Book II
Past Imperfect
CHAPTER 1
1916 A.D. The Early Years
MAGGIE WAS A solitary child who never dwelled on her loneliness. It was the way of the Healer, even before they ever understood their destiny. From the moment she had been whisked away to her new life, she had been warned that with her gift came great burdens. Loneliness was the least of them.
Her early years were memorable. A child never forgets the sadness of neglect or feeling unloved. Had she simply been ordinary, her life would probably have ended tragically. Instead, her uniqueness gave her the opportunity to experience a life few could ever imagine.
Maggie was a born healer. Her parents discovered her gift when she turned five. The family pet, a small aging terrier named Alice, had been mauled by a neighbor's dog. Alice was dying. Unsympathetic, Maggie's dad grew irritated at his daughter's distress.
"It's just a dog, for Christ's sake," he snapped, ignoring the tears flowing down his daughter's cheeks. "And stop that damn crying." Grabbing a shovel, he began digging a hole.
"Daddy, please," Maggie begged, clutching the limp body in her arms.
"Please, what? It's dead, or soon will be. Be thankful I'm burying her instead of throwing her in the garbage."
Sniffling, Maggie wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
"I can make her better, daddy. Pleeease, I can make her better."
"Sure you can. You'd better do it quick, because when I'm finished with this hole, I'll be making her better permanently." Maynerd continued digging. "And I said stop crying. You're driving me nuts."
The sobbing stopped and was immediately replaced by an almost inaudible humming. Maynerd glanced at his daughter and shook his head.
Stupid kid! All this over a mutt.
Throwing the shovel on the ground, he reached for the dog and then hesitated. Nestled in Maggie's arms, Alice stared back at him, her upper lip curled as a warning.
"What the —" Pulling the dog from Maggie, he held Alice up and examined her. "What did you do?"
"I made her better, daddy, like I said."
"Made her... How?"
"I hummed to her. It always makes her feel better. Are you mad?"
Maynerd smiled and handed Alice back to Maggie.
"No. No, not at all. You did fine. Real fine. Let's go find mommy. She's going to be very happy to see Alice is okay."
And we're going to be rich.
* * *
Huddled around an old kitchen table, Maggie's parents planned their future. For years, they had made a fairly decent living conning people. Soon that life would be behind them, thanks to their daughter.
"We'll make a killing," Maynerd said, pouring another glass of wine for himself. "I always knew that girl was special."
"Yeah right, Manny. That's why you kept wanting to pawn her off on my grandparents," Candice replied as she picked up her husband's wine glass and downed the contents. "Well, you got me to thank for keeping her with us. A mother knows what's best for her kid."
Maynerd snorted and grabbed his glass back.
"You keep drinking like that and your liver's gonna crap out on you. As for your motherly instincts, we both know there ain't a maternal bone in your body. Not that I blame you. Maggie has always been a difficult child. Who'd have guessed all that caterwaulin' would make us rich."
"She's singin', you idiot," Candice said. "That's how she makes them better. I should have seen what was goin' on a long time ago. She ain't been sick since the day she was born."
"Maybe if you crawled out of your bottle now and then you'd have seen this sooner. Then we wouldn't be living in this dump."
"Fuck you! You got no room to talk. How come you didn't notice anything before now?"
"Alright, alright," Manny conceded. "No use us fighting over something we can't change. Tomorrow we're gonna show the world what she can do. People will pay a fortune to get healed. Hell, I bet we even get a Pulitzer Prize or something."
Candice snorted.
"That's for journalists, you idiot."
While they continued celebrating their good fortune, neither knew Maggie's future would not be determined by their greed but rather by the love of two strangers who had been monitoring the child for almost a year. That night, Marina and Doreen spirited her far away and into another life. Maggie was given a new name: Chantelle. Singer! It suited her. Raised by her new, loving moms, she never once thought about her biological parents — even after a hundred and sixty-one years.
