Moon Rise

by Marilee Brothers

  I nodded.

  He continued, “All Star Seekers have a star located somewhere on their palms, an indicator of psychic powers. Their secret is still closely guarded. Nothing is written down. Ever. Even today, we have legitimate cover. To the outside world, we're just everyday folks with an interest in astronomy, meeting here at the institute. Let me see your hand."

  I thrust out my hand, palm up. He checked it and nodded. “The Star Seekers’ oral history includes the story of a powerful gemstone and the maid who is meant to have it. Your star, because it's in the exact center of the lunar mound, is extremely rare. You know lunar refers to the moon, right?"

  "Yes.” I knew where he was going.

  "Along with the moonstone, that mark means you possess powers far beyond the rest of us. It means you're the girl from the prophecy."

  Should I tell him my power cord had been yanked from the outlet? That I was out of juice? I gripped the edge of my chair and looked at the ceiling, hoping for some sort of divine intervention.

  Fortunately, Larry had a further agenda. “Trimarks. I understand you've met a couple of those bad boys."

  I didn't like to think about Chris Revelle and Baxter. “Yeah."

  "We'll cover the Trimarks later, during the program. Now, you need to know the sign and the greeting."

  Much better. “You mean we have a secret handshake?"

  Larry showed me his frowny face. “This is no joking matter, Allie. If it isn't done properly, you will not be admitted."

  I sobered quickly and followed his instructions. At every checkpoint, I was to present my palm, facing out, fingers up so the sentry could see my star. He/she would do the same. We would then join palms, interlace our fingers and say, “Stella potenza."

  "Means ‘Star power’ in Italian,” Larry told me.

  "Why Italian?” I asked.

  Larry shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe that's where it all started. Maybe they were in a country that didn't speak Italian and it was a secrecy thing. Doesn't matter."

  He made me practice for a while until I could flash my palm, slap it against his and spit out “Stella potenza” like a pro.

  Larry stood and opened the door. “You're ready. Good luck."

  On dragging feet, I exited the small room. I'd never felt more unready in my life.

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  Chapter Three

  I scoped out the people milling around the foyer, hoping to spot Mike. He was nowhere to be seen, so I wandered around the exhibit hall and picked up a brochure that showed the position of the stars for tonight, November 1st. Then, I read about the Sugdens, the filthy-rich couple who'd endowed the building. At one time, Paul's family owned most of what would become downtown Bellevue. When they sold the property, they'd kept a full city block. Patricia missed her home in New Mexico. Paul, a devoted husband and lifelong astronomy buff, built the Southwestern-styled institute for two purposes: to encourage the study of the heavens and to make his wife happy.

  A fleeting thought darted through my mind. Was Patricia a Star Seeker? Did she have supernatural powers? Really, how many husbands would run out and erect a multi-million dollar stucco, red-tiled building to keep their wives happy? Maybe Patricia had tons of supernatural charm oozing out her pores and poor Paul couldn't resist. The thought made me smile. If I ever got my powers back, I'd give that kind of man-control a try.

  I felt a tap on the shoulder. I spun around to see a sweet old geezer dressed in a white shirt with a bolo tie, faded jeans and cowboy boots. We eyed each other's palms, clasped hands and exchanged a stella potenza.

  He studied my face. “I'm Hank. You're the girl we've been hearing about. Right? Alice? Allison?"

  "Allie,” I said. “My real name is Alfrieda."

  Hank's eyebrows drew together, and he frowned. “No such name. You sure it's not Elfrieda ... with an E?"

  I forced a smile. “It's kind of a long story. When I was born, my grandfather paid the hospital bill so he got to name me. His mother was called Alfrieda Carlotta and so am I."

  I hoped he wouldn't ask why Purdy, my father, hadn't paid the hospital bill. I had an answer, but this wasn't the time or place.

  Hank checked his watch. “Time to go. Follow me."

  He turned and strode toward the door leading to the domed section of the building. He moved pretty fast for an old guy. I had to run to catch up with him. A solemn-faced woman was posted outside the door. Once again, we did the hand thing and the greeting. No way was a Trimark going to sneak into this meeting!

