It took her two minutes to notice something was worrying him. He’d denied it at first, and she hadn’t pressed the issue. Yet, over the course of the morning, she’d put aside their recent wordless pact of coldness and worked some form of psychiatrist’s spell on him. An attentive look here. A supportive remark there. A touch of the hand while speaking in a soothing voice. By midmorning, she got him reluctantly talking about his painful weekend with his son. By lunch break, his reluctance broke, and he was venting to her.
He talked about his frustration, because every effort he made to get closer to Ray was interpreted as the clumsiness of a clueless grown-up. He talked about his guilt for having let the relationship decay, by staying too busy at work for the past couple of years. He surprised himself by sharing how much he missed the times when Ray was little and his dad was still his hero.
She didn’t try to offer advice. She listened quietly and nodded, her face a mirror of the melancholy he was feeling, her hand stroking his arm at times.
So that’s what her patients felt when they were on the receiving end of her energy infusion. It felt amazingly uplifting. It was like standing under a shower—or waterfall—of prime-quality, soothing, nurturing, cell-regenerating love energy. No wonder her patients were all addicted to her.
When he realized, shocked, what he was doing, a blast of adrenaline ran through his blood, quickly undoing the hypnotic trance she’d brought him into.
Shit. She was dangerous.
He had to wrap things up and get away from there as soon as possible.
* * *
That evening, Richard knocked on Dr. Andrews’s door and walked in without waiting for a response. Andrews smiled when he saw him, yet his smile vanished as he noticed his serious expression.
Richard sat in front of him. “Dr. Andrews, unfortunately, I’m not here today for one of our interesting chats. I’m here in my role as investigator.”
“How may I help you?”
“I need to know something. Do you, the Co-creators, have an insignia that represents your cult?”
Andrews shook his head. “Here we go again. I’ve told you; we’re not a cult. I’ve also told you before that I don’t give people information when they ask vaguely.”
“Do I sense irritability in the man who’s supposed to be the Master of Masters?”
Andrews sighed. “I hate to break it to you, but the Master of Masters is human and gets fed up too.”
Richard opened the envelope he’d brought. “I remember now. You want me to be clear and concrete. You want yes or no questions, right?” He handed Andrews the pictures of the coin found in O’Hara’s body. “Then answer me, have you seen this before?”
When Andrews looked at the pictures, the color drained away from his face. His voice trembled. “Where did you find this?”
“So, you have seen it.”
Andrews reclined in his armchair and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Richard observed him for a short time. “It’s obvious that you do recognize those symbols. I did my part. I brought you something specific. Now it’s your turn. What is that?”
Andrews kept his eyes closed. “The spirals represent the Milky Way Galaxy. The symbols forming the spirals read: And The Universe will vibrate at the rate of your thoughts.”
“Is that the symbol of the Co-creators?”
“No.” He paused. “It’s the symbol of the Lords of the Universe.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. That matched what the FBI had been able to translate so far.
“Who are they? Who are the Lords of the Universe?”
Andrews opened his eyes. He stared at the wall absentmindedly, as if wandering on a trip back in time.
“How can I explain to you that magical moment when we finally get to understand the meaning of this life journey? Some people have called it enlightenment. I prefer to call it The Awakening. A shift from sleep walking to wakeful living.
“When I experienced my Awakening, fifteen years ago, I wanted to share it with the world. I started teaching, accepted speaking engagements. People from all over the country contacted me, requesting me to be their master. It soon became obvious that I couldn’t keep up with the work unless I organized them all and myself. That’s how the so-called Co-creators were born. You’ve called us a sect or a cult. I call us a club, a friendly society that met every week to share knowledge, share success stories, and encourage each other.
“I didn’t close my door to anyone. Everybody deserved to hear the message. As I was getting ready to publish my own book, I’d gotten the teachings down to a simple, step-by-step guide. A do-it-yourself manual for mastering our inner power. In my enthusiasm, I didn’t realize I’d left out an important detail.”
Andrews paused.
“What was it?” Richard asked. Andrews took some time to answer.
“I’d forgotten that, by the time of my Awakening, I had already done my own internal work. I’d explored my childhood wounds, I’d grieved and healed my losses, I’d let go of my internalized parents. I was in enough peace with myself that I was ready to listen to my inner voice and channel my powers the right way. But that wasn’t the case for others.”
“I still don’t understand.”
Andrews got up from his armchair and walked in the direction of the window. He stood in front of it, his look in the direction of the view outside, his eyes lost.
“I realized that among my followers there was another group that had not been ready for my teachings. This group of people were among the most enthusiastic followers. They were incredibly disciplined with every exercise, devouring every new book I brought in. These people were from different backgrounds, but they all shared a trait, they were raised in toxic shame. In the type of superhuman, unrealistic perfectionism.
