by P. G. Forte
Chapter Eight
I have waited, waited for the Lord,
And He stooped toward me and heard my cry.
And He put a new song into my mouth,
A hymn to our God.
Offertory Prayer
For the Tuesday after the Fourth Sunday in Lent
Tuesday night found Liam seated on an uncomfortable metal folding chair in what was originally the ballroom of the mansion that housed TLV, fighting off a vertigo inducing tidal wave of nostalgia, déjà vu and fear.
It was the incense that had done it to him.
Even though some of the furnishings in the old house, as well as the building itself, bore a more than passing resemblance to Dagoba, in one of its many incarnations, the similarities were not so marked that they caused him more than a moment’s pause. And the energy in the room, though it got inside his head in a most unpleasant way, making his mind feel much too bright and brittle, was different, as well. Denser, somehow; edgier, angrier than he remembered.
But, the sweet plumes of smoke that filled the air – ah, they were just the same. Nag champa. Sandalwood. Men-lha. With an undercurrent of copal. He breathed the familiar scents deep into his lungs and within minutes, the heady fumes had revived memories and emotions he’d buried and thought dead, and sent him spiraling back into the past.
With his eyes closed, he was there again; huddled on the floor of the closet, with his insides twisted in a knot. He could feel the shivers of fear that ran through Amy as she slipped her hand in his and pressed close against him, hiding her face against his shoulder. He could hear crying, and the sound of leather striking flesh again and again. He could not remember now, who it was that was crying; which of the children Jim had chosen, on that occasion, to discipline.
Not Jack, a tiny voice in his mind begged. Don’t let it be Jack. Please...
But what did it matter who it had been, that particular time? They’d all had their turns. And, that’s what you left them to face on their own, the voice of his conscience reminded him. All alone. Without even a hand to hold.
No, please. Not Jack. Not Amy...
Liam forced his eyes open, forced his mind back into the present, certain the pounding of his heart could be heard by everyone around him. He took slow, deep breaths in an effort to stem the panic that had seized him, and forced himself to make a detailed inventory of the room.
It was a large room, cursed with strange acoustics that seemed to play tricks with the slightest sound, and send it bouncing from corner to corner. It had been painted – quite recently from the looks of it, and badly, for that matter – in a flat, flat white that appeared, illogically, to be absorbing light rather than reflecting it back into the room.
Elaborate moldings circled the room. Dusty chandeliers studded the high ceiling. Gauzy, faded drapes fell across each window and puddled on the worn, hardwood floor with its intricate, almost dizzying design of interlocking squares.
Close to thirty people crowded the front half of the room. As far as Liam could tell, only about half of those present actually lived there. The rest were visitors; regular attendees, like Lauren, who had bought into the church’s message, but had not yet committed their lives to it; and the casually curious, those who were here to learn what the buzz was about.
It was a question well worth the asking, and one for which Liam had yet to find an answer. So far, Reverend Gregg had said nothing that was new or earthshaking or in any way out of the ordinary; just the same old, tired cliches Liam had been hearing for most of his life. And yet the crowd ate it up.
So, maybe it wasn’t the message that people like Lauren were buying, but the man himself? Well, it sure wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. Liam took a closer look at the guru. He radiated confidence, charisma, intelligence and compassion; although Liam very much suspected that the last, at least, was a lie. There was altogether too much darkness about him. Along with a suspicious toughness that aroused Liam’s cop instincts and told him that Gregg was no stranger to trouble.
And trouble in a real big way, too, Liam thought. It was a different kind of instinct that told him that, an instinct born of memories he wasn’t sure he could trust. He pushed the suspicions aside, and concentrated on the facts. Mid forties. Medium height. Medium build. Blue eyes. Shaved head. Multiple tattoos...
Ah, shit. That’s what was bothering him. Liam paused in his assessment for a closer look. Some of those tats had an all-too-familiar crudeness to them. Prison tattoos. Definitely. Jesus, the man was a con?
