Castle's eyes bounced between Jon and Canary.
"One of your rings," Jon said again, pointing. "I need something personal of yours."
Castle held his confused expression as he slid one of his rings from his finger and handed it to Jon.
Jon rubbed the ring and cocked his head. "This was your grandfather's, right?"
"Yes," said Castle with curiosity in his brows.
Jon's eyes locked in place as he spoke. "He was with friends, in a boat, on a pond, just after the winter's thaw. The boat capsized, and your grandfather died of hypothermia."
"Yes. How on earth...?"
"This was his high school football ring. Your grandmother gave it to you."
"Okay. How are you doing that? Did you read a newspaper article or something?"
Jon handed the ring back to the man. "How about this," he said, pointing at Castle's suit coat. "Hand me that deck of cards in your inner pocket."
Both Canary and Castle stood mesmerized by Jon's unwavering confidence. Castle’s hand went hesitantly to the pocket, but there was suspicion in his eyes. He wanted to know how Jon knew the cards were in there. He pulled the sealed pack out and handed it over in a robotic fashion.
Jon ripped the seal off the pack and pulled the cards out. "Shuffle them," he said, handing them back.
"Really, Mr. Blake? Card tricks?"
"This isn't a parlor trick," said Jon, his eyes intensely focused on the man. "Peel them up, one at a time, and don't show me what they are."
The man flipped a card up and looked at it.
Jon reached out and touched Castle's wrist with his fingertips. "Two of diamonds," he said.
Castle stuffed the card to the bottom and pulled up another.
Jon touched him again and said, "Jack of hearts."
The man's face hardened, his eyes scanned Jon's hand suspiciously. "How are you doing that?"
"Pull a card from anywhere in the deck."
Castle cut the deck and looked at the bottom.
Jon touched him a third time. "King," said Jon, "of hearts."
The man pulled back. "Did you know every card that was drawn at that table in there?"
Jon's face had a look of confusion, but he compensated immediately. "Yes," he said, with steady certainty. "I knew every card that was drawn. I felt it through the table."
Castle gripped Jon by the tricep and walked him down the hallway a few yards. Canary tagged along and got around so she could see their mouths when they stopped.
Castle snapped her an irritated look. "What is she doing?"
"She's deaf," said Jon. "She needs to see our lips."
"Deaf?" his face contorted again. "This just keeps getting weirder." Jon pulled his hand from the man’s steel grip. "What's your scam? Are you looking to make a score?"
"I'm not here for your money. If I were, I wouldn't have walked away from that game empty-handed."
"So what are you here for?"
"I came to meet you."
"Me? For what? News coverage? Why not go to a television station and show them your little tricks?"
"This gift is not mine to do with as I please. I am an instrument of God." Now it was Canary's turn to be in shock. Why would his voices make him say that? "God told me to come to you," said Jon, squarely.
"God sent you?" he said sarcastically. He studied Jon’s face. "You’re playing me."
"You're not the one being played. I am." Jon looked for the words to explain. "I said I came here tonight, but that isn't entirely accurate. I was driven to come here, driven by this power God has given me. I didn't know I would be playing poker, and I didn't know I would lose. All I know is what he is guiding me to do. Right now he is guiding me to speak to the world, and he wants you to make that happen."
"He's talking through you right now?" said Castle with no small amount of skepticism.
"Yes," said Jon, confidently.
"Prove it," said Castle, with distaste. "Prove it with something other than cheap tricks."
Jon became still and introspective again.
Castle's visage remained fixed in stone.
"Do you own a handgun?" said Jon, finally.
The statement caused a noticeable response in Castle's eyes, but he did not allow his emotion to bleed out into the rest of his face.
"In the desk at your office," said Jon, fixing his piercing eyes intently on the man, "there is a handgun. There are four people who know it is there, but none of them know you put it in your mouth three weeks ago but didn't have the courage to pull the trigger."
Castle's poker face broke.
"God knows your struggle with cocaine. He knows your struggle with gambling. He knows your emptiness. He sees your pursuit of wealth has not brought you the peace you desperately crave, and that it has left you more hopeless than you were at the start."
Castle staggered backward reaching out to balance himself with the wall.
"You hunger for that peace, but there is no escape from the torment of your inward depression. It hunts you like a predator."
"Stop."
"Stealing your sleep, filling the cracks around you with dread, a dread that is magnified when the cocaine has worn off."
Castle gasped for breath.
"Your board members will eventually notice the nosebleeds. Soon your face will show the scars of your addiction. You fear you will lose their respect, and all you have built will crumble to the ground, leaving you with no legacy and nothing to show for years of endless toil."
"ENOUGH!" he hissed. "I've heard enough." Tears trickled from his dazed and wondering eyes.
Jon didn't press any further, but allowed Castle to pace in the hallway. It had to be hard for the man to hear all of his inner demons aired so publicly by a teenager. Canary couldn't imagine what was going through his mind. "There's no doubt you know things," said Castle, at last. "But what do I do about it? What does God want me to do about it?"