CHAPTER 2
Sisterhood of Singers - The Gathering 1943
TWENTY-THREE SINGERS sat around the fires as a cold wind howled past the entrance of the small cave. Some had traveled halfway around the world to attend the two-day meeting. Their journeys were long and arduous, but no one was willing to miss this particular gathering. It would be the last assemblage at Tabor Cave. The mayor of a nearby village had plans to develop the ice caves into a tourist attraction. Although it was doubtful anyone would visit the place during the harsh winter months, the Singers couldn't chance being discovered.
"I weel mees thees place," Syblis said, glancing at the tall pinnacles of stalagmites rising majestically from the floor of the second cavern a few meters away. "Eet eez my eighth gathering here."
Chantelle nodded empathetically. "This is my first. It's so peaceful here. Already I feel as if it's a part of me."
"Yes. Eet's one of the few places that truly heals a Seenger's emotional wounds. There are many sanctuaries for Healers, but few as special as thees one." Syblis appeared to grow pensive. Her eyes strayed to the small dog dozing next to Chantelle. "Does she go weeth you everywhere?"
"Most of the time. Jenny seems to know when she can come and when she can't."
"Perhaps she has the geeft too."
Chantelle stroked Jenny's head lovingly and smiled when the dog opened a golden-brown eye and made contact. "Perhaps. I wonder if other animals have their own version of Healers."
"I don't theenk they need them... Not een the way humanity does. We eexist because we are a troubled species... arrogant."
"I know. Still, I feel better when Jenny's with me... and so do my patients. There must be a reason, right girl?"
"You are lucky to have someone, eeven a leetle dog," Syblis said.
Looking at her friend, Chantelle noticed a great sadness in her eyes.
"You're thinking of Ciena, aren't you?"
"Yes, I weesh she had held on a leetle longer. I theenk she would have forgeeven herself eef she had bathed een the glory of our Sacred Mother. Thees cave eez alive weeth her eenergy."
"You still believe in the Sacred Mother?" Chantelle asked. "With all that you've been through, do you really think there's something out there guiding us?"
Syblis smiled unapologetically. "Sometheeng? No. The Sacred Mother? Oui. To believe otherwise would make life eentolerable. She geeves me purpose. At my age, I am desperately een need of that."
"At your age? You've barely touched middle-age," Chantelle replied and scrunched her face up like an old hag. "Two-hundred-seventy-eight isn't old."
Syblis laughed.
"Tell me that een ninety years. You are steel young. You glory een your youth. For you, just being alive eez geeft enough."
Chantelle was about to object when Syblis held up her hand.
"Enough talk about age. Eet depresses me. Besides, age eez eerelevant. My life eez een the hands of the Sacred Mother. Only she knows how long any of us weel live."
"I envy you your faith," Chantelle said.
Wrapping her right arm around the young Healer, Syblis gave her a quick squeeze. "Perhaps eet eez because I can see what others can't that makes eet so strong. Eet's easy to believe when one sees the future."
"Maybe. I'm not so sure that's a gift I'd want."
"Eet's not for everyone. Neither eez faith. Each of us must find our own streength. Your weel and determination eez what works for you. Eet makes you strong."
Raising
her other arm, Syblis motioned toward the other women who were gathered in small groups around the fires. Some chatted quietly while others listened and nodded their heads, unconsciously agreeing with what was being said. Two Singers sat by themselves, deep in thought, although not completely oblivious to the conversations around them.
"Look at us. We are what eez left of the Seesterhood. Once we were many. Now we're few. Only twenty-three of us and I'm the last Seer Seenger. We're immune from seekness and yet rarely reach old age. Ironical, eez eet not? Accideents or murderous supersteetious fools who believe us weetches or demonesses have deceemated our numbers, but many... too many have taken their own lives."
Chantelle frowned. Healers didn't condemn Healers, especially Singers.
"Are you saying they were weak?"
Patting Chantelle's thigh, Syblis shook her head.