Was that part of the lure? Were people like Lauren merely here for a vicarious walk on the wild side? It made sense he supposed, and he could just imagine how well it would sit with Nick when he learned about his ex-wife’s infatuation with an ex-con.
He was pretty sure infatuation was the right word, too. Like most of the women, and a fair sampling of the men, Lauren had been riveted by Gregg’s presence from the moment he appeared.
The old guy sure knows how to work a room, Liam thought with grudging respect as he tracked the preacher’s movements. Nice. Real nice. He has them eating out of his hand, and he knows it. Liam glanced once again at the faces around him. They all appeared rapt, for the most part; enthralled, mesmerized. All but one–
The single exception was not seated with the crowd. She was the only woman in a select group of five personal assistants whose chairs were lined up behind the podium, facing the roomful of people. But, it wasn’t just her gender that drew Liam’s eyes; not just her obvious boredom, her extreme pallor, her short skirt, or the fact that she appeared barely out of her teens. It was all that and more, and he was finding it harder than it should have been to tear his gaze away from her. She was striking enough to attract attention in pretty much any setting, especially given the way she was dressed, but, in the dull, desiccated atmosphere of the ballroom, surrounded by mostly middle aged malcontents, she stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb.
What’s she doing here, he wondered. She hasn’t bought into any of this. The carefully attentive expression on her face was at odds with the vacant look in her eyes. And the way her gaze slid rapidly around the room, from time to time, as if checking to see if her act had been found out, reminded him of his own younger self on too many similar occasions. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that, whatever had brought her here, she wasn’t seeking enlightenment.
And if she is, she’s not likely to find it anytime soon. She looked far too distracted for that. Bored. Preoccupied. Impatient. As though her mind were a million miles away. He watched, as she rocked, ever so slightly, in her seat, tapping her foot...
She stirred suddenly, covering her mouth in what had to be an attempt to hide a yawn. As she flipped her hair behind her shoulders, he caught a glimpse of the thin, black wire that ran down her neck. He bit back a grin. She was wearing earphones? Well, that explained the tapping foot, didn’t it? She was listening to tunes, when she was supposed to be listening to Gregg. Gutsy girl, he thought approvingly; gutsy but dumb. If Gregg was anything like Jim, she’d better cover that wire up fast.
This time, as she gave the room another lightning-scan, he purposely caught her eye, and then casually drew his finger down the side of his neck, from ear to collar.
Her eyes grew wide, her lips parted slightly, he could almost hear her gasp of surprised dismay as she finger-combed her hair forward again, hiding the wire. She looked to him again, as if for assurance, and he dipped his head in an almost imperceptible nod. Suddenly, her eyes flickered away from his and Liam was all at once aware of the silence that had descended on the room. Ah, shit, he thought, lifting his eyes as Gregg pivoted to a stop right in front of him; what did I miss?
* * *
“Questions? Anyone?” Gregg’s query seemed to hang in the air. Cara held her breath, terrified. It wasn’t fair! The first time she tried to use her new MP3 player to help her get through one of these stupid meetings without falling asleep – the very first time – and here she was about to ge
t busted for it. She didn’t know who the guy was who’d found her out, but he obviously had no clue what Gregg had just asked – she could see it in his face. He couldn’t have been paying attention to the lecture like everyone else, could he? No, he was too busy looking at her for that. Shit, wouldn’t that make Gregg all happy?
And was some guy she didn’t even know gonna take the heat for both of them? Well, maybe. He’d already saved her butt by letting her know her wire was showing, after all. But that didn’t mean he’d do it again. More then likely he’d try and get back on Gregg’s good side, by blaming his distraction on her.
The silence stretched on. Just when Care was sure she was gonna pass out from lack of oxygen, a hand went up. Gregg’s gaze slid past the stranger, to the woman seated beside him. “Yes?”
“What about removing things from your life?” Lauren asked timidly. “Isn’t there a way to do that, too?”
