by Bill Myers
Try as he did, he was unable to avoid the piercing sting of her fingertip. He felt as punctured as a pincushion. His lungs began to constrict as he tried to catch his breath. Somewhere in the distance, a bell started ringing. The hollow clanging echoed in his head until it throbbed.
Scott tried to sit upright — had to sit up — but Madame Theo knocked him down with a blow to the chest. The force of her hand compressed the remaining air from his burning lungs. He felt a prolonged pressure crushing against his rib cage as if caught in the jaws of a giant invisible vise.
“Stay away from Philip,” she bellowed. She reached out and grabbed the corner of the bed. With a jerk, she sent the bed spinning in a circle. Scott held on for dear life.
Like a wounded animal, Madame Theo howled, “He’s mine . . . all mine.”
Just as quickly as the ordeal had started, it stopped.
The bed came to a rest. Madame Theo was gone.
With the exception of the thunder and the rain pelting the roof, the room was deadly silent. In the thick silence that followed her stormy appearance, the ringing inside of Scott’s head grew louder and louder, more intense with each second until he could no longer bear it. Covering his ears with the palms of his hands, Scott yelled, “Stop it!”
With a blink, Scott woke from the nightmare. Drenched in sweat, his heart hammering against his chest, he sat up and tossed his legs over the edge of the bed. The windows were closed. The drapes hung in place.
The phone was ringing.
Scott fumbled in the dark for the portable handset. “Hello?”
“Scott?”
The voice was familiar, but the connection was so bad he didn’t recognize it at first. “Yeah?”
“It’s Philip.”
Scott sat upright, alert. Was this part of the nightmare too? After all, Philip was the last person he expected to hear from. Scott switched on a lamp. He was awake. This was no dream. “What time is it?”
“Like, 9:45,” Philip said. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“I . . . I must have dozed for a minute,” Scott said.
As he regained consciousness, Scott was about to give Philip a piece of his mind for yelling at him at school when Z’s words — just love him — came to mind. Scott blew a short breath. He really wasn’t in a mood to be loving. Then again, maybe this was one of those divine appointments Z always talked about.
“Scott?”
“I’m here,” Scott said, rubbing the spots where Madame Theo had poked him in his dream.
“I’ve been trying to get through, but your line was busy.”
See, Scott thought, he’s already trying to pick a fight. Instead of jumping to conclusions, Scott said, “I was online. Um, that is, before I fell asleep. So what’s up, man?”
“I . . . I could really use your help.”
“Mom, can I borrow the car?” Scott asked. Although he had turned sixteen a month ago and had been taking drivers ed, he knew it was a long shot if she agreed. He stood in the doorway to her bedroom where she was reading a book in bed.
“Isn’t it kind of late?”
Scott resisted a yawn. “Yeah, but Philip’s car broke down. He needs a lift. I figure it’s the least I can do for him.”
She placed a finger in the page where she had been reading and then partially closed the book. “I don’t know. It’s raining pretty hard out there — ”
“I’ll be careful.”
She studied his face. “I know you want to help, but can’t Philip just call a tow truck?”
“Yeah, he might have been able to, but I think his battery went dead or something,” Scott said, leaning against the doorjamb.
“I don’t know,” she said, placing the book in her lap. “Maybe I should get up and take you.”
“I really don’t think that’d be too cool,” Scott said. “I mean, thanks for the offer and all that, but I think we’ve got some stuff we need to hash out.”
Mrs. Williams nodded. “Okay, son. Just be home by eleven. Remember, better safe than sorry.”
Scott kissed her on the forehead, grabbed the keys, and headed for the car.
Scott followed Philip’s directions until he spied Philip’s car by the side of the road. He pulled alongside of the convertible and, reaching across the seat, Scott unlocked the passenger door.
“Thanks, dude,” Philip said, once inside.
“Hey, what are friends for.” Scott handed Philip a towel to dry his face and said, “Here, my mom suggested I bring this for you.”
“Your mom’s cool. Thanks.” He started to towel down his hair. “You know, I should have asked you to just bring a gas can. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“Even if you had,” Scott said with a smile, “I passed the gas station and it was already closed.” He carefully made a U-turn and headed back to town. He considered telling Philip about his bizarre dream with Madame Theo but figured he might just get defensive. “So what happened to the big date? I thought you were going out with Krissi, Ryan, and Becka tonight.”
Philip dried the back of his neck. “Honestly?”
Scott tossed him a look. “Sure.”
“I’m pretty confused these days, you know?”
Scott thought of a wisecrack but decided against saying it.
“Anyway,” Philip said, toweling down his arms, “I just didn’t see the point, at least, not after what Madame Theo said today.”
At the mention of her name, Scott’s heart flinched. “You saw her again?”
Philip cautiously eyed Scott.
“Look, about today . . . I am so sorry, man,” Scott said. “I shouldn’t have talked about you behind your back. I mean, it’s not like I was gossiping. It’s just that some of us think you’re changing. We care, that’s all.”
Philip wrapped the towel around his neck. He leaned an elbow against the passenger door. “Can I trust you not to blab?”
