Also, my thoughts have been running amok the last two hours, and every little bump, sound, and smell has been annoying the hell out of me. It doesn’t make sense. I took two Ovisang on the way to the airport, so my mind should be at ease. I even did as the bottle directed and skipped breakfast. Now, not only can’t I focus but my hunger is so damn —
“Hey?” Mom leans over and smiles, and her soothing glance puts my loud mind to rest. “Thank you for coming. Really.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her green eyes are the clearest I’ve ever seen, and for once, her mascara hasn’t been smeared by tears. She looks good — better — like her old self again. “Look, we’ll be home in a few hours. You can schedule a session with Dr. Kris, see your friends, go back to work, make plans for your birthday… and you better buy whatever you want and go wherever you want with that money, okay? No more holding back. Life is too short to always be on a budget.”
“Jesus, Mom, okay,” I laugh. “You talk like I’m dying.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just want you to enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Especially after this trip.”
“Amen to that.” I reach into the JanSport for The Alchemist and discover Micah’s Bible instead. “Crap.”
“What?”
“I’ve got the wrong book. This is the one Grandpa lent me.”
There’s a piece of paper wedged between the pages: the picture I found in the Phantom.
My mother’s jaw drops. “Where on earth did that come from?”
“I took it from James’ car by accident. I was going to put it back, but I forgot.”
She takes the photo. “My wedding day.”
“Why would James hold on to this?”
She shrugs. “My God. I was so young.” She flips it over, and her eyes water as she reads the back. Written in thin cursive are the words Me & Mina. She sighs, and heavy tears trickle down her cheeks. Here we go again. “Do you have a tissue?”
I flag down a flight attendant, who returns with a pack of Kleenex.
“Thank you.” Mom wipes her eyes. “You know, Manny, nine months after this was taken — ”
“Nope. Don’t need to know that.”
She chuckles and nudges my shoulder, handing the picture back to me. I notice a torn corner of the photo, the part with the numbers. Only four of the six remain: 1909.
Mom notices my expression. “What’s the matter?”
“Shoot. I think I ripped it.” I double-check the binding of Micah’s Bible. “Maybe we can tape it back?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m surprised that paper hasn’t already crumbled to pieces. It’s older than you are. See? 1909…87,” she adds. “September 19, 1987. My wedding anniversary.”
A new voice comes over the intercom system: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Just letting you know we should be pulling away from the gate in the next five minutes, give or take. Thank you for your patience, and we know you always have a choice when flying. So thank you for choosing United.”
“We’ll mail the book back to your grandfather when we get home,” Mom suggests.
“So the only thing I have to read until we switch planes in New York is a Bible?”
She snickers. “It couldn’t hurt for you to learn a thing or two from reading the Word. God works in mysterious ways.”
“Well, lucky me.”
I sigh and peel open the cover:
Genesis 1. The Beginning - 1 In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…
I’m already bored. I flip a few pages ahead, noticing a folded corner:
Genesis 4. Cain and Abel - 1 Adam knew Eve —
Blah-blah-blah. Then they had Cain and Abel.
2 …Abel tended to the flocks, and Cain harvested the soil…
Portions of the next few passages are underlined in pencil:
3 At the peak of harvest, Cain offered the fruits of his labour as a gift to the Lord. 4 But Abel brought an offering of greater splendour — fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The Lord favoured Abel and his offering of blood, 5 but on Cain and his offering he shunned. So Cain harboured anger, and his temper was tested.
The Lord obviously wasn’t a vegetarian.
8 Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” While they were in the field, Cain surprised his brother, Abel, and slayed him in secret…
If Cain slayed him in secret, who the hell knew to write about it?
10 The Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood shall never cease to echo from the ground. 11 It has cursed you, and you may never again find peace or prosperity from the ground in which it was shed. 12 You have lost the only gifts that have filled you with purpose. Your Father shuns you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.”
Damn. That sucks. Moving on.
I straighten the corner of the page and continue perusing. The book falls open to a second bent corner and another underlined section:
Mark 13. 12 Brother will betray brother, sending him to his death, and a father will sacrifice his child. Children will commit dissent against their fathers and have them put to death…
Then a third:
1 John 3. 11 For the message has never changed: We should love one another. 12 Do not be like Cain, whose jealousy led to the murder of his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his evil actions fell short of the glory of his brother’s righteousness…
Cain and Abel again?
13 Do not be surprised, my Brothers in Blood, if the world hates you. They misunderstand. 14 We know that we have passed from death to life because of love. Anyone who does not share love of Christ’s blood remains in death.
What version of the Bible is this? The cover of the book shows three intersecting Vs, and the spine reads Verum Versio Vulgata.
The final bent corner of the book marks The Gospel of Luke: The Prodigal Son. I already know this story. It’s a lesson on forgiveness. The tale of two brothers: a loyal one who sticks by his father’s side and a greedy one who squanders his inheritance prematurely. When the latter returns home, defeated, the father receives him with open arms, but the loyal brother isn’t quick to forgive. The passage ends with the father telling his bitter son:
We must celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.