“These were people who’d been raised by rigid moralist parents, fanatic religious parents, intolerant parents who had rejected everybody in the world who didn’t meet their narrow standards. They’d grown up with a very poor self-esteem, which they hid under masks of righteousness and excessive achievement. The type of people who need to prove to the world that they’re better than the rest of human kind, a desperate attempt to prove to themselves that they’re worth something.
“It soon became obvious to me that those people were dangerous. I’d put in their hands weapons that they weren’t ready to handle. I’d given them more tools to go around the world, rejecting and destroying anything that didn’t fit their rigid scheme of perfection.”
He paused again. Richard asked, “Are those the ones who you called the Lords of the Universe?”
Andrews nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Richard exclaimed. “This is critical! Do you realize that this may be the key to eliminate all suspicions from you?”
Andrews made a gesture of impotence with his hands. “The worst thing I could do is give you unconfirmed clues and then mislead you in the wrong direction.”
“How do you know the coin is their symbol? Where did you see it before?”
“One night, a group of those followers came to our weekly meeting with a slide show presentation. The leader talked to us about ‘The Lords of The Universe’ project and what she called ‘the launching of a historic movement.’ She showed us that insignia and proposed a series of steps to start spreading our teachings by mass media, and then how to make them mandatory in schools and colleges. Her enthusiasm was pure, but I sensed that her intentions had too much to do with the ego, with the glory of her own name, and not with the good we could spread in the world.
“Just by hearing the name of the group, suggesting they were bosses of the Universe instead of part of it, I knew they had missed the whole point of my teachings. What’s worse, the group expressed a desire to ‘use our power to terminate evil in the planet.’ The biggest problem was that evil meant something different for every one of them. They didn’t see it at the moment, too caught up in their ideas. But I saw right away that every one of them had their diffe
rent hidden agenda, and their plans had little to do with the common good.
“The rest of the group and I respectfully declined to join their agenda. We were more interested in our personal growth than in plans for glory and power. We all agreed that Awakening could never be a mandatory process since it needed to start as a personal decision. They were furious. They left the group that night and never came again.”
“Who are they? You need to help me find them.”
“Richard, that was over five years ago. I have no idea where they are and I can’t remember their faces.”
“What are their names?”
“The only name I ever knew was the name of the leader of the presentation, Rachel Hayes. She used to travel regularly from New York to attend the meetings.”
“Is she still in New York?”
Andrews shook his head. “She died a sudden death about a year later. Apparently a cardiac arrhythmia, but it was kind of merciful, as her autopsy revealed she also had a malignant brain tumor.”
“What about the others?”
He shrugged. “I never got to learn their names. My followers commonly used fake names in the meetings to protect their privacy.”
“Then, I’m back to square one, not any closer to finding the murderers.” Richard grunted in frustration.
Andrews didn’t answer.
Richard remained silent for a long time. He then spoke again. “Dr. Andrews, I need your help. I need you to give me access to your book.”
“What book?” He appeared confused by the sudden change in subject.
“The Manufacturing Miracles book you never got to publish. I need to learn as much as I can about those powers that you used to teach about, and how the Lords of the Universe can be misusing them as we speak. I need to be able to think like them.”
Shaking his head, Andrews frowned. “Even if I changed my decision not to share my book, I can’t share that knowledge with you.”
Richard hesitated. “How about if I become one of your disciples?”
Andrews chuckled. “You, one of my disciples?” His chuckle turned into a roaring laugh. Richard flushed in anger.
“What’s so funny? You offered it to me the day we met!”
Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Andrews said, “That was obviously before I got to know you. I’m sorry. But you’re so not ready.”
Calming down the remainder of his chortling, he added, with a composed voice, “You’re the man who told me not long ago that you ‘didn’t believe in the existence of the soul.’ That’s like being an illiterate and wanting to read an encyclopedia.”
Reluctant, Richard admitted, “But I’m not that skeptical anymore. I’m starting to believe in the things you say, like the energy radiating from people.”
“You’re not ready. You have potential, and you learn quickly. If you continue on this path, I’m sure that you’ll be ready in—I don’t know—five or ten more years.”
Richard gasped. “But I don’t have that much time, Dr. Andrews. This is vital for your own freedom. You help me. Help me to get ready.”
Andrews repressed another chuckle. “You’re barely starting to get ready to get ready.”
* * *
It was early Tuesday morning. Sitting in Stephen Fox’s office, Richard extended a set of pictures of the Lords of the Universe coin for him to see.
“Mr. Fox, have you ever seen this before?”
The tall man ran his long fingers through his thinning gray hair and sighed. The gesture on his long face and in his brown eyes was of obvious annoyance.
“No, I haven’t. Please get to the point. I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for this.”
“Does the phrase ‘Lords of the Universe’ mean anything to you?”
The man sighed again in exasperation. “Mr. Fields! Would you please stop playing riddles? Why don’t you, instead, tell me what have you found about the people you say are a threat to me? Do you have any suspects yet? You can’t tell me that my life may be potentially in danger, turn my world upside down, assign people to escort me all the time, and then refuse to explain anything to me.”
