He cuts me off, “Precisely! That’s why you would be perfect for this event. We clearly want to raise money and awareness for this cause, and we think this is a great kickoff to our fall season. But it’s more than that. And it’s for this other reason we determined that you would be perfect for us. After all, there are many people more recognizable than you whom we could get. If we simply wanted to raise money, there are many actors and actresses available. No, there is another reason. We want to take this message to the heart of the Bible Belt. They preach peace, but at the end of the day, their religion divides and leads to wars. I’ve read your works extensively, Thomas. I agree completely with them. And I’m not the only one. My organization is comprised of people who agree with your work, and we have the resources to make things actually happen. This event will be a public statement that we are tired of sitting on the sidelines while others destroy the bridges we are trying to build.”
“What do you mean ‘make things actually happen’?” I ask.
“Peace and change,” he answers. Changing the subject, he says, “We are willing to pay you twenty thousand for a one-hour lecture. We will take care of everything for you. All you have to do is open your door and step out, and we will provide transportation and the best accommodations. You will also be invited to many exclusive parties that weekend, allowing you to connect with people you may not have had access to previously.”
He looks at his watch, glances at me, and then turns to Andrew. “Naturally, Andrew, if we can convince Dr. Fields to join us, we would like to bring you along to the events as well and take care of you as we always do. You two bachelors can make the most of it.”
I wonder how he knows I’m a bachelor, and then my thought is interrupted by Andrew’s response: “You are always a great host.”
Kinsley turns his stare to me and starts to say something, only to stop as he looks over my shoulder. Just then I feel a touch and hear a woman’s voice.
“I‘m sorry to disturb your meeting, but I wanted to say hi to my newest friend, Tom.”
I look up and see Paige Darby.
“Hi, Paige,” I say. “How’s your ankle?”
“It’s a bit sore, but much better. You see, gentlemen,” she says, looking at Kinsley and Andrew, “Tom was kind enough to carry me to my car when I hurt my ankle at Town Lake yesterday. He was my knight in shining armor.”
Kinsley interjects, “I wouldn’t give him too much credit. I doubt many men would have turned down such an opportunity.”
Paige clearly enjoys the flattery. “Well, if that were true, they would also be inclined to call me to check up on me. But since Tom didn’t, I can only assume my injury was simply a burden to him.” Before I can object, she continues, “But I’m a persistent woman and used to getting my way. That’s why this is such a fortunate run-in. You see, Tom, I don’t think I can leave without getting your number.”
Kinsley laughs. “It would appear, Thomas, you have quite the following. I like this girl.”
I smile. “What’s your cell number, Paige? I’ll call you, and then you’ll have the number on your phone.” I pull out my cell and dial her digits. A catchy pop song ringtone responds. “I must be getting old,” I quip.
Recognizing that we were eager to continue our business, Paige politely excuses herself. “Tom, you can expect a call from me.” She leaves with a smile and rejoins another woman at the counter.
“Bring her to Dallas. Hell, bring them both,” Kinsley remarks. “Texas women. There are none like them,” he says before getting back to business. “Thomas, it’s been a pleasure. Unfortunately, I have a plane to catch. Here’s my card. I need an answer from you by tomorrow. I’ve made my living by seizing opportunities while they are still fresh. I hope you are the same. I’m sure Andrew will attest that my organization can do great things for you and your career. The question is whether you are ready for great things to happen to you. See, you have to want greatness. It doesn’t just fall out of the sky and land on you.”
He stands up, straightens his shirt, and shakes our hands. He pulls me close and says, “You have to make the choice to be great.” And he walks away.
The man at the bar gets the door and follows closely behind Kinsley. I watch them walk toward a Suburban in front of the coffeehouse. The man opens the back door, allowing Kinsley to climb in. The man then goes to the driver’s door. It is a well-practiced routine. They don’t depart immediately, though. Instead, the man steps out of the car with a bottle in his hand. He comes back into the coffeehouse and hands me the bottle.
