“I do?” Pastor Cordell said.
“It hasn’t changed. I have to get going now,” John said.
“What’s your hurry?” The officer said as he stared straight into John’s eyes.
John stared back with an equal intensity. “It’s raining, I’m getting wet, and my head hurts,” he said in a semi-sarcastic voice. Besides he felt like he said too much already. If this officer had any connections with Jared Wyckham or the former chief of police in Wick, he wanted nothing to do with it. He looked up into the sky as another flash of lightning forked across the heavens above.
He waved to Pastor Cordell and headed back to his truck. He walked fast but not too fast, because it seemed like everything he was doing now was being scrutinized by the officer or by the three accusers from the pew behind him.
Once inside his truck, he rolled down the window and yelled back to the pastor. “Wish I could have heard your sermon last week.”
Pastor Cordell smiled. “Does this mean we’ll see you next week?”
“I hope so.”
“Maybe we’ll have more time to talk.”
“We will.” John rolled up his window, drove off, and watched as the fire department put out the fire on the steeple. The police officer continued to stare and wrote in his notebook as if he was taking down the license plate number of John’s truck.
Chapter Three
At home, John set the rocket nosecone down onto the table inside of his office. He lived by himself in a small two-bedroom rambler and converted one of the bedrooms into a library and workspace. The table was reserved for electronics and rocket work and was covered in circuit boards, wires, and rockets in various stages of assembly.
From underneath the table, he pulled out a plastic box. Inside the box there were pieces of metal he found weeks ago at the site where his ex-girlfriend Rebekkah was killed. With a detached sadness he sorted through all of the pieces again. He set the nosecone from the church next to one of the curved pieces of metal from the box. The nosecone appeared to be made of the same thin aluminum and seemed even to fit together with the casing as if they were part of the same type of rocket. He put the casing back into the box and put the box back onto the shelf. After he put the nosecone back into his pocket his cell phone rang out.
“Are we still meeting for coffee?” Madeline said on the other end of the line. There was a hint of bewilderment in her voice.
John glanced at the wall clock. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I got sidetracked. I’ll be right over.”
“Is…everything okay?”
“It’s been a long morning.”
“Really? What happened?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.” After he hung up the phone he headed to the bathroom. His head still ached but at least his hand stopped tingling. He pulled out a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet, took two tablets, and washed it down with a glass of water.
* * *
The first thing John noticed about the Battleship Café was the crowd. It was a mix of old and young, churchgoers, and college students. As he scanned the faces in the crowd, he spotted Madeline as she sat at a corner table. Her focus was on her black laptop computer which was propped open on the tabletop. John stared at her until she made eye contact and then they both waved to each other.
He then walked up to the back of the line at the service counter. While he waited, he read the chalkboard menu on the wall: bean quesadillas, tuna melts, personal pizzas, and cavatappi pomodoro were featured at a reduced price. Up ahead in the glass bakery case were unique options that included pecan-topped caramel rolls, giant snickerdoodle cookies, blond brownies, orange-cranberry muffins, and lemon-blueberry Danishes shaped like torpedoes. It was an eclectic menu unlike anything he saw elsewhere which was part of its attraction. Elsewhere on the walls were pictures of World War II ships, planes, and soldiers in uniform.
He eyed the chalkboard menu on the wall behind the counter. When it was his turn, he ordered a Chainormous latte, which was a large iced tea and cream drink, along with a caffeine depth charge. As the cashier swiped his credit card, he was startled by the slogan on her shirt. It read, “Nobody’s mother” in cracked black letters.
When he finally received his drink, he walked over to the table where Madeline sat. He had been dating Madeline for a couple of months now and before sitting down he gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Her straight, long, brown hair was draped over her shoulders. She wore faux pearl earrings, a white shirt, and a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The look in her deep brown eyes brought him more peace this morning than the aspirin.
He set his drink down onto the table and stared at the whipped cream on top. “I went to church today.”
“Really? On your own? I’m impressed. What prompted that?” Madeline said.
“I’m not sure.” He looked back toward the front counter where the sounds of a blender filled the air. “Maybe I thought God was going to say something to me today.”
“Did He? I wish you would have told me. I would have come with.”
“I just decided on it late last night. Besides I didn’t know what I would find. I hadn’t been there in a while.”
“How was the sermon? What’d he say?”
“The pastor never got to it. The storm came in and the power went out. So I went downstairs to reset the breaker box because they never fixed that thing and then I got knocked out.”
Madeline drew back. He eyes grew wide and then she grabbed his hand with both of hers. “No.”
“I was shocked off the box.”
“What? Did you go to the hospital? Did you get burned?” She stared at his hands and arms.
“I’m okay.”
“I think you should see a doctor. You look pale.”
“No. I’m alright. Anyhow, I went back upstairs and there was a hole punched in the roof. Remember when I once told you that I thought someone was using rockets to trigger lightning strikes? And how you told me once that when you were driving you heard a piece of metal hit your roof and suddenly lightning starting hitting around you? I think somebody has figured out how to use lightning as a weapon.”