  I followed Hank into the dome-shaped room and gazed around in wonder. Above me, stars were scattered across a midnight blue sky. A circle of light leaked in from the horizon, bathing the room in a rosy glow. The circular wall was lined with a dark red padded bench. Hank stopped and pointed at a bank of controls in the center of the dome.

  "See those levers? They're used to simulate the night sky hour by hour. What you're looking at right now is the coming of dawn. Every time we meet, it's the same ... dawn breaking. It's a Star Seeker thing, you see. You know, hope for the future."

  "Cool,” I said, smiling at Hank.

  I was tempted to plop down on the bench and watch the night fade away. Chill out until the Star Seekers meeting was over. But Hank wasn't going to let that happen.

  "This way,” he said, looking back to make sure I was following him. We passed through another set of doors into a large auditorium with a stage at one end.

  "There's your daddy,” Hank said, pointing toward the stage. “Front row, center."

  Sure enough, Mike was right up front, looking over his shoulder, scanning the crowd. When he spotted me, he waved and pointed at the seat next to him. I stifled a groan. So much for blending into the crowd.

  "You go on down, Allie,” Hank said. “I'll grab a seat back here. See you later."

  I thanked him and trotted down the aisle, amazed by the size of the crowd. The place was literally packed with Star Seekers. I sat down next to my dad.

  "All set?” he asked.

  Struck dumb, I just stared at him. Did all set mean I'd passed my orientation session with Larry? The secret handshake and stella potenza? I had a horrible feeling it didn't. Now would be the time to tell him about your little problem, Allie.

  I'd just opened my mouth to speak when the lights dimmed. Was it too late to make a run for it? It was. Larry strode onto the stage and tapped the microphone. His voice boomed from the speakers.

  "Welcome, fellow Star Seekers. Before we welcome our special guest, we have some business to take care of."

  I gave a little yip of alarm. Mike looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. Oh my God, was I embarrassing him? Already?

  I murmured, “I'm fine, I'm fine,” all the while thinking, Idiot, just tell him your powers are gone!

  When Larry started the program, I tried to relax, drawing in huge, gusty breaths and blowing them out, earning another puzzled look from Mike.

  First, the lights came up and we all clapped and cheered for our benefactor, Patricia Sugden. Paul was nowhere to be seen—probably back at the family manse getting his nails buffed or whatever it is rich people do—which meant Patricia was the Star Seeker, as I'd suspected. She stood and blessed us with a diamond-twinkling wave of the hand and a smile.

  Next, we looked at pictures of Trimarks projected on a large movie screen positioned behind Larry. Close-ups of Trimark faces flashed on the screen, one after the other. Pleasant looking, ordinary people, much like my fellow Star Seekers.

  Larry warned, “Trimarks are experts at worming their way into your circle of friends. Almost instantly, they figure out what you need and become that person. They can be charming, vulnerable, compassionate ... whatever it takes to earn your trust."

  A Nazi concentration camp flashed onto the screen followed by a close-up of Adolph Hitler.

  "Trimark,” Larry said.

  New faces flashed on the screen, one after another. Larry recited their names and deeds. “Ted Bundy, serial k
iller ... Trimark. Timothy McVeigh, Oklahoma City bomber ... Trimark. Saddam Hussein, cruel dictator ... Trimark."

  After a dozen more, he said, “Here's the bottom line: Trimarks are attracted to evil like moths to the flame. Our job as Star Seekers is to stop them."

  He leaned closer to the mike and lowered his voice. “I can't stress this enough. You must find a way to palm-check for the inverted triangle. If you need help with that, see me after the meeting. For you new people, we have no handouts. No brochures. We write nothing down."

  Just as Larry said, “Remember, the inverted triangle may not be fully formed...” Chris Revelle's face flashed on the screen. The air whooshed out of my lungs like I'd taken a punch in the gut.

  Immediate flashback: Revelle gluing Faye's hand to a table. Baxter standing over her with a razor-sharp hatchet. Me, tied up and helpless. I must have made a sound because Mike murmured, “You okay, Allie?"

  Unable to speak, I nodded my lie.

  What Larry said next snapped me out of my emotional meltdown.

