by James, Sandy
Several moments of chit-chat went by before the husband spoke. “Enough with making nice. Can you help her or not?” His face was hard, determined, desperate. Josh recognized the look. He’d seen it reflected in a mirror for the entire time Miranda had been sick. This man didn’t believe Sarah could help his wife, and he was terrified of losing her.
All of a sudden, Josh thought of the baby bird and wasn’t so sure he knew the score. Even if he wasn’t starting to feel something for Sarah and was worried about how this would affect her, morbid curiosity would have kept him rooted where he stood. He had to know the truth.
Sarah turned to stare at Josh, and he saw the hesitation in her eyes. She didn’t want him to watch, but he wasn’t about to leave. He stared back at her, silently letting her know he wasn’t going to budge.
She finally gave him a brisk nod then she looked over at Hannah. “Not this time. Understand?” When Hannah hesitated, staring down at her shoes, Sarah said again, “Not this time.” When her sister nodded, Sarah turned all of her attention back to Shelly.
Taking both Shelly’s hands into her own, Sarah pulled the sick woman to her feet. “Trust me, Shelly. I’m going to make you well.”
Shelly’s teeth nervously nibbled on her bottom lip, but she nodded.
Sarah slowly tugged the woman into a hug as she splayed her left hand over Shelly’s back, slowly pushing it up to rest between her shoulder blades. He finally noticed the burn scars on the back of Sarah’s hand, just as Libby had described. Pink puckers and angry white slashes. Those scars represented pain—horrible pain. How had she even survived the lightning strike?
Josh waited for the theatrics, the pretend speaking in tongues, the shouting of blessings, or begging for God’s intervention. Where was the show? Where was the performance? Where were the usual tricks of the trade? Nothing about this con seemed right.
The room became deathly quiet, so quiet he could hear the small pendulum clock ticking on the far wall. It was as if no one even breathed as they waited and waited.
Sarah began to tremble. With a whispered groan, her head reared back until she faced the ceiling, never opening her eyes. Josh saw her fist her hands in the back of Shelly’s loose shirt as if trying to anchor herself to stay standing. He heard a few low catches in her throat. From his standpoint, it sounded too much like Sarah was in pain. He wanted this to end. Quickly.
How long did Sarah stand there holding Shelly? Josh wondered for a moment if the rules of time had suddenly been suspended, turning minutes into hours. They all silently waited as time crept forward.
Suddenly, Shelly gasped as Sarah let her hands relax and took a stumbling step back. Hannah grabbed the stool and was poised to put it behind her sister when Sarah’s knees buckled and she sagged toward the floor. Josh lunged, caught her before she hit the hardwood, and scooped her into his arms.
Staring down at her face, he’d never seen a person look so pale. Not even Miranda. Lifting her trembling hand to brush his cheek, Sarah’s dull eyes were hooded by heavy lids. “That was...a...bad one,” she whispered before she closed her eyes, squeezing out a tear that traced a slow path down her cheek. “I need to...” Her hand fell to her chest, and she fainted before she finished her thought.
Josh glanced over at Shelly. She hurried to his side, smoothed Sarah’s hair away from her face, and leaned into kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Sarah,” Shelly whispered before her husband reached out to take her hand and pull her back to his side.
Shelly’s face had flushed with color, her eyes sparkling and suddenly full of life. If not for the turban and her thin frame, Josh might not even have noticed she was ill.
What in the hell just happened here?
He shook his head at the notion that Sarah might actually have cured Shelly. No way. It just wasn’t...logical. Adjusting his grip, Josh cradled Sarah a little closer against his chest. She weighed so little, his arms weren’t even remotely tired. He had a passing thought he could hold Sarah like this forever.
“What kind of cancer do you have?” the reporter in him finally found the voice to ask.
“Had,” Shelly corrected. “The cancer I had.”
Josh would have rolled his eyes in exasperation if he wasn’t still so stunned. Between the baby robin and Shelly, he was having a damn hard time reconciling what he had truly believed about Sarah Reid with what he’d seen her do. “Fine. Had.”
“Advanced ovarian,” Shelly answered. “My doctor only gave me a couple more weeks. Maybe even days.”
Her husband didn’t seem convinced. “Shell, you need to not get your hopes up so high.”