She withdrew her hands and took a sip of coffee. She pulled the black shawl on her shoulders tighter toward her body as if a sudden chill swept through the room. “What makes you think it is a person?”
John reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out the rocket nosecone and set it onto the table between them.
Madeline leaned in to stare at it. Her eyes then met his. “Do you think someone is after you?”
“How would they have known I was going to be there? I didn’t tell anybody about my plans.”
“Not even me.”
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“Are you sure the lightning strike was caused by the rocket?”
John shook his head yes. “Before I walked in, this rolled off of the roof. I heard another one hit the church bell. I looked up and there was a black streamer that reached back up to the clouds.” He picked up the nosecone and twirled it between his fingers. “Maybe it was better you didn’t go with me. One thing I do know is that it was not coming from God. At least not directly.”
Madeline stared on at the nosecone. “Does it match any of the other rocket pieces you’ve found?”
“It’s similar but different. A little smaller maybe.”
“Who do you think was the target?”
“I’m not sure. Some of the churchgoers tried to hand me one of Jared’s books and a brochure.”
Madeline drew back again and started typing on her laptop keyboard. “What was the name of the church?”
“St Andrew’s. Over on the south side.”
She turned the laptop screen so that he could see. “Looks like you missed a photo op. A couple of news crews showed up after you left.”
He watched her eyes skim the online article until they stopped abruptly.
She squinted hard. “Looks like it wasn’t the onl
y place that got hit. Check this out.” She moved the screen down to the final paragraph of a news story that described a lightning strike on a clinic on the northwest side of town.
“Looks like there was a house and a clinic that got hit,” Madeline said as she skimmed the article.
John took a long drink off of his Chainormous latte. “What’s the name of the clinic?”
“The Rehab Energy Center for the Mind.”
“Doesn’t sound very clinical. Is it a big place?”
Madeline switched to a different website and pulled up information about the facility. “No. It only has a couple of therapists. Looks like a private practice. Specialties include mind-matter healing, color therapy, dialectical behavior therapy…”
She looked up from the screen. “Think it’s related?”
“I think it’s worth checking out.”
She picked up the nosecone. “You said something about a black streamer. What do you think that was?”
“I have some of it at home from one of the other rockets. If I had to guess it’s some kind of specialized fiber. And probably highly conductive.” He pulled out his cell phone to take a note. “What’s the address of the clinic?”
She pointed to it on the screen.
John entered the location into his phone. “Guess I’ll be taking a field trip after work tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
John pulled up to the Rehab Energy Center for the Mind Clinic and took a deep breath. He withdrew his cell phone and readied it to take pictures. The parking lot was quiet except for two cars parked near the front door of the clinic. He figured the cars probably belonged to the employees since it was early in the evening now. By timing his arrival just right, he hoped he could catch an employee as they left in order to pepper them with questions.
Once he stepped out of his truck he caught sight of an electric blue tarp on the flat roof. The tarp fluttered in the breeze despite being held in place with cinder blocks. He snapped a pair of pictures and then searched the nearby grass, sidewalk, and bushes for signs of rocket parts.
“Can I help you, sir?” A stern female voice said behind him as he crouched down to peek at the white decorative rock near the front door.
He promptly stood up. Trying to make the best of an uncomfortable situation, he spun around and waved a hand at the woman. She looked to be in her early twenties and wore a pale pink blouse with black pants. Her hair was blonde and short, her nails carefully manicured, but the look in her eyes was that of suspicion or even condescension.
“Hi,” he said. “I was just wondering if I could talk to someone about the lightning strike that happened here yesterday.”
The woman crossed her arms. “Are you with the insurance company? Or another reporter? Because I’m done talking to reporters.”
He shuffled his feet uneasily. “No. I’m...a storm researcher. Sorry, they don’t give us badges.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not a patient, are you?”
John shook his head. “No. Not at all.”
An awkward silence opened up between them as if the woman did not buy a word he was saying. He stuffed his cell phone back into his pants pocket and began to walk toward his truck.
When he reached the door, she called out to him again. “So…what were you looking for in the grass?”
He opened his door and put a foot inside. “Just seeing if I could get a view of the damage.”
“The hole is in the roof, not in the grass. Here, come with me. Dr. Perkins knows more about it than I do. She was in the office when it happened.”
John turned back and followed her inside. Once they were in the lobby she told him, “Here. Take a seat.”
The lobby was small and only had six chairs, a wooden magazine rack on the wall, and a flat screen television high up on the opposite wall. On the other walls were motivational pictures with simple images and captions. He read the captions one by one to pass the time and get a feel for the place.
The first picture was that of a pale yellow baby chick emerging from a bright white eggshell. Beneath the picture the caption read, “Empowerment is a state of mind.” Another picture had a beautiful brunette woman who wore a white tank top and salmon-colored yoga pants. She sat cross-legged in the grass with her hands put together and her eyes closed. Beneath that picture the caption read, “In matters of the mind, meditation overcomes all matters.”