That last part is circled: He was lost and is found.
Hmm. He was lost and is found… Synapses start firing in my brain, connecting my thoughts like pieces of a puzzle: I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see. But now I see — But now I see — Open your eyes… Your father didn’t die of a heart attack. Open your eyes, Emmanuel. Please. You came so that you could learn about your dreams, and — I once read somewhere “dreams are the language of God.”
It happens fast, like lightning, and for a split second — “Amazing Grace,” the dream about my father, the shadow dreams with Lucy, her suspicion of foul play, Micah’s quote from The Alchemist — everything fits. But what does it all mean, that my father really was murdered?
I scan the marked pages of the Verum Versio Vulgata once more, pages dealing with sibling rivalry, jealousy, and murder. Micah wanted me to read this days ago, and now it’s coincidentally in my presence? In my brief interactions with him, I’ve deduced my grandfather is too smart and calculated for mere coincidences.
“The prodigal son,” I mumble. That’s what Micah called me when he greeted us on our first night. James did, too, that next morning in the foyer.
Come to think of it, James is the only person throughout this trip who didn’t make a comment urging me to stick around — my father’s brother…
What was it Nicholas said? The rightful son should inherit the legacy of the father. Is there some inheritance I don’t know about? After finding out a
bout my secret bank account, it didn’t cross my mind there could be more — more reserved for the “rightful” son.
Lucy’s murder theory is starting to seem less farfetched.
“Mom? How much is Stockton Farms worth?”
“Stockton Farms? I don’t know.”
“A lot, right? It has to be.”
“I guess so. It’s an old business.”
“And is it owned by Grandpa Micah only?”
“No. It belongs to the family. Your father owned a part, and I’m sure James does, too.”
“So with Dad out of the picture, Micah’s and James’ shares would get bigger, right?”
She sits up. “Why are you asking me this?”
“What if Dad didn’t die of a heart attack?”
“Manuel — ”
“What if Dad died because someone wanted more control in the company?”
“What are you saying? You think your” — she lowers her voice — “you think your father was murdered?”
I nod.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“And by whom?”
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? James. Think about it. Micah’s got ten, maybe fifteen years left in him.”
“Manuel,” she scolds.
“And with Dad out of the picture, James would stand to inherit everything.”
“Drop it.”
“Especially with me not around. And after what James did to me this morning, I wouldn’t be surprised if he — ”
“I said drop it.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the attendant from before announces, “the pilot has been cleared for takeoff. Please return your seats to an upright position and place all electronic devices on flight mode.”
I jump to my feet, startling the people around us. “Wait.”
The attendant freezes.
“Emmanuel Stockton.” Mom pulls me down to my seat. “What has gotten into you?”
“I’d like to get off this plane,” I continue.
“Sorry?” the attendant replies.
“Stop that,” Mom hisses. “We’re going home. Sit down.”
I ignore her. “I said I’d like to get off. Please.”
I feel eyes watching me from all sides now, and a man in the first row of business class leans forward, reaching for his hip. My guess would be he’s some sort of cop.
A male attendant moves closer. “Is there a problem?”
I grab my bag. “Nope. I just need to get off.”
“Sir, the Jetway has been pulled back. You’re going to have to take your seat.”
“Manuel, sit down,” my mother urges.
My gut tightens, and I object louder than intended. “No!” Steady, Manny. “You sense it, too,” I whisper.
My mother doesn’t deny it. Her suspicion is palpable. I can feel it in her eyes.
“Karen, call the Jetway back,” the male attendant tells the female closest to the door. “I’m going to have to ask both of you to exit this aircraft.”
“No. I’m the problem. I’ll go. She has to stay on board.”
“Manny, no,” Mom pleads.
“Sir, I’m afraid both of you must — ”
“I already told you I would go!” My voice erupts like it did when I scolded Lucy by the lake. Passengers jump. Husbands clutch their wives, and mothers hold their children, but the crew inches closer.
Mom grabs my hand and looks into my eyes. Suddenly, her pupils flex, and without moving her mouth, Mom sends her voice into my head identically to how James did at the funeral — ‘Listen to me very closely.’
“Huh?”
‘Listen. You must follow what I’m about to tell you. Focus on your emotions. Use them, don’t fight them. Look the man in the eye, and tell him there’s been a misunderstanding. He’ll listen to you.’
“How are you doing that?”
‘We’re running out of time. Tell him what you want.’
I nod.
‘In his eyes,’ she stresses.
But the attendant steps back and allows the plainclothes officer from business class to take over. He steps forward with a baton at the ready. “Sir, hands in the air.”
I obey.
‘Hurry, Manuel.’
“Walk toward me now, slowly.” The cop reaches for handcuffs from inside his jacket.