“Removing things,” Gregg repeated. And although his voice sounded level and calm, Cara could tell he was not amused. He’d been talking about manifesting things. About bringing objects, or events, or even people, into your life. And she’d been to enough of these things by now, to know what he’d been leading up – another of his damned guided meditations, complete with some of that wack music he always made them listen to. But Lauren, stupid bitch that she was, wanted to change the subject. Wanted to talk about unmanifesting things, instead. Or maybe she just wanted to get his attention. “Give me an example of what you’re talking about.”
“Well, like, people,” Lauren elaborated. She hesitated for a moment and then added, “My ex-husband, for instance. I’d like to remove him from my life.”
Startled laughter erupted throughout the room, bringing an embarrassed blush to Lauren’s cheeks. Cara relaxed in relief and allowed herself a small, spiteful smile. As blonde and self-centered and sure of herself as Lauren was, it served her right to be laughed at. But the sound of Gregg’s chuckle wiped the grin from Cara’s face real fast. Her gut tightened and she shuddered, fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She’d heard him laugh like that before, and it never failed to make her sick.
The stranger looked alarmed as well, she noticed, watching in surprise as his gaze moved from Lauren’s face to Gregg’s, as his eyes narrowed and his expression grew even more grim.
What’s up with him, she wondered; he’s off the hook now. Doesn’t he get that? Gregg’s got himself a new mouse to play with.
Gregg’s head was cocked to one side, but even with his back to her, Care was sure he was smiling. She could just imagine the excited gleam that was likely in his eyes. She only hoped that, whatever fun he intended to have with Lauren, it would be enough to satisfy him for the whole night. She did not want to deal with the overflow.
“You’d like to make him disappear,” Gregg drawled softly. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Smiling weakly, Lauren nodded agreement.
“Do you mean, permanently?”
Lauren’s eyes widened. “Well, I– I don’t know if I’d say that. He’s just so controlling. He won’t let me do what I want to do, what I know in my heart is the right thing to do.”
Gregg sighed and shook his head. “Is this because of your daughter?”
Lauren nodded. “Yes. Mostly. But, he interferes with everything, really. It’s like he thinks we’re still married, or something. And, he hates it that I come here. I know he’d stop me if he could.”
“So he’s hindering your spiritual progress,” Gregg suggested. “You feel he’s putting your soul at risk. Is that it?”
Lauren hesitated.
Oh, just say yes, and get it over with, Cara urged silently. Otherwise we’ll be here for hours.
“Tell me,” Gregg commanded softly, “if you had to choose between something that you know is bad, happening to you. Or, the possibility of something bad happening to your ex-husband – as a result of his own actions. Which would you choose?”
Lauren bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
“Well, to whom do you think you owe your first loyalty?” Gregg prompted her. “To your own soul, or to the man who is threatening its welfare?”
“To my soul, I guess,” Lauren replied uncertainly.
“You guess?” Gregg repeated in a mocking tone. And, even knowing his scorn wasn’t aimed at her this time, the sound of it made Cara squirm.
“Well, I’m glad it isn’t my soul’s welfare that’s in your hands.” Gregg cocked his head to the side once more. “You realize that anything bad that might happen to him is his own doing, don’t you? Brought on by his own actions? The direct, karmic result of his behavior?”
Lauren’s face was white. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”
If she were anybody else, Cara might have felt sorry for her. But Lauren had gone out of her way to be rude to her on more than one occasion, and Cara was quite enjoying her discomfort now.
“So,” Gregg prompted, “if we all were to join with you tonight to manifest his disappearance, and if tomorrow he were to get hit by a bus—who’s fault would that be?”
Lauren hesitated. “His?” she asked, hopefully.
“No,” Gregg replied, shaking his head in sorrow. “No, Lauren, I’m afraid you haven’t been paying attention.” He spun around again, arms wide open, as he appealed to the group. “Anyone want to help Lauren out with the correct answer?”
“It would be her fault,” a voice on the other side of the room offered.