“Compliments of Mr. McKee. He wants you to know he appreciates your time,” he says in a deep, fitting voice.
It is a commemorative bottle of Early Times mint julep bourbon, the official drink of the Kentucky Derby. I know the bottle well from the bourbon circles I visit online. It is the last year of this artwork, which shows the horses and riders racing along the track.
How did he know I liked bourbon, and how long has he been planning this conversation, I wonder. I turn to Andrew, who seems sad that he didn’t get a gift.
“Did you tell him that I like bourbon?” I ask.
“Not me.” Andrew replies. “If he had asked, I would have told him Scotch so that you would give it to me.”
CHAPTER 10
The Haunting
Of course, I accepted Kinsley’s offer. I researched First Orchard over the next few weeks. It seems like a legitimate philanthropic organization. The board has many well-placed individuals—CEOs, university presidents, etc.—but nothing you wouldn’t expect to find associated with a respectable organization. What is more interesting to me is what I can’t figure out. What is the parent company? I am sure Kinsley mentioned a parent company, but everything I have found suggests that First Orchard is a stand-alone entity. Still, from a career perspective, I see nothing but good things coming from my speaking at the event. Andrew visits me often to emphasize what an opportunity this is and to ensure I don’t back out of it. I have no doubt he received some sort of finder’s fee for lining up my conversation with Kinsley. I’m also sure that he will get another payoff when I actually speak at the event. As I said, Andrew is a friend only to the extent we can help each other.
During this time I haven’t had any new encounters with Lucifer. As with most things, as time passes, I question what really happened that night. I have read about people having dreams that foretell the future, and I’m increasingly convinced that was what I experienced. The more I think about it, though, the more it seems absurd to me. To be face to face with Lucifer and his minions is simply ridiculous to even imagine. My daily activities also help put some mental distance on our meeting. I am burying myself in my classes, developing my speech for Dallas, and organizing the research for a new book. But the one thing I’m having trouble reconciling is the burn on my arm. It has neither healed nor scarred over. Most of the time, I can’t feel it, but there are times I feel a shooting pain in my arm without prompting. Maybe it is a reminder. Nevertheless, I try not to let the thought linger.
Lucifer may not have been haunting me these past weeks, but Stacie has. I haven’t seen her in almost a month, but she is constantly on my mind. I think of calling her, but I can’t muster the courage to make the call. I want to ask her to go with me to Dallas in a couple of weeks, but I know that’s even more absurd than having a conversation with Lucifer. Not only would she not go on a trip with me, but with the purpose of the trip being in part to speak against her faith, she would definitely not go.
What I don’t understand is why now? I’ve known Stacie, through Mike, for some time. And although I’ve always found her appealing, she’s never had this kind of effect on me. I’ve continued to run with Mike these past weeks, and on a few occasions, I’ve mentioned her out of politeness, usually while inquiring about the entire family. Twice Mike mentioned that Stacie might join us on our runs. But she hasn’t made it yet. Mike must have noticed the disappointment on my face the last time, though I masked it with some
teasing about her keeping up with us, which I hoped would get back to her.
In the meantime, I’ve settled for seeing Paige a few times. She’s not Stacie, but I’m not one to be without someone by my side. Paige is an easy conversationalist and pleasing to look at. She smells great also. I need to find out what perfume she wears. Most men would kill to be dating her.
It is a Friday evening, and once again I ponder what Stacie is doing. This is ridiculous! I decide I need some drinks to rid me of her. Mike and I are supposed to run tomorrow morning at seven thirty, and I’m considering canceling, knowing what my state will most likely be. Saturday morning runs are a good way to keep my Friday socializing and drinking in check. Mike never fails to show, even if I am sometimes late getting out of bed. I’ve made arrangements with the lobby valet to always let Mike up to my apartment. I know he will be on time if I don’t cancel. I delay the call, though, and tell myself I can call him later if I’m hitting it too hard.
