The Words I Speak (Anyone Who Believes Book 2)

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  No one warned Willow that she would have a cellmate that night. The arrival of the thirty-something woman with considerable street and jail experience threatened more stress.

  When the guard, a stocky girl about half Willow’s age, opened her cell and ushered Lila in, Willow was reading her Bible in the top bunk. The upper bed seemed more private and had become Willow’s retreat during her incarceration. When the dark, almond-shaped eyes of Lila Foreman invaded Willow’s retreat, she felt as if she had lost one more bit of freedom. Lila was nearly six feet tall and could easily see Willow curled up with her Bible, eyes closed as she meditated on what she had read.

  Willow opened her eyes and tried to smile at Lila. They hadn’t said a single word to each other, though they had each arrived in that facility the same day and had noted the presence of the other. Apparently, Lila had noted Willow with more interest than the reverse.

  “Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” Lila said, dumping her bundle of permitted possessions onto the lower bunk, now her bed. “You just go on prayin’, girl. And don’t forget me when you do.”

  Her honey-smooth voice, low and nearly masculine, had charmed dozens of women and men alike, over the years. Lila’s genteel sensitivity endeared her to anyone willing to allow her close enough to wrap her words about them, followed eventually by her arms. Part of her charm was the way in which she resisted using her obvious size and strength. Her arms showed the muscular definition of a trained athlete, and the fast curves of her shoulders and triceps were the envy of aeronautics designers. Though she rolled up her sleeves to display her armaments, she rarely resorted to force.

  Willow had become accustomed to knowing more about people than they knew about her, meeting them in advance, as her spirit reached out to theirs, measuring a stranger’s pulse, monitoring her temperature. But Lila’s arsenal ran deeper than saying the right words in the most disarming tone. She had learned to shield her spirit from probing eyes, even if she was not fully aware of how she did so.

  Yet more difficult to explain was why a person so elaborately masked would choose to live with Willow, whose reputation had already begun to spread around the jail after Betsy escaped her cell. Perhaps it was the hubris of believing that what she had heard could not touch her, that she was a special case. But that assumes Lila schemed and scammed not only in the world of street smarts and bedroom charms, but also in the spirit realm. Such a combination is very rare. Probably more rare than even Lila Foreman.

  That first night they said little to each other, asking polite questions, spaced out so as not to add up to an interrogation and measured to allow some privacy, at least for that evening. But Willow could not mistake her time and space as private, with Lila in the cell. Lila maintained a murmuring level of noise, muted comments and occasional humming throughout her evening routine. Lila also felt free to perform her bedtime preparations while wearing very little clothing, ranging from sparse cotton underwear to nothing at all. Willow developed the habit of responding to and asking questions without looking at her cellmate that night.

  Willow slept fitfully, more so than any other night on the jail mattress. At two in the morning, she woke in a sweat and had to pray herself back to sleep, releasing a low and steady stream of prayer in the unknown language that she used for comfort and tranquility. She would wake up twice more before daylight and did not feel rested when the breakfast horn sounded.

  During breakfast, recreation time and lunch, Willow sat with Cricket and some of her friends. Lila kept her distance. She seemed to accept that her relationship with Willow would be confined to the cell. She seemed to like it that way. During recreation, she played cards with several other women, winning the biggest pot that day.

  That first afternoon in their cell together Willow tried to engage Lila in conversation, but found it hard work.

  “Tell me about your family,” Willow said, lying with her head propped, and her Bible resting on her stomach.

  “Oh, that’s a long, sad story,” Lila said, her voice resonating up through the metal frame of the bunks. “My father was a no-show, and my mother just couldn’t seem to find a decent replacement. I got tired of her trying and took off when I was fifteen.”

  “I didn’t run away until I turned seventeen,” Willow said, trying again to identify with her fellow prisoners.