"Of course not, Cherié. I honor all who sacrifice so much. Our Seesters deed what they had to. I only say that my faith serves me well. Those who don't believe in sometheeng must be extra strong and veegilant. Your strength eez to be admired and envied. I don't know how you do eet."
"I'm a Healer. It's what we do," Chantelle said and sighed sadly. "But Ciena and Flarea... they were such gentle souls. Why did they get Mengele and Belle Gunness? Those monsters should have gone to the Vitiates."
Syblis understood Chantelle's confusion. She too agonized over the loss of the two Singers.
"That's not for us to say. Choice eez not an option for Healer or Vitiate."
"Can we be so sure, Syblis? Have you ever met one?"
"Once, a long time ago. Eet eez an experience I weel never forget."
"Was it that awful?" Chantelle asked. "I've heard others say the same thing, but no one wants to talk about it."
"Awful? No, but uncomfortable. The energy between us was bad so we went our separate ways queekly. Perhaps that eez why we know so leetle about their Order."
"I'd like to meet one someday."
"Be careful what you weesh for, Chantelle. There eez a reason why Vitiate and Healer don't interact, even eef we don't know what eet eez."
"Maybe. I'd still like to know more about them. We're told they provide balance to the Healers and yet no one can tell us how. We save people only to have some do horrible things. What could a Vitiate do that we don't do already?"
"There is purpose to everything," Syblis replied. "Helping those who do horrible theengs seems contradeectory to our meession. Humans are stubborn. Een our arrogance we theenk we know what's best for everyone. You mentioned Josef Mengele. He eez a good reminder of the eener demons lurking witheen each of us."
"He was a monster," Chantelle said, remembering the stories she had heard about him.
Josef Mengele! His Number was 1,324,567, one of the highest figures in Healer history.
His research on prisoners in the concentration camps of Germany during WWII was an abomination. Intelligent, Mengele expressed an early interest in anthropology and the sciences. In 1936, he passed his medical exams and quickly accepted a job working at a local clinic.
When WWII broke out, Mengele enlisted in the military and was critically injured in combat. It was Ciena who sat by his bed day and night, softly singing his body well. Overworked doctors and nurses stopped to listen to her songs, unable to understand the words but mesmerized by the haunting tunes. Eventually, they returned to their duties, energized and at peace with their burdens.
Once Mengele was pronounced stable, the young caregiver disappeared and was soon forgotten. The feeling of well-being vanished. Everyone continued with their duties, exhaustion making them impatient and insensitive to the needs of the injured and sick. Such was the power of the Singer and of their absence.
The war moved on, as did Mengele. Unable to return to his duties as a soldier, he was transferred to Auschwitz. There he earned the nickname "the Angel of Death," committing atrocities that few could ever imagine, thousands would never forget and humanity would forever remember.
Sadly, Ciena eventually heard his final Number and was unable to live with that burden. She killed herself. The Healers mourned her death. The Sisters were devastated. Ciena was one of the most beloved of the Singers, happy and gregarious. Some, however, secretly envied her for the courage it had taken to end her life. Suicide went against everything they believed in.
Shaking her head slowly, Chantelle decided not to dwell on Mengele. Many others were less spectacular with smaller numbers, but equally fascinating. Numbers weren’t always about people directly affected, but rather about future consequences.
"And Gunness? What does she remind us of? Her Number was twenty — exceptionally low by our standards, and yet she was still brutal."
Syblis gave Chantelle a mischievous grin.
"Brutal, oui! She weel remind men that women aren't always meek or mild. Her husbands and boyfriends paid dearly for wooing her."
"So much for love."
"Her Number wasn't about love. Eet was greed. The veectims weren't exactly eennocent. She had land and needed money. They had nothing but were eensurable — not always a great combeenation."
Chantelle sighed and nodded.
"I guess. Sometimes I have doubts about what we do. It feels wrong saving the evil, especially when we learn how high their Numbers become. I wonder if the world wouldn't be better if we just let them die."
Syblis shook her head.
"I too question our calling at times. Then I theenk of Yehoshua of Nazareth. Had Mariamne of Magdala not gotten to heem after the crucifeexion, he would have died and the world would be a poorer place."