Scott nodded. “I promise.”
For the next several minutes, Philip told Scott about the five-card spread, Madame Theo’s interpretation, and the changes he thought he needed to make — including putting some distance between himself and Krissi. After he was finished, Philip fell silent.
For his part, Scott wanted to warn him about the dangers of getting involved with tarot cards. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Philip was walking on very dangerous ground. Instead of giving him a lecture, he tried a different approach.
“You’re taking this tarot stuff pretty seriously, huh?” Scott said, stealing a quick look at his passenger.
“I don’t know what to think,” Philip said. “But — ”
“But what?”
“Something happened today that was kind of weird.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Like, how?”
“She got a package. One of those overnight deals,” Philip said, looking out his window. “It came during my session.”
“What’s so weird about that?”
“I could be wrong, but she started acting really different afterward,” Philip said. “It was like she had lost interest in the cards and wanted me to leave.”
Scott wrinkled his nose. “I don’t get it. What’s wrong with that? She probably had stuff to do.”
Philip shook his head. “Actually, the weird part had to do with the name on the package.”
“How’s that?”
“Just that it was addressed to somebody called Rita Thomas.”
“So?”
“Well, she’s the only one there,” Philip said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s nothing. But Rita’s name was crossed out and it said a.k.a. Madame Theo or something like that.”
Scott looked at Philip and waited for an explanation. “What’s a.k.a. mean?” he finally asked.
“That means ‘also known as,’ ” Philip said.
Scott allowed the information to sink in. Then it hit him. “So Madame Theo is also known as Rita Thomas.”
“I knew there was something going on with her,” Philip said.
Th
ey rode in silence for half a mile, when Scott asked, “Why the different names?”
“That’s what I don’t get,” Philip said, wiping his face with the towel again. “Why doesn’t she just call herself Madame Rita? Unless — ”
Scott finished his sentence. “Unless she’s hiding something.”
“But what’s she hiding?”
12
Philip ducked inside the kitchen door, hoping to dash up the back staircase to his room without being detected by his dad. He could tell his dad was still awake by the bluish flicker of light in the den. Philip figured he had probably fallen asleep with the TV on, but he didn’t take any chances. He removed his waterlogged sneakers and started for the steps.
A voice from the den called out, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Philip swallowed hard. “Just after eleven.”
“May I ask where you’ve been all night?” his dad asked, appearing at the door to the kitchen. A beer dangled from the fingers in his right hand.
“I kind of ran out of gas, sir.”
A pained look crossed his father’s face. He took a sip from the can. “You what?”
“I ran out — ”
“I heard you the first time. Now sit down.”
Philip took a seat at the kitchen table. He had an idea of what was coming and desperately wanted to avoid another argument. But how? Once Dad started drinking, it was impossible to have a rational conversation.
“You expect me to believe that story, buddy boy?” his dad said, staggering toward the table. “Well, I don’t. I wasn’t born yesterday. You were out with that . . . that Missy girl.”
“It’s Krissi, and no, I wasn’t out with her, Dad. Actually, can we talk about this tomorrow?”
His dad waved him off. “How come you’re soaking wet?”
“It’s raining, remember?”
“Hey, watch it, buster.” His dad finished the beer and reached for another from the refrigerator. “I want to talk to you about . . . about your college plans.”
Philip shook his head. “Please, Dad, not again. I — ”
His dad smacked the table with his palm. “We’re done talking when I say we’re done. Got it?”
“Dad, cut me some slack here,” Philip said, starting to rise. “It’s late and I’d like to get some dry clothes on.”
“Shut up . . . and sit down.”
“Dad, come on,” Philip said, moving toward the stairway. “You’re drunk. Let’s talk in the morning, okay? I promise.”
His dad swore and then threw an empty beer can in Philip’s direction. It ricocheted off a cabinet and, falling to the floor, flipped several times before coming to a stop. A trickle of beer leaked out. “You’re just like your mother . . . always looking for a quick exit. Go on. Get out of here. I can’t stop you from ruining your life.”
Glad to make his getaway, glad to distance himself from his drunken father, Philip ran up the stairs two steps at a time. He tossed off his wet clothing, dried himself off, and pulled on shorts and a T-shirt. He snapped off the lights and jumped into bed. He exhaled a long, tired breath.
Alone in the darkness, Philip tried to sleep but couldn’t stop thinking about Krissi. On the one hand, he was dying to call her, to hear her voice, to know that everything would still work out between them. Maybe if he, like Scott, apologized, they’d get back together.
On the other hand, maybe Madame Theo was right. Maybe Krissi was holding him back. Maybe she wasn’t good enough for him and she, like his mother, would dump him when things got tough. Then again, it bothered him that Madame Theo might be hiding something. But what? Was she really who she claimed to be? He had been so quick to believe everything she had been saying. What if she was just another scam artist after a quick buck?
Philip rolled over onto his side and thought about the hunting knife hidden between his mattresses. Why did life have to be so hard? Why was he under such pressure to perform? To please his dad? To get good grades? Why couldn’t he get a grip? Would anybody really miss him if he were gone? The more he thought things through, the more depressed he became.