  “I did hear that your background wasn’t all picket fences and happy days.” Lila’s tone reminded Willow of a teacher she had in elementary school. Sympathy seemed to have no place in her heart, or at least in her words. That fourth grade teacher was the sort who would just tell kids that they weren’t going to die when they showed her a scraped elbow or claimed that they felt sick to their stomachs. Willow knew Lila was masking all her feelings, including sympathy. But she also knew that she had at least a little credibility with these women of despair and destitution. She had been there once.

  That night, after lights-out, Willow faced another challenge.

  She had noted a more and more tender tone to Lila’s conversation as she got ready for bed. When lights-out was sounded and the cell grew dim, Willow was ensconced in blankets on her top bunk. Lila readied her bed and herself for sleep. Willow had not kept track of how much of her clothes Lila had removed, keeping her eyes sheltered in her Bible and then under the blankets.

  With only the soft greenish light from the corridor in their cell, Lila stopped next to the bunks, her face near Willow’s. And she reached to where Willow’s hand lay on the fleece blanket, stroking it gently and then holding it lightly.

  At first Willow froze in shock, then she watched a wave of enticing warmth rise in her soul. She liked the gentle touch. But a second later she withdrew her hand and curled it under the edge of the blanket. She knew what Lila wanted and knew she didn’t share that desire.

  “What’s a matter, dear? You shy?” Lila said, a sort of motherly understanding lilting her deep voice up and down. “No need to worry. It’s just you and me, and no one else has to know anything.”

  That Lila appeared not to recognize Willow’s nonverbal refusal intensified the adrenalin-soaked reaction rising in her chest. The notion that Lila could force herself on Willow crossed her mind. She was certainly stronger. Then Willow recognized a sort of wind that swept gently over her heart, rising and growing steadier until she felt an irrational sense of peace.

  “I’m not interested in that kind of relationship with you, Lila,” Willow said simply, with little emotion.

  “Aren’t you? ‘Cause I don’t get any kinda man hunger sorta vibe comin’ from you. I don’t see you hookin’ up with man flesh on the outside. So I think you do want some lovin’ from a woman like me.”

  Without hesitation, Willow answered, her voice still low and steady. “Love and sex are not the same for me. I’m all about love, but sex is not something I think about or pursue.”

  Lila sighed and leaned back just slightly. “So, you’re sayin’ it ain’t me you’re stiffin’ here. It’s nothin’ personal.”

  “Umhm,” said Willow, pushing her face out from under the blanket so she could see Lila better. “I’m not looking for a man, and I’m not looking for a woman. I’m just focused on other things.”

  Willow was watching Lila’s eyes as the statuesque woman tipped her head a bit to the left. She seemed curious more than anything else, which released some of Willow’s anxiety.

  “That sounds like it comes from your head. What about your other parts? Ain’t they achin’ for some touch now and again?”

  Willow nodded gently, but clearly enough that Lila could see in the light to which her eyes were growing accustomed. “I have desires, but if you get in the habit of setting those aside and moving on to something else, it’s not as hard as you might think.”

  “Yeah, I can’t go more ’n a few days afore I’m climbin’ the walls,” Lila said. She sounded resigned, and more confidential than during any previous conversation. She climbed into her bunk.

  “To be honest,” Willow said. “I have be
en wondering about wanting a man. Whether that’s something still out there for me. I was hurt pretty bad by men who wanted to use me when I was too young and weak to resist. My mother even cooperated with ‘em, to some extent. That messed me up, and I’m not sure I’m over that.”

  Lila had settled in and seemed to be listening attentively. “I can sure understand that. I seen some God-awful stuff people do to girls. That can turn you off o’ sex forever.” She lay silent for a second, as both women thought of the wounded women they had been and others they had known.

  “So there ain’t no one you’re even a little interested in out in the world?” Lila said.

  Willow hesitated only because her own answer didn’t satisfy her. She knew what the answer was. “I’ve known men that I admire, and think I could be attracted to, but they’ve all been married. Some woman smart enough to see what those men have to offer already took the chance and made the commitment.”