I step forward and wait for his eyes to settle on mine. Then I focus on the adrenaline in my blood and the anxiety in my gut, sensing a noticeable difference in the way my voice and thought align. “Stop.”
The officer stops, and every hair on my body rises with anxious excitement.
I focus on maintaining the same controlled, authoritative tone. “Put the baton away” — he does — “and the cuffs.” I can’t believe it’s working. “There’s been a misunderstanding, and there’s no need to alert security.”
He nods. “Of course.”
“And you’re going to let me go.”
“Us,” my mother chimes in.
“No, Mom, you’re staying on.”
“Manuel, I need to come with you.”
“You’re staying on board,” I command, directing the same intensity and focus toward her eyes, as well.
Her pupils pulsate, growing and shrinking as if fighting my directive. “Manuel, don’t,” she whispers.
My mind senses her resistance like a brick wall. So I try again, targeting the center of her irises with the force of a battering ram. “You’re staying on board and letting me go.”
Mom’s pupils expand, absorbing my words like a sponge. Then she stops resisting and sits back down, hypnotized.
I’m sorry, Mom. The last thing I want to do is leave my mother by herself, but she can’t afford to stay. This trip has taken its toll on her, and I don’t think her mind could survive another day. Mom needs a break. She needs to be free of my father and James and Micah — and me.
“I’ll be okay.”
She smiles and nods, her eyes swelling with tears. “I know you will.”
“You will, too.” I lean in and kiss her on the forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. More than you could ever imagine.” She kisses my cheeks and wraps her arms around my neck. “Your strength is my strength, okay? Remember that. And if you need me, for anything at all, tell Gabriel. You can trust him.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Now go. I’ve kept you in the dark for too long. Go.”
I have hundreds of questions running through my head, but there’s no time to ask her.
The officer moves aside and permits me to exit the aisle. As I head to the cabin door, I hear the murmurs of other passengers:
“Did you see his eyes?”
“I’m glad he’s not staying.”
“Why don’t they arrest him?”
“He should be in handcuffs right now.”
“They should make her get off, too.”
“But did you see his eyes?”
My eyes?
Before stepping onto the Jetway, I look to the female attendant holding the door. “And my mother’s not allowed to have any alcohol on this flight. Got it?”
She nods. “Yes, sir. No alcohol.”
The cabin door shuts behind me with a hiss. I catch my reflection in a convex mirror wedged in the high corner of the Jetway. What were they talking about? There’s nothing wrong with my eyes.
I continue toward the gate, passing a familiar yellow sign: Entering a CCTV zone.
Okay, Manny. Act natural. I lower my Toreros cap and look straight ahead, averting my gaze from any place a security camera could be hidden. The sound of my heartbeat helps me maintain a consistent stride all the way to customs. Thud, step. Thud, step. Thud, step. Thud, step…
Th
e official reviews my passport and questions my lack of luggage. I deter his suspicion with some excuse about a missed connection. He lets me pass, but not before the security camera mounted on his checkpoint station glows a bright turquoise. It’s identical to the glitchy camera from the cafe in Brighton.
“Move along,” the official repeats.
“Right. Sorry.” I tear my glance away from the turquoise eye and head for the exit, but the colored ring follows me, popping up behind every plexiglass surveillance dome along the way. Am I being tracked?
My last obstacle is three security guards blocking passage to the taxi zone — can’t be more than ten steps.
Thud, one. Thud, two. Thud, three. Thud, four… The guards put their hands to their ears in unison as they listen to their headsets. Then two of them sprint down the terminal, brushing past me. I remain calm. Thud, seven. Thud, eight. Thud, nine…
“Hey! Hang on,” the lone officer says.
Shit. I take a deep breath and face the guard, flashing a friendly smile. “What’s up?”
He approaches and extends his right arm. I tense, anticipating an arrest. “Your rucksack’s open.”
I swing the JanSport around and see the corner of the Verum Versio Vulgata poking out. “Oh, shoot. Thanks.”
“American, huh? Business or personal?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your visit. Business or personal?”
“Personal.”
“Very well. As you were. Cheers.”
I secure my bag. “Cheers.”
It smells funny in here. Like a —
“You’ve gotta tell me where to take you,” the taxi driver says after we circle the airport a second time. “You got a place to stay, I reckon?”
My heart is still racing from my encounter with the guard. “Yeah. Of course.” I can’t go back to Micah’s just yet, and Lucy’s probably still angry. So… “Take me to the nearest pub.”
The driver winks and nods through the rearview mirror. “That’s more like it.”
I can’t stop thinking about my mother and how she spoke to me with her eyes, the same way James has been speaking to me. Do they have telepathy?
Then there’s what I did to the officer on the plane. Mind control?
But those are the least of my worries. If I’ve correctly pieced together the clues from Micah’s Bible, it means Lucy was right. My father didn’t die of a heart attack.
The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1) Page 9