In the darkness he slipped out of bed, sat on the floor, and reached for the knife. He rested the blade across his lap and slumped against the bed. With this final desperate act, he could settle his struggles once and for all. Death would free him from the heavy burden that had weighed him down for years.
No more encounters with a drunken parent.
No more upset girlfriends.
No more unanswered questions.
No more uncertainty about the future.
Death was the answer. Or was it? His heartbeat quickened.
There was something about the finality of death that scared him. What happened when he died? Did he just cease to exist? Or was there something or someone out there? He couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t ready to face the great unknown. It was then that a face came to his mind.
Becka.
Of all the people he knew from school, Becka seemed different. There was an irresistible warmth behind her smile. A brightness in her eyes. A self-confidence that didn’t appear forced. Sure, she had problems. She made mistakes. But there was something about Becka that he couldn’t ignore.
Becka had peace.
That’s it, Philip decided. No matter the circumstances, she seemed at peace. And she wasn’t afraid to stand for what she believed, even when battling evil spirits. Why? What was it about Becka that gave her the strength to carry on — even after the untimely plane crash involving the dad she loved?
He knew Becka claimed to be a Christian and that she believed in Jesus. But he couldn’t figure how that would make any real difference. In fact, Philip remembered a time when he had been curious about Jesus too. But his interest was sidetracked by other important stuff — like Krissi and school and his car.
Now, hanging on to the end of his rope, there was a part of him wishing he had been as thorough in his investigation of Christianity as he was of Madame Theo’s tarot cards. Was it too late to reconsider Jesus?
In the cold, dark shadows of the night, Philip broke into a sweat. His breathing was hard and labored. His head ached as if he’d been clobbered by a baseball bat. More than anything, he wished he had someone to talk to. Someone who might pull him back from the cliff. Someone, anyone, who cared.
God, if you’re there . . . I need a sign . . . a friend . . . just something —
Philip hadn’t finished his prayer when the phone by his bed purred. His heart leaped. Probably a wrong number, he thought. It rang again. And it rang a third time as he reached for the phone. He cleared his throat. “Hello?”
“Dude, it’s Scott.”
Philip’s heart skipped a beat. “Hey, Scott.”
“Hope I didn’t wake you up. You okay?”
“Sure, why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. Just felt this need to call you,” Scott said. “I mean, I know this may sound far out — ”
“No, go ahead,” Philip said, hoping he didn’t sound as shocked as he felt.
“Well, ever since I got home, I’ve had this impression like God wanted me to call.” Scott paused.
Philip held the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he studied the knife. “Uh, everything’s okay. I’m just kind of burned-out. You know how that goes.”
“I do,” Scott said. “Hey, I’ll be praying for you.”
Philip swallowed. “Thanks, Scott.”
“By the way, I sent an email to Z tonight and told him about the whole Rita Thomas thing,” Scott announced. “Maybe he can dig something up on her. Hope you don’t mind. He’s amazing. I bet he’ll come up with something.”
“That’s cool,” Philip said.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure.”
On Thursday morning Madame Theo sat in the stuffed leather chair facing the desk of Fred Stoner, her producer. The new time slot worked great. Her guest was wonderful. The phone bank in Utah was swamped with callers l
ooking to get a peek at their future. The money was starting to roll in. The first round of syndication was working. But, at the moment, none of that mattered.
She studied Fred’s face like a hawk as he flipped through several documents — secret papers sent to her from Zack Zimmerman, her lawyer in Los Angeles. As far as she could tell, Fred was unmoved by what he saw. He showed about as much emotion as a houseplant. He f lipped over another page and, scanning the contents, shook his head.
“This is what you were concerned about?” he said after a prolonged silence.
“Shouldn’t I be?” Madame Theo asked, puzzled by his indifference.
“Not in the least,” he said, dropping the papers to his desk. “It’s old news. I’m no lawyer, but it seems to me that the statute of limitations has run out on these . . . these — ”
“Crimes,” she said, adjusting her turban. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not offended to use the right term.”
“Listen to me,” he said, massaging his temples. “That was then. This is now. And you’re hot. Do you understand that?”
Madame Theo tried to appear surprised.
“I’m telling you,” Fred said, flashing a mouth full of highly polished teeth, “you’re about to step into the big time. I’m talking hyperspace. I’m talking mounds of cash once we ramp up to full syndication. This . . . this stuff is old news. In my view, you don’t have anything to lose sleep over.”
Madame Theo folded her arms. “Really? You think so?”
“Really.” Fred Stoner walked to her side, helped her up, and guided her toward the hall. “It’s late. Get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll pull out all the stops. We’ll go live in Los Angeles. Nothing can go wrong.”
“But — ”
Fred put an arm around Madame Theo’s shoulders. “Trust me. Who’s gonna know our little secret, anyway? Right?”
13
Scott raced through the halls between classes. He had an idea of where Philip would be — or should be was more like it. So far, four periods into Thursday morning and still no sign of Philip anywhere. None of Philip’s friends had spotted him either. Scott was getting anxious after what had happened last night.