The pictures reminded him of a counselor’s office he once visited after his ex-girlfriend Rebekkah’s death. At that time, he went into office with high expectations of finding a place where he could uncork all his bottled-up emotions. Instead the therapy session devolved into a battle of wills that nobody was going to win. By the end of the hour he felt worse than before.
At the sound of voices talking, he turned around. The counselor was in her early thirties and she wore an olive-green dress, had curly black hair, and stared at John with dark green eyes. She extended out a hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Dr. Perkins. You are…?”
“John. John Sayers.”
“Amanda here tells me you are a researcher.”
“More or less. Mostly storms.”
“What can I help you with?”
Although John could not quite figure it out, he got the sense from her tone of voice that this counselor was viewing him as a potential patient rather than a serious researcher. Her smile was radiant but there was a look in her eyes that communicated a deep mistrust. When she crossed her arms it only strengthened his convictions further. “I read online that a lightning bolt hit your office. Maybe on your roof?”
“That’s right. By the way, you’re not with the insurance company, are you?” She then let out a condescending chuckle.
“No.”
“Okay then. Follow me.”
Dr. Perkins led him into her office and pointed at the ceiling. “I came in yesterday to finish up on a couple of cases. And just as I was about to step out and get some more coffee, it hit. There was a tremendous crash. The whole room lit up. I nearly passed out.”
John approached the corner of the office near the window and studied the damage. There was a golf-ball sized hole in the ceiling and through it he could see all the way to the blue tarp on the roof. He could only imagine the damage upon the roof itself. A ragged pale-brown stain surrounded the hole. A small fan whirred on the floor and dried out the carpet. Water stains could be seen on the wall and he doubted the tarp would prevent new ones from forming.
“You’re lucky you didn’t get hit,” he said as he casually scanned through the titles in the two full bookcases near her desk. The books covered a broad range of authors and subjects but stood in sharp contrast to the books he found in Madeline’s apartment. The contrast made him sad and he thought more than once about returning to his truck and flipping open his Bible.
“How do these things happen anyway? I’m not a big believer in coincidence,” Dr. Perkins said.
“Any number of things can trigger a strike. Trees, antennas, water pipes, phone lines, or other tall metal objects. There was a lot of cloud-to-ground lightning yesterday.” He moved around the room to study the damage from another angle. He did not want to find any rocket casings or go into that theory with her. If he did that she would surely kick him out of the office or maybe try to make him into a patient.
“No. There aren’t any antennas on the roof. And the phone line runs down the hall. What else did you say? Water pipes?”
John nodded.
“The nearest water pipe is in the bathroom and that’s down the hall, too.” A minute of silence opened up and the whole time she kept her arms crossed. She cleared her throat and continued. “Did you get what you need?”
“I’ve seen enough. Thanks.” He turned to show himself to the exit.
Just before he opened the door, Dr. Perkins called out to him. “Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar,” she said.
John thought about it a moment. He tried to recall any times he had ap
peared on the local television news. “Maybe from a storm chase?”
“No, that’s not it. I know!” Dr. Perkins said with a burst of excitement. “Were you the one whose friend died in that car accident in Wick?”
John felt an uneasiness come over him and any thoughts of going home and eating a big dinner vanished. He did the polite thing and turned around, although his feet wanted to run. He gave her a quick smile but even that was forced at best. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Is that why you’re really here? Because you’re looking for answers? Because we can help.” She marched over to him and stood about a foot away from his face. Her arms dropped to her sides and if she got any closer he was sure she was going to try and hug him.
He backed up in response. “Actually, I’m here because the building I was in got hit yesterday, too. So I came here looking for answers to that.”
“You think there is a connection?”
“I doubt it.” He put his hand on the door handle. The metal felt like a chunk of ice. “Did you have any disgruntled patients?”
“I can’t discuss that due to confidentiality reasons. Why do you ask?”
John pushed open the door and stepped out. “I was just thinking.”
As he returned to his truck she called out to him. “Where do you worth?” She yelled. “I mean, where do you work?”
John ignored her question and got into his truck.
“Wait!” Dr. Perkins said. She ran up to his driver side window. “Here. Take my card. In case you figure something out.”
He took the card and set it onto the dashboard. In reality, he wanted to toss it into the trash but only after she left. He fired up his truck and glanced at his cell phone. He missed one phone call from Madeline and to his dismay he had no new information to share with her.
By the time he looked up Dr. Perkins was gone. As he backed out of the parking spot a glint of something shiny next to the curb caught his eye. At the risk of another confrontation, he stopped the truck, got out, and pretended like he dropped something on the ground. He reached down and found a rectangular piece of curved aluminum with a miniature black hammer symbol embossed on it. It fit into the palm of his hand and again looked similar to the other pieces he found over the past few weeks. He pocketed the object and drove off.
The Hammer of Amalynth Page 2