"He wants you to stop being a baby," said Jon, seemingly surprised by his own words.
Castle's face twisted. "What?"
"Look how much you've been given, yet you cry about it. Grow up and stop acting like a child. If you don't want to do drugs, don't do them. If you don't want to gamble, do something else. God has given this world to you, and you can do anything you want with it. The possibilities for you are endless."
"But what is there to do that I haven't already done? It feels so pointless. The only thrill left is the chance to lose it all. That's why I gamble!"
"No. You gamble because of your guilt. You have to stop feeling guilty for what you have. Guilt is the poison that keeps you from enjoying the riches you've been given. It is why the rich throw their money away on those who pretend to be poor. Their minds have been poisoned into believing that they don't deserve to have such great wealth. Stop buying into the lies of religion and start enjoying yourself."
Castle stared with furrowed brows. "God wants me to stop believing in religion?"
"No. Like Galileo, God wants you to transcend your current understanding and leave behind the primitive principles of your ignorant ancestors. Religion isn't words in a book, it is spirit and energy."
A stillness descended upon the room like a dark specter. Castle stood, stunned, desperately trying to digest what had just been revealed.
Canary struggled to take in a breath as she watched. She had not realized until now the extent of Jon's power. How much did he know about her? How deeply could his gift penetrate? Had he seen the dark things that haunted her soul? Did he know her secret shame? Had his voices revealed it all to him? If so, could he still love her?
"So," said Jon, straightening his shoulders, "will you help me tell my story?"
Castle looked up, shell shocked, and slowly nodded.
Chapter 9
David Chance sat at the kitchen table as life happened around him. His wife was putting blueberry pancakes onto plates and calling Ben to join Emily at the table. There was conversation about Ben's scheduled trip to a friend’s house and Em
ily's plan to have someone come to stay at their house while he was gone. Sharon got syrup and poured it on for them—because they always used too much. And their skinny, orange cat, who fancied himself a human, walked around their legs crying for scraps from the table because, apparently, every kind of wet and dry cat food available at the grocery store wasn't good enough for him.
It all seemed so normal, but David felt anything but normal. His mind boiled with thoughts of government conspiracies, demon possession, terrorists, and aliens. But mostly aliens. He set his coffee down with a thump. "What if it is aliens, Sharon?"
Her brows rose as she slowly pulled her toast away from her mouth. "What?"
"What if we have this all wrong? What if it's not God?"
"Aliens? Really, David?"
"What if Collins and his people are right? It would certainly explain what happened last night."
"Nothing happened last night. You had a dream, probably inspired by all the alien stuff Collins put in your head."
"If it's God, then why?!" The force of his voice caused both his children to snap their eyes up at him.
She set her toast down. "Why what, David?"
"Why does he let those things..." He stopped himself from saying what would have undoubtedly given the children nightmares, and chose his words carefully. "Why does he let them do what they do? Don't we have some say in all this?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure he has his reasons."
David leaned in. "But if it isn't God, then it all makes more sense, all the manipulations, all the conspiracies."
"But if it's aliens, David, where does God fit into the picture?"
"I don't know," he said, with a pause. "Maybe he doesn't."
"Really? God sends you incredible messages that predict the future with unshakable accuracy, and now you want to deny it all?"
"I'm not denying it all. I'm just questioning what’s real. It's not like the messages ever told me they were coming from God."
"Do you really think aliens—if there even are such things, which I doubt—would know the future as precisely as you've been shown?"
"I don't know, maybe." He put an edge in his tone.
"David, come on. Think about this. There is no way any living being could have predicted those things with such incredible accuracy. Don't give up so easily on what you know to be true. If you do, the enemy has already won."
He softened. "I'm just trying to figure out who I can trust. I’m surrounded on all sides. We have no way of knowing who is... compromised, and who isn't. And now they're visiting me in the night, if not in reality, at least in my dreams."
"First off, what happened to you last night was probably the result of bad lasagna, and second, you yourself said it’s all over. Elliot James shut the doors on that research lab. The X11 thing is dead."
It was true. Whatever force had been herding Jon Blake to kill Elliot James to stop him from shutting down the X11 project had failed. But would they accept failure? Would they just stop? He heaved a heavy sigh. "But they're still out there."
Sharon gripped his forearm. "We have to trust that God will protect us."
David studied his wife’s face. "Since when did you become the immovable rock of faith?"
She gave a half shrug. "I had a lot of time to talk to Frank while you were, you know, gone."
"Oh—yeah, that’ll do it."
"So, like I said, we just need to trust, now that this whole thing is over."
He puffed out a breath of air. "I don't know about over. I imagine the enemy has been at this for quite some time. I doubt this is going to stop them—delay them, maybe—but not stop them."
"Well, when they strike again, you'll be there to stop them."
"But I don't want to be there! I want to be here. With you. With the kids. I'm not a secret agent."
Her face lit. It might have been her brilliant blond hair, or the way the early morning light made her pale skin glow a warm amber, but her face looked like the face of an angel. "And," she said, slowly, "we want you here. But there are things in this world that are more important than what we want."