"That's what I mean. Look at all the good that has been done in his name. We've yet to know his or Mariamne's Numbers," Chantelle said.
"We never weel," Syblis countered. "They change constantly because of their followers. No matter how good they were, some weel abuse that goodness. Yehoshua believed Mariamne was sent by God to heal heem. Our records say that she was one of our greatest Singers. I theenk maybe the greatest. Who can really say?"
"I wonder if they did stay together afterward, like our records indicate," Chantelle asked.
Syblis shrugged.
"Does eet really matter? Sightings een the Meedle East and even as far as North America have been documented. I believe eet was them... but that's only because I'm a romantic, and eet geeves me hope for the rest of us. Now, we join the others. Thees eez not the time for melancholy or doubts. Soon we must move on. Besides, Lecoudre needs a break from hees screebling."
As Syblis was about to stand, Chantelle grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.
"Syblis, can I ask you one more question?"
"Certainly. What eez eet?"
"It's Lecoudre. For as long as Singers have existed, they have always been women. I know the Keepers of our Chronicles can be a man or a woman, but why has he been allowed into the Sisterhood?"
"Why are there no male Seengers? Why do we even exeest? I don't have those answers, Cherié," Syblis replied. "Besides Lecoudre eez not of the Seesterhood. He records our heestory. Keepers have always been weeth us. When one dies, another appears. There have only been eleven males een the entire heestory of the Healers, so he must be special. Xylena says he remembers everytheeng, even those events that occurred when she was a young woman barely older than you. Seence those were recorded by the previous Keeper, their method of passing on eenformation must be phenomenal. Why do you ask? Does he make you uncomfortable?"
"No, not at all. He's a wonderful person. I'm merely curious. No one talks about him. I asked my moms, but they didn't know much either. I was hoping you knew more, that's all."
Syblis' lips curled in a faint smile.
"Perhaps you ask the wrong people. Lecoudre eez best to answer your questions."
"I may do that one day. For now, though, let's just go and enjoy the others. Ten years is a long time between visits."
"Eet can be," Syblis agreed. Jumping to her feet, she extended her hand toward Chantelle. "Come. Time grows short
."
Walking to the edge of the center fire, Syblis held up her hands, motioning for everyone to gather around.
"Seesters! And you, Lecoudre... no more small gosseep. We have only a few hours left before sunrise. Share weeth us your hopes, joys and dreams so that we may all take a small piece of you weeth us until the next gathering. Who weel be first? Lecoudre needs to know everytheeng," she teased. Several women laughed.
"You!" the women shouted in unison, pointing at Syblis. Although the Healer wasn't the oldest, she was the most gregarious. Life was filled with disillusionment for most, but Syblis always managed to put hers aside and move on with optimism.
Grinning, Syblis nodded her head and began a tale of her next great adventure. Everyone listened attentively, honored that she was so willing to share a small part of her future.
CHAPTER 3
The Calling — 2098 A.D.
THE COOL TEMPERATURE inside the cab felt good. Chantelle closed her eyes and leaned her head back. The world had changed a lot in the last hundred and seventy years, but people were basically the same. Most went about their lives, intentionally oblivious to the scheming of the ambitious politicians and military leaders. Doing so allowed them the security they sought but humanity paid a great price for ignorant bliss.
We could be so much more if people cared. Then what purpose would Healers serve? I'd be out of a job.
It was an amusing thought. At the moment, though, she needed to focus on her mission. She had found her patient and had spent several days watching her.
Watching nothing is more like it. Whatever is concealing you cost a lot of money. That can only mean the government is involved. And why are you so interested in that woman and dog?
She could feel the energy change whenever the two appeared. Today it had spiked higher when the dog peed. Chantelle barely contained her laughter. The dog's aim was precise. When Chantelle sensed the woman was leaving, she decided to make her own mark. Following her to the alley, she stopped short of the entrance. It would be foolish to enter.
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