Gregg’s eyebrows went up. “It would? Are you sure?”
The woman, another regular—and clearly someone else who had it in for Lauren, Cara decided—shrugged one shoulder. “Well, if she manifested it, who else is to blame?”
“Ahh, but in the example I gave, I said we all joined her to manifest it. So, wouldn’t that mean we’re all responsible?” The woman didn’t answer. Gregg looked around again. “Does everyone feel that way? If–” He broke off and looked at Lauren. “What’s your ex-husband’s name, again?”
“Nick,” Lauren answered, quietly. “Nick Greco.”
“If we all make a joint petition to the universe to have Nick Greco removed from Lauren’s life, and tomorrow he gets killed, do we all turn ourselves in to the police?”
The room fell still. Gregg smiled. “Apparently not. So, again. Who do you think is to blame?” He turned back to Lauren, but it was the stranger beside her who answered.
“How about the universe?”
Once again, Gregg chuckled. Once again, Cara felt her stomach turn. “You’d blame the entire universe for one man’s death?” Gregg asked, in a soft voice tinged with disbelief.
The stranger shrugged. “I don’t know if blame is the right word. But if she manifests that he no longer be a problem for her, and that activates Nick’s karma in such a fashion that it results in his being killed, then, yeah, I’d say the universe had something to do with it.”
Gregg nodded slowly. “Very good. I like the way you think.”
The stranger ducked his head, as though embarrassed by the praise, and Cara felt a tiny stab of disappointment. What an asshole. She didn’t know why it should matter, but she’d thought he was different—not a flake, like all the others. She should have known better, she supposed. After all, why else would he be here?
Gregg turned once again to Lauren. “So. Do you still want him gone?”
Once more, Lauren hesitated. The guy beside her shot her another look; hard, suspicious. Lauren nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
The stranger shook his head, as though in disbelief. Gregg turned to face the room, smiling widely.
“All right, then,” Gregg said, as rubbing his hands together, gleefully. “I need everyone to listen. Lauren’s ex-husband is attempting to stop Lauren from achieving her full, spiritual potential. He is an obstacle in her path. A potential stumbling block – does everyone understand that?” He paused and waited while they all nodded assent. He smiled again and motioned for the CD player to be switche
d on. “Good. Now, in just a moment we’ll be starting one of the meditation CDs I’ve compiled, and I’m going to lead you all in a guided meditation. And the purpose of this meditation is going to be to ask the universe to have this obstacle removed.”
* * *
The universe is to blame? What a gigantic pile of shit. Liam ducked his head in an attempt to hide his feelings of anger and disgust. It had been a calculated risk, speaking up with that bullshit answer. And he still wasn’t sure if drawing Gregg’s attention had been a good move, but the escalating tension within the room had been making him sick; leaving him almost no choice but to defuse things a little.
What the hell kind of game was Gregg playing? Did he really believe he could psychically target someone for termination? Could he be that stupid? Or, was he just playing with Lauren’s head?
Not that she didn’t deserve it. If Liam didn’t know better, he’d almost suspect her of trying to get rid of old Nick. It sure sounded like what she was hinting at. Or had he just become too cynical?
In either case, not a smart move on her part, saying something like that in a place like this. Or to a man like Gregg. And whatever happened next, Liam hoped to hell it scared the crap out of her.
In the meantime, however, he had more pressing worries than Lauren and Nick’s post-marital relationship. He was in trouble. The lights had been lowered and more incense had been lit, making it hard to see, hard to breathe, hard to stay grounded in the here and now. And the music Gregg had picked – featuring the shrill, wailing cry of a Celtic whistle – seemed specially designed to abrade his nerves. The torquing tension in his midsection was so extreme it was taking all his will to keep from folding his arms across his solar plexus, from telegraphing his discomfort, from giving himself – and his sensitivity – away. He’d learned the hard way what a bad idea that was. Only one of the many lessons he’d had at Jim’s hands; one he’d learned extremely well.