  "Okay, people. Listen up. This is important. New information about the Trimarks has come to our attention. They've had a defector."

  An excited murmur ran through the crowd. I was doing more than murmuring. I was doing imaginary cartwheels of joy! Maybe the special guest was the defector, not me.

  Larry lifted a hand. “A Trimark with a conscience? I know it sounds impossible, but it's true. Security reasons prevent me from sharing the particulars, but, because of this man's actions, his only son was killed. Grief-stricken, he sought out one of our members and shared some vital information."

  People began shouting questions.

  Larry lifted a hand for silence. “We all know Trimarks love to do bad things to people. Right? That's what they live for. But, we didn't know they have supernatural abilities."

  Someone shouted, “Like what?"

  "Here's where it gets confusing,” Larry said. “Our informant would only tell us it has to do with triangulation and that Trimarks are forbidden to use it unless something extremely important is at stake."

  Like the moonstone, I thought. Then, why hadn't Revelle and Baxter used their magic to take it from me? Very curious.

  "The Trimarks have in their possession, a dark crystal that infuses them with limited power. According to their oral history, it comes from the dark side of the moon,” Larry continued.

  Star Seeker hands were waving all over the auditorium. Larry pointed at a woman in the third row who stood and asked, “Is the informant here?"

  "No. We offered him sanctuary, but he refused. He was a no-show for our second meeting. He's either scared or the Trimarks took care of him."

  His comment caused another ripple of alarm, times two for me, since I was now certain about the identity of the special guest.

  Larry rapped his gavel. “Quiet, please. I have one more point to make."

  He paused for a moment and looked around the room before his gaze settled on me. “If it's true that the dark crystal originates from the dark side of the moon, the moonstone reflects the opposite, the visible or bright side of the moon. In other words, the moonstone and dark crystal represent two halves of a whole, which is why the Trimarks want the moonstone so badly. If the two halves were joined, the full power of the moon and its magic would belong to the Trimarks."

  An eerie silence followed. Slowly, I became aware that everyone in the audience was staring at me. Under the heavy weight of their scrutiny, I broke out in a clammy sweat. I clutched the moonstone pendant and turned to look at my father, whose face had turned chalk white. My deep breathing morphed into hyperventilation.

  Larry's words faded in and out as I tried to get my troublesome emotions under control. The next thing I heard was, “Thanks to our special guest, we've learned Trimarks can be deterred by a crucifix. And now, here she is, the girl we've been waiting for, Allie Emerson."

  Oh. My. God. Not now. Mike catapulted from his seat and all but yanked me out of mine. He clamped an arm around my shoulders and began to march me toward the stage.

  "Mike!” I cried. “It's not my time."

  But, I was unable to stop the irresistible force that was my father on a mission to deliver his oh-so-gifted daughter for show and tell.

  No need to go into all the sordid details of the most humiliating experience of my life. Okay, maybe just a few.

  Picture this: Allie walking onto the stage to a standing ovation. Mike beaming with pride. Allie's knees knocking together as the audience settles into their seats. Two-hundred pairs of eyes following Allie's pitiful and fruitless attempt to use telekinetic power to make a No. 2 pencil roll across a perfectly flat surface. Murmurs of disappointment from the crowd. Mike looking embarrassed.

  But, as bad as that was, worse happened during the after-meeting social, where Star Seekers mingled, guzzled purple punch and ate cookies shaped like stars and crescent moons. Everybody, and I mean everybody, felt compelled to offer words of advice, comfort and excuses for my failure.

  "You just need to relax!"

  "You're trying too hard!"

  "Too much pressure!"

  "Don't worry, we believe in you.” (That one made me sad.)

  And, of course, the old standby—"You're young. There's time."

  All I really wanted to do was crawl in a hole and die, but I choked down a few cookies that turned to sawdust in my mouth, listened and nodded.

  By the time Kizzy and Charlie picked me up, I was shaky and exhausted. Kizzy took one look at my face and gathered me into her arms, where I sobbed out my misery.