He envied her new-found stability.
"And, if it wasn't for you, countless people would be..." she glanced at the kids. "Let’s just say it’s a good thing you followed the messages."
Again, she was right. If he hadn’t followed the messages, Boston would have been destroyed two times over, and his family would have died along with it. "What’s so important about Massachusetts, anyway?" he thought out loud. "You'd think these things would be happening in D.C. or somewhere."
Ben slid his chair back. "Mom, can I be excused?"
She checked his plate. The pancakes were mostly gone. "Sure, honey. Take your sister and go get your chores done."
"But Megaman's on in two minutes. Can’t we do ‘em after?"
"Chores, then television," she said firmly.
"But it only comes on once a week."
"Then you should have done your chores earlier."
"But..."
"Not another word, young man."
His face dropped, and his shoulders went with it, but not another word was uttered. He understood the consequences. He and Emily put their dishes in the sink; Emily climbed the counter to get food for the cat—not that he would eat it; and Ben tugged the top off the trash and began pulling the bag out. They were easy chores, but enough to teach one vital principle: work before play.
Sharon got up and started tidying the kitchen. David pitched in to help. "I hope you don't think I'm bellyaching about all this."
She let out a small burst of air as she wiped her hands on the towel hanging from the stove handle.
"What?" he said defensively.
"You were trapped underground for ten days. I think you've earned a little bellyaching."
"See!" he said. "Now we're talking!"
She shook her head and smiled. "It's natural to have questions. You've been through a lot."
"I just don't understand why he does things the way he does. Like that Porsche. That thing was supposed to pay off all our bills, but instead, it's sitting in the police impound lot. And God won't even let me cash in on all this media attention I've been getting. It's like he wants us to be poor."
"I doubt that," she said.
"I'm just sayin’—it would be nice if he would throw us a bone, here."
Her eyes lit. "Oh. I almost forgot. Oprah's people called."
"Seriously?"
She laughed.
"Oh. I get it. Go ahead. Soak it in."
She covered her mouth. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."
"They could have called," he said, feigning dejection.
"But really. They're about the only ones who haven't. You're right, David. God could have let you take some of those interviews, but apparently he has something else planned."
David started the water for the dishes. "It's funny. I thought our finances were my big issue with God, but, when it comes right down to it, I just can't seem to come to grips with what all this is supposed to mean."
"Maybe that's why you’re dreaming about aliens."
"Maybe. It's just frustrating not knowing who to trust or what to believe—and it’s hard to lose people I care about and not understand why." He squirted soap into the sink with emphasis. "Why did Alex have to die, and Brad?! God could have easily given me a message and saved his life. Was his life not worth saving?" Sharon had no response for that. She just stood quietly next to him. "It was miraculous how he provided for me all through the crisis and how he gave you comfort by sending you a message while I was gone. But why not Brad? Why not Karen?"
"I guess there are some things we're not meant to understand."
"It would be so much easier if I just knew..."
Emily's shrill scream erupted from the living room. "DADDY!"
David bolted across the floor and found Emily standing on the couch, looking out the front window in terror. She turned, eyes wide, and pointed. "DADDY!"
&n
bsp; One word came to David’s lips. "Ben." He ran to the front door and swung it open. What he saw caused dread to set his veins on fire. The trash cans were tipped over at the end of the driveway. A red car was peeling off down the road.
"NOOO!" He broke into a run and leapt over the flower pots at the edge of the stairs. "STOP!" Desperation fueled every muscle. His bare feet hit the driveway and his strong legs pumped like a machine as he continued out into the street. In his shaking vision he could see the red car come to a stop behind a slow moving truck. Could he make it to them before they turned at the intersection? He swung his arms in rhythm with his legs and pushed with every ounce of strength, ignoring the bite of the tar on his feet.
The car pulled out around the truck, its engine revving.
"NO!" David looked frantically for anyone who might help, but the street was empty. There was no hope. The car would make it to the intersection and be gone before he could get there. He slowed to a stop, gasping for air and twisting around. He saw a yellow Volkswagen Beetle approaching from behind him. "Stop!" he said, flagging it with his hands.
The young woman quickly rolled her window up.
"Please! Someone took my son!"
As she drove past she avoided eye contact, clearly afraid to get involved in whatever was going on.
"Please! They took my son!" he said again, running next to the car.
But she sped up, and he could not keep pace.
The red car turned left at the end of the road.
And disappeared.
Chapter 10
"It is time."
Jon Blake opened his eyes. They burned from lack of sleep, but they were usable.
"It’s time to make history," said another voice. He hardly noticed when the voices changed now, it happened so frequently. He raked his hand through his thick hair and climbed out of bed with a yawn.
History? He barely had the mental faculties to make coffee.
"You had questions."
It was true. The night before, his mind was ablaze with questions, but every time he posed one, "Sleep," was all they would say. He could see the wisdom in that now. His head and eyes felt like lead weights.
"Get dressed and we will answer them."
Lies (The David Chance Series Book 3) Page 7