I gather my things to head out and then hear a gentle tap at my door, which is slightly ajar. It’s Leslie.
“You’re up here late, Leslie,” I comment.
“Just finishing up a few things. I’m taking off a few days next week, so I needed to close out a few things,” she says.
“What’s up?” I say, closing my laptop and gathering my jacket to signal that I’m on my way out.
“I wanted to talk to you about Josephine. Quite honestly, I’ve been reluctant to mention it,” she says.
I really don’t want to hear this, especially now. My hope that the Josephine situation would no longer require my involvement was a false hope. Somehow, Leslie was able to reach out to Josephine and convince her to get help. I tried not to get involved with the details, but I solicited a favor from a psychiatrist friend and provided her with some brief background information. She gladly accepted the assignment and worked with Leslie on setting up the meetings, but I continue to have a nagging feeling about Josephine. I wanted closure, but I knew it would take time.
Leslie continues, “I had hoped that you would have asked about how things are going. Josephine has been seeing Dr. Gould twice a week for some time. She’s feeling much better about herself, and her old self is starting to show. She’s very strong.”
“That’s great,” I say, trying to end the conversation.
“In talking with Dr. Gould,” Leslie continues, “she says that there will come a point where Josephine will want to get closure with you. That will mean a face-to-face conversation. This obviously won’t happen for a while, but I thought you should know that it should happen. You need to be prepared for it. To do the right thing.”
I slink back to my chair. “Thanks for all you are doing, Leslie. I really do appreciate it,” I say, looking away. I know that what she has said is true, but it annoys me.
“Good night, Dr. Fields,” she says as she closes the door behind her.
I definitely need a drink now, but I don’t want to be alone. I think of Paige and quickly call her. Of course when I call, Paige has plans for the evening. I’ve no doubt she is very popular in her circle. Still, she says that she can cut her evening short and meet me. I ask her to meet me at a hotel bar near my apartment building. It’s within walking distance, which is all too convenient. They know me well at the hotel, not only for my evening trips to the bar, but also for the many referrals I provide them. They always treat me well.
I make it to the hotel bar around seven thirty, and I’m greeted by a too-thin blonde hostess. No doubt she has recently graduated from UT with a marketing degree. I sit down at a table near the bar. It’s slightly off to the side of the room, and I sit facing the bar with a view of the television. ESPN is showing highlights of a baseball game. The waitress immediately comes over and takes my order—bourbon and Coke—but I ask her to come back for my appetizer order. Within moments she brings me the drink. My gaze follows her shape as she walks away. Not bad, I think.
As she walks away, a dizzy feeling comes over me. She suddenly seems miles away now. Everyone seems to be miles away now. The room stretches into distortion, except for the television, which moves closer to me. I feel faint and clutch the table. The mark on my arm burns severely, and I almost cry out from the pain. Suddenly, Lucifer is in the television and looks at me. He smiles.
“Hello, Thomas. It has been a spell. You don’t look so well. Tell me you aren’t going to get sick again?” He floats out of the television and stands in front of me.
I do feel sick. I’m also stunned into silence.
He breathes on me, “You should feel better now.”
I do feel better. I look around to see if anyone else can see him, but they are so far away, continuing to do what they have been doing.
He says, “You don’t have to worry, Thomas. They won’t interrupt. I’ll make this short. My people tell me you’re performing your duties as expected. That makes me glad. I was worried you would begin to believe this was all a bad dream. I hope my mark is reminder enough. I would hate to make a more lasting impression on you.”
My arm burns again, but it is a deep burn, as if the bone itself is on fire. He enjoys the pain on my face.
“I anxiously await your performance in Dallas. Do well, and I will reward you nicely. I have many resources at my disposal. Make sure you do the right thing in Dallas. You’ll know what it is. Be ready.”
The voice changes. “Are you ready, Dr. Fields? Dr. Fields, are you ready?”
I realize Lucifer is no longer speaking, but the waitress has returned.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you ready to order an appetizer?” she repeats. “Are you okay? Can I get you something? Would you like a glass of water?”