  Later that night, I turned out the lights in the trailer and opened the blinds so I could lie on my couch bed and look at the sky. Faye was sound asleep in her room. I thought about the start of it all: My fall off the ladder onto the electric fence of the pasture outside the trailer's yard. How the telekinetic power kicked in when I needed it the most, because a bull was about to trample me. How I was able to use the moonstone to read minds. And now all those powers were gone.

  Here's the funny part—last spring, when my powers were alive and well, all I wanted was to get rid of them. Now they were gone and I wanted them back. Could it be I was a serial worrier? Was I a malcontent, destined to undermine each and every bit of happiness coming my way?

  I fixed my gaze on the North Star and said my prayers. I've repeated the same prayer every night since the afternoon when Jesus opened his eyes and looked at me. Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but that really happened.

  I was cowering behind the drapes at Junior's house—long story—and Chris Revelle was about to discover my hiding place. One of my hands held the moonstone. With the other, I lifted my hand, palm out, toward the crucifix hanging on the wall above Junior's TV. The cross began to glow and Jesus opened his eyes. Swear to God! Would I lie about something so weird? Revelle and his buddy got scared off and I escaped with my life.

  I've never been sure who or what saved me. So, to cover all the bases, every night I clutched the moonstone, looked at the sky and said, “Hello, Jesus. It's me, Allie. I'm still here. Thanks."

  I lowered the blinds and tried to clear my mind. That's when I remembered something Kizzy said when Charlie pulled next to the trailer to drop me off.

  She lifted a hand and laid it on my cheek. “Don't be afraid, child. Your healer is coming."

  At the time, I'd been so upset, I'd stared at her dumbly and repeated, “My healer?"

  "Soon,” she said.

  Did I need a healer? Apparently, Kizzy thought I did. I was too heartsick and tired to think about it tonight. Maybe it would make sense tomorrow.

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  Chapter Four

  It was back. My big, ugly, hairy nightmare had its brawny arms around my body and wouldn't let go. It was always the same. I was invisible, sitting in a small living room. A woman dressed in dark slacks and a pink sweater paced back and forth between the kitchen and living room. Her eyes were puffy from crying and, as she paced, she gnawed o
n a thumbnail. Two little girls knelt by the front window, peering out at the passing cars. Every few minutes, one of them would turn and look at their mother. Waif-like, both of them had abnormally huge, sad eyes like the picture our art teacher used as an example of how not to draw eyes.

  "Mommy, when is Daddy coming home?” The girls would say, in tiny, pitiful voices, tears spilling out of their enormous eyes.

  Mommy never got a chance to answer, because Chris Revelle would burst through the front door and say, “He's never coming home! Allie Emerson killed him."

  The woman and two little girls would begin to sob and wail. I'd shout, “I didn't mean to kill him! I'm sorry. I'm sooo sorry!"

  "Allie, wake up! You're yelling again."

  I struggled to fight my way out of the nightmare. Faye's insistent voice finally penetrated my foggy mind. I woke up, face down on a soggy pillow, my heart bumping up against my ribs like it was trying to get out.

  "Okay, okay,” I groused. “I'm awake. Is it time to get up?"

  I rolled over and tried to focus. The glowing red numbers on the clock flashed 6:45. The bus came at 7:15. Startled, I shot up to a sitting position. I was groggy and it was dark so, really, it wasn't my fault. I hadn't realized Faye was hovering directly above me. Our foreheads collided with a sharp crack. I moaned and sank back onto the bed.

  Faye screeched like she'd been stabbed through the neck with a butcher knife. “Ow! Ow! Damn, that hurt. Oh my God, I can't see. I'm blind!"

  I sat up and switched on the light. “All better?"

  She rubbed her head and glared down at me. “I'm going back to bed."

  I pushed back the covers and swung my legs to the floor. “What about work?"

  Faye had a part-time job, waiting tables at Bea's Honey Pot Diner. Good tips. Awful food. I knew because she brought leftovers home. The diner was shaped like a giant bee hive and attracted tourists who took pictures out front and ate there once.

  "I'm working dinner, not breakfast. I'll be gone when you get home, so call me."

  Before she closed the door separating the bedroom from the living room/kitchen, she said, “You really need to do something about your nightmares. Are you talking to the school counselor?"