  “Ain’t that the way of it, though? They either married or gay or dirtbags.”

  Willow actually chuckled under her breath. “I hope that’s not all the choices,” she said, “but I know what you’re sayin’.”

  This time Lila just said “Umhmmm,” and the hum of it drifted low and signaled an end to the conversation, and an end to the day.

  What had started very uncertainly and with all kinds of possible pain and distress, had turned into the deepest bonding Willow had felt with Lila. She slept more soundly that night. And this was not just because of making a certain kind of peace with Lila, it also had to do with addressing honestly some of her hidden heart questions, even if not finding clear answers to any of them.

  Lila stayed only one more day in Willow’s cell, then she had her court date and was released on a lesser charge. She had told the federal agents she wouldn’t be a snitch and they let that go, not interfering in the easy passage local police allowed for someone in Lila’s line of work.

  “So I can’t say I ‘spect to see you nowheres that I’m gonna be,” Lila said, standing by the cell door, with her big white plastic shopping bag packed.

  Willow stood by the end of the bunks. “You can always look for me at the Oak Tree Church,” Willow said. “We’d be glad to have you any day.”

  Lila looked skeptical.

  Willow replied to that look. “I’m serious. Give us a chance. I know you won’t be rejected like you fear.”

  Lila hesitated, as if she detected something new in what Willow was saying, something persuasive to one who had long been proud of how hard she was to persuade. “Maybe I’ll do that.” She nodded.

  “Be well, my friend,” Willow said, surprising Lila with a hug before she turned to leave.

  Lila kept her head high, trying to hide the beginning of a tear in each eye. Her parting words came out incomprehensible, from her tight throat and shaking lips.

  Trial and Error

  Kellan McGregor met Willow at the federal court house in Denver Wednesday afternoon for her initial appearance. That date had been delayed, in part, by having an out-of-state lawyer. They were each ushered into a small windowless room with fog gray walls and a table joined by two chairs in the middle.

  “So how has it been for you, since I saw you at the jail? You getting on with the other inmates?” Kellan said. He asked this more out of habit than particular concern.

  Willow looked into Kellan’s dark eyes and decided on the generic answer. She could tell he needed a little reassuring that she was safe and content. “We’re doing just fine, thanks.”

  Her smile hinted at a bigger story, but Kellan needed to focus on the matter at hand.

  “Let me brief you on what we should expect in here today.” He detailed the two items on the agenda. First, the magistrate considering whether to release Willow on bail, and second confirming that there is sufficient evidence to send the case to a grand jury. Even if the federal court agreed to free her, the state could decide to proceed with charging her with giving police false evidence, meaning claiming to know Ronald Percy’s activities by supernatural means, instead of simply from seeing the house herself, which is what the federal agents were also assuming, once they got hold of the case. This complication, along with Willow’s name change, contributed to some doubt about bail. Kellan hoped that the federal court deciding not to send the case to a grand jury would be enough to discourage the state from proceeding based on the same faulty evidence. But, until then, he expected that Willow would stay behind bars.

  The placid grin on her thin lips made this complex trap set against her seem less intimidating than it normally would for the sharp young lawyer.

  When they had entered the courtroom, Kellan and Willow sat opposite an assistant U.S. attorney and two colleagues assigned to the case. It seemed like overkill, for an initial hearing. That firepower made it clear that the government remained intent on linking her with Ronald Percy, though no one had suggested that they should be tried together. The government was pursuing the possibility that Willow simply knew about Mr. Percy’s abduction of Heather Tomlinson, and not that she actively took part in it. This would make her only an accessory and subject to penalty, nonetheless.

  The judge, a pasty-faced man of about sixty years, was the federal government’s magistrate judge assigned to determine whether to move the case the next step forward, or simply let the state take over with their case. The judge sported a steel gray five-o’clock shadow a few hours early.