“I explained to you that this is all classified information. All I can tell you is that it’s in your best interest to help us advance the investigation of Michael O’Hara’s death.”
The man chuckled. “You guys are experts in finding things where there’s nothing. Michael died in an accident. It was unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do to bring him back. The man’s dead; get over it! We all did.”
Richard looked at him, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you guys were friends.”
“I worked for him. That was it. Our relationship was completely impersonal.”
At that time, there was a soft knock on the door, and a woman walked in. “Oh, I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t know you were busy.”
Richard got up from his seat and turned to look at the woman, recognizing her immediately.
Fox said, “Have you met? Samantha, this is Richard Fields from the FBI. Mr. Fields, Samantha McKinney.”
The woman smiled. “Oh yes, we’ve met. You were at my interrogation not that long ago.”
The two of them shook hands. Richard remembered well Michael O’Hara’s former PR representative. “Nice seeing you again, Ms. McKinney.”
She turned to Fox. “Steve, Florida Today called. They’re coming to interview you Thursday at noon.”
“Okay.”
“Also, don’t forget your meeting with Charlie tomorrow night.”
Richard intervened. “Charlie is Mr. Charles Clark, Michael O’Hara’s right hand, right? It seems the three of you have remained close.”
She smiled. “Not only the three of us. Practically the whole campaign team that used to work with Michael has remained either working with Stephen or with Charles. We were a great team.”
“Isn’t his office in the same building where O’Hara used to have the headquarters for his campaign?” Richard asked.
She nodded. “It’s the exact same office.”
Richard turned to Mr. Fox. “Interesting. Clark and you split his staff, and he inherits the office. It’s almost as if you were children who couldn’t wait to split the inheritance as soon as the father was dead.”
The man stared at Richard blankly. “Anything else we can help you with today, Mr. Fields?”
Richard smiled. “Not for now, thank you. But we’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 12
It was a busy Wednesday morning at the Hospice House. A cancellation at eleven gave Richard and Joy their first chance to take a breather in her office and chat about the patients seen.
“Changing subjects, Richard . . .” Joy’s expression turned suddenly serious. Richard feared this was the moment when she’d question the length of his “shadowing.”
“Yes, Joy?” he asked, cautiously.
She seemed nervous. “I . . . I have a favor to ask you.”
Relieved, Richard released the breath he’d been holding. “Anything.”
She hesitated. “Some time ago, I bought a couple of tickets for a basketball game this weekend. My plan was to take my son Arthur with me. Then I realized that he’s too little to follow the game . . . and it lasts far beyond his bedtime. They’re good seats. It would be a pity if the tickets go to waste.”
For a second, Richard wondered if she was asking him out. An unexpected flash of excitement overtook him, and he immediately reprimanded himself, returning to caution.
Joy opened the top drawer in her desk and extended an envelope to him. “I was wondering if you’d do me the favor of taking the tickets . . . and taking your son to the game.”
Stunned, Richard opened the envelope and looked inside. Magic versus Bulls at the Amway arena. Those were not good seats; they were unbelievably good seats.
But he couldn’t accept a present from someone he was investigating. It could be interpreted as a bribe. He put the tickets on her desk. “Thank you, but I can’t accept them. Those ticket
s cost a small fortune and are impossible to find. You should sell them.”
Putting the tickets back in his hands, she held his fingers closed so he wouldn’t let go of them. Her hands were cold. She begged, “Please, Richard, do it as a favor to me. I’ll never get around to selling them. I already paid for them and would hate to see them wasted.”
He hesitated. Ray would be ecstatic to go to that game. And he had the argument that he needed to accept the tickets so he wouldn’t awaken any suspicion in her.
But why is she doing this?
Had she seen through his cover? Had she figured out who he really was and was trying to win him over? He looked at the printing date on the tickets—Monday evening—and suddenly understood.
“Joy, you didn’t buy these tickets ‘some time ago.’ You got them the day of our conversation about Ray. You’re trying to help us bond.”
Sitting back in her chair, she shrank with a guilty smile. “Nah! A relative of a patient had offered them to me before that. And they weren’t that expensive. I got a great deal.”
He studied her. The avoidance of eye contact, the nervous tics, the high-pitched voice. She was the worst liar he’d ever seen.
A realization hit him. There was no way she could’ve killed O’Hara and not given it away in her interrogations.
He wondered how long it would take him to make her confess about this lie.
“Joy, look at me.”
Her eyes briefly met his and then flinched away. “Okay, you win. I lied. I did call my friend and got the tickets after we talked.”
He had to hold himself to not laugh. That was fast.
She looked at him with a guilty expression. “But I swear this is not the psychiatrist trying to lecture you. This is the friend. A fellow parent trying to help another parent. You’re very good at debating topics with me. How about you at least listen to my argument?”
Restraining a smile, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes. “Imagine your son has a bad flu—it’s called puberty.”
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