm around her. He sang to her, something soft, without words. And his voice, soft and light, a summer’s breeze, elevated itself above her crying. She held on to him, and Bailey couldn’t blame her. His voice had that effect on people, made them want to reach out to him, to hold on to him, to cling to the strength in that voice.

  Bailey didn’t recognize the song, but she didn’t have to. The melody sounded like a father singing to a daughter. A church song, maybe? Bailey’s lungs convulsed in spasms. She tried so hard not to cry, but watching Franky on the floor singing to Mrs. Price was too much.

  After a few minutes, Mrs. Price finally started laughing.
“Look at me,” she said. She smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.”

  He helped her to her feet. “No apology needed.”

  Bailey stared at Franky’s Coke. Condensation ran down the sides of the glass to the wooden coaster it rested on.

  “You okay, Bailey?” Mrs. Price asked. She dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex.

  “I’m fine,” she said and cleared her throat. “If you don’t want to talk, I understand.”

  “I’m just so scared.” She sat on the couch opposite Bailey.

  Bailey Renee nodded. Franky sat next to her.

  “I was so proud when Aiden made the football team, and to see how talented he was. And he made friends quickly here. I knew he would. But Aiden is …” She searched for the right word. “I tried to keep him out of trouble in Miami, you know? Tried to make sure he’d find good friends to help him make good choices. But he didn’t. I thought the move back here would help. I grew up here and loved it. I thought he would, too. But he hated me for taking him away from Miami. And just when he started settling down, getting his grades back up a little, staying out of trouble in school, he vanishes.”

  Bailey Renee picked at her cuticle to keep from looking at Mrs. Price.

  “North Chester’s about as small as you can get in America. If we’re not safe here, where can we be safe?”

  Franky nodded. “I’m sure he’s fine. I’m sure they just got lost or something.”

  What a stupid thing to say. Of course Aiden wasn’t lost. If he’d gone somewhere with the others, one of them would have taken their phone. But none of them did. None of them took their cars, their keys, their phones, their iPods, or even a set of extra clothes. They hadn’t brought jackets, so they weren’t going for a walk. Even if they had, the Minnesota winter would have been enough to jeopardize their lives if they didn’t have someplace warm to stay.

  Her voice quavering, Mrs. Price whined, “I never should have moved us up here. This is all my fault.”

  If Bailey didn’t say something fast, Mrs. Price would break down into tears again. And if she did, Bailey wouldn’t be able to keep from joining her. She cleared her throat and asked, “Did Aiden belong to any groups? Like church groups or after-school clubs or anything?”