  “So we’ll hear from the assistant U.S. attorney on considerations for bail. Mr. Walters?” said the judge.

  The lead counsel for the prosecution was a man who must have been older than he looked. In contrast to the judge’s emerging beard, the prosecutor didn’t appear to shave yet. He wore his hair short, his bangs standing out like an overhang on a snow covered roof. But, instead of winter whiteness, his hair was a mousy brown. His ears protruded prominently on each side of his head when he turned to face Willow.

  “Thank you, your honor,” he said, as he rose to take the floor in front of the bench. “The government intends to show that Willow Pierce knew about the criminal activities of one Ronald Percy, who has thus far been charged with kidnapping, child-abduction and aggravated sexual assault of a minor, along with related charges. Officers are still investigating Mr. Percy’s possible involvement in similar unsolved cases in the Denver area.

  “While we can find no evidence that Willow Pierce took part in the abduction or confinement of Heather Tomlinson, her extensive knowledge of the child’s circumstances during her ordeal can lead to no other conclusion than that she had knowledge of Mr. Percy’s activities. She came forward to reveal that knowledge, but did so under the guise of having no natural knowledge of the child’s abduction. But, rather, she claimed she had paranormal psychic visions that revealed what she knew about Ronald Percy and Heather Tomlinson.”

  Returning to his table, Mr. Walters picked up a piece of paper, and read briefly. “Federal agents have established that the defendant and Ronald Percy frequented the same coffee shop in Palos Heights, and thereby had opportunity to meet. We further have witnesses that have described a woman like the defendant visiting Percy’s two-flat, where he held Heather Tomlinson, taped to a kitchen chair, just as the defendant described her.

  “We are contending that Willow Pierce had opportunity to meet with Ronald Percy and to visit his home, and that she did not report what she saw there, perhaps out of fear for her life. She withheld information about the abduction and is, therefore, an accessory after the fact in his crime.

  “We also note that the defendant has been uncooperative with investigators regarding other likely victims of Ronald Percy, though she demonstrated some knowledge of the death of one of the other missing girls during questioning by Palos Heights police.”

  At this, Kellan glanced at Willow, trying not to draw attention to his surprise. But surprised he was. Willow had not mentioned this, and it had not been included in the documents he had received from the government.

  Wil
low noticed Kellan’s furtive look and sensed his anxiety at this bit of news. But she showed no reaction that anyone further away than her attorney could have seen. She only tightened her lips slightly, sorry that she had not said more about the exact proceedings at the police station. Willow had actually forgotten her comments about the other photos she had been shown when asked to identify Heather from her vision. She wasn’t a lawyer or judge and didn’t think like one.

  Had Kellan not been surprised here, he might have offered an objection at the government’s inclusion of implications that Willow knew about Percy’s activities in crimes for which they had not even proven his involvement.

  When Mr. Walters was finished with his presentation, the judge turned to Kellan.

  “Mr. McGregor?”

  “Thank you, your honor,” he said, standing and making confident eye contact with the judge. “My client sits here because she bravely stepped forward to defend a victim of a horrendous, scarring crime, and certainly saved Heather Tomlinson’s life. More than vague associations with a coffee shop or untested descriptions from neighbors of Ronald Percy, the government must show concrete evidence that places Willow Pierce in Ronald Percy’s house. For only inside that house could she have seen with her physical eyes the sort of detail she gave to the heroic police officers in Palos Heights.

  “Yes, we are contending that the source of Ms. Pierce’s knowledge was supernatural. But this claim does not come out of thin air, a desperate cover for some sordid association with a child-molesting kidnapper. If the government had bothered to research Ms. Pierce, they would have discovered a long, well-documented history of my client providing supernatural insight to people in churches all over the world. She is, in fact, quite famous in certain religious circles, known for imparting information that she could only have acquired by supernatural means.