I down my drink, pull up my sleeve, and pour the ice over the scar. It sizzles slightly when it touches the skin. It burns and I grimace. The waitress’s expression shows more concern.
“I’ll take another bourbon and Coke . . . and bring me the oysters and shrimp. But don’t keep me waiting on the bourbon.”
It is close to ten o’clock and way past too many drinks for me when Paige arrives. She wears a tight, sleeveless black dress that shows a little cleavage and a lot of leg. There’s not a male head in that room that doesn’t turn as she walks by. She looks great there is no doubt, but she is not Stacie.
“I’ll have a margarita on the rocks,” she tells the waitress as she walks past her. Her boldness humors me, which is more impressive given my current surly mood.
“Finally made it?” I ask condescendingly. “I was about to give up on you for that redhead over there,” I say, pointing to a woman surrounded by three men at a table across the bar.
She looks long into my eyes, smiles a short grin, and says, “First, if you think that redhead is a better catch than me, you must be really drunk. Second, I didn’t put this dress on for just anyone. I’m late because I swung by my apartment to put this on especially for you. And third, I won’t tolerate a mean drunk. Even if you can get that redhead, I guarantee I can get those three men.”
I laugh a hard, loud laugh. My surliness turns into playfulness, which she gladly returns. We share a few kisses, some laughs, and I drink some more. We leave through the door near the lake and follow the trail toward my apartment. The night is muggy. She hooks her right arm under my left arm as we walk.
That’s the last thing I remember from the evening.
CHAPTER 11
Late to Bed, Early to Rise
The next morning I’m lying in my bed and hearing a terrible racket—two people talking. I can’t make out where the voices are coming from. Had I left a window open? Was I in Paige’s apartment? I grab a pillow and press it over my head. My head throbs. It’s way too early. I still need a couple of hours of sleep to get through the hangover. Suddenly my covers fly off me, leaving me cold and exposed.
“What’s going on!” I yell, waking up and looking at the culprit. I’m not prepared for this.
Glaring at me is Stacie Fischer. Mike stands next to
her.
The situation is overwhelming. For a brief moment, I forget about my headache. I immediately look down and thankfully see that I’m wearing underwear. The night before comes rushing back to me.
“Paige?!” I look around to see if she is in the room.
“Is that her name? We said good-bye to her when we came in,” Stacie says, irritated. “She bolted when she got a call from someone named Kinsley. She didn’t seem too pleased that I saw her phone on the counter when the call came through. She wasn’t very polite, but her dress was stunning.”
Kinsley? I think. Why would Kinsley be calling her? Maybe Stacie was confused. Maybe she saw my phone. No. That doesn’t make any sense. My phone is on the nightstand next to me. How does Paige know Kinsley? Am I being set up? I feel anger flushing over me.
“What is wrong with you?” I yell at Stacie.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me,” she yells back at me. “I let myself get dragged over here by my brother to go running with you. And here you are, still in bed, and hung over from last night. That’s what’s wrong with me. I bet you can’t even run.”
She’s beautiful when she’s angry.
I look over at Mike, now sitting in the corner and laughing under his breath. His head is in his hands, but I can see him gyrating with laughter. Still, he steps into the conversation.
“Get up, Tom. Get your clothes on and meet us downstairs in five. Otherwise, I’ll sic Stacie back on you. Stacie, don’t worry. Tom will run. I’ve seen him run in worse condition than this. Trust me, he’ll run.”
They leave with Mike laughing and Stacie seething. I rise too fast. The room spins and my head rocks. Worse than having a hangover, I am still a little drunk. I think to myself that Mike lied to Stacie. I doubt he’s seen me this bad off. Still, I decide that I have to run this morning. I’m not going to let Stacie win this. I quickly pull on some clothes, grab my running shoes, down an energy drink along with four ibuprofen, and head downstairs.
Inside Lucifer's War Page 8