She was already shaking her head. “She cured me, Jay. I felt it. The cancer just...floated right out of me. I think it went into Sarah. Maybe that’s why she’s so...sick now.” Shelly’s hands flew to cover her mouth as she gasped. “Oh, my God. I didn’t make Sarah sick, did I? She doesn’t have my cancer, does she?”
“No, no. Nothing like that,” Hannah answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. “She just gets really, really tired. Healing kinda takes everything out of her. But she won’t get your cancer.” Turning back to Josh, she pointed toward the hall. “Why don’t you put her to bed? She’ll sleep for quite a while.” She gave his shoulders a nudge. “Third door on the right.”
He didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t as if Sarah was a burden and he tried not to think of how good she felt in his arms, how much he wanted to keep her there. How much he wanted to protect her. “I need to talk to these folks.”
Hannah nudged him again, shifting her gaze between Jay and Josh. “Fine. Just go put Sarah in her room and give me a second alone with these nice people.”
With a resigned grumble, Josh carried Sarah down the hall. He hadn’t left to accommodate Hannah but because he wanted to make Sarah more comfortable. Pushing the door open with his foot, he took a long look around her room.
Painted a pale blue, the walls were covered with snapshots of people he didn’t recognize. He wondered for a moment if they were clients, relatives, or just friends. A double bed, a large dresser, and a full-length mirror were the only pieces of furniture. Josh gently laid Sarah atop the patchwork quilt that covered her bed.
There was absolutely no tension in her body. He might as well have been placing a life-sized doll on the mattress. Her eyes never opened. He gently brushed a few stray locks of hair off her forehead, distressed at the pallor of her skin and lips.
“What exactly am I supposed to do about you?” he whispered as the back of his knuckles caressed her cheek.
Josh pulled off her shoes, grabbed a crocheted afghan folded on the foot of the bed, and covered Sarah. He didn’t want to leave her. The woman had no one watching out for her, no one protecting her. If this terrifying stupor was the result of helping people, Sarah needed to stop before she killed herself.
Was her blackout induced by her intense desire to fix things, just like she wanted to fix that tiny bird? Was this a psychosomatic response to wanting to believe what she did was real? And if, by some really weird circumstances this whole thing was real, how could she keep this up?
God, he didn’t know what to do. His mind waged war between his need to tell this story and his desire to protect Sarah Reid. But protect her from what? The people who wanted her help? She obviously didn’t want them to stop coming to her.
Shelly, like all the others he’d interviewed, honestly believed Sarah had healed her of her illness. Ovarian cancer. Just like Miranda.
If only he would have found out about Sarah before Miranda had died...
With a stubborn shake of his head, Josh reminded himself that this wasn’t real. Sarah was a con artist not a gift from God. He stared down at her for a minute, letting his anger swell.
She stole from people. Sick people like Miranda and Shelly.
Desperate not to leave her daughter, Miranda had snuck off and tried seeing a faith healer. Josh hadn’t scolded her when he found out. He could easily afford the loss of the money she paid, but he
had a difficult time watching her hope fade after the “healing” when she realized she wasn’t getting any better. All that hurt came flooding back. He wanted Sarah to confess. He needed her to admit she was a phony, to stop hurting people like Shelly.
“We’re alone. You can stop pretending now.” Josh gave her shoulder a small shake. “C’mon, Sarah. Wake up. Shelly’s in the other room. She thinks you healed her.”
Not only did Sarah not flinch, she remained so deathly still he found himself suddenly uncertain as to whether she was even breathing. Leaning down, he put his face close to hers and found comfort in her shallow yet steady breaths. “Sarah? Are you awake?”
If she was faking, she was doing a damned convincing job of it. She looked pathetic. He pulled the afghan a little higher until it covered her shoulders.
Knowing he wasn’t getting any answers standing there gawking at Sarah’s sleeping form, Josh turned and left the bedroom.
Hannah’s voice was the first to reach him as he came down the hall. Josh stopped before he entered the living room and listened in on the conversation.
“I know that sounds like a lot,” Hannah coaxed, “but think of what Sarah did for you in return. Surely curing your wife is worth a small...contribution.”
Jay snorted in clear disgust. “We don’t know she did anything for my wife. Not yet.”
“I’m well, Jay,” Shelly insisted. “You have to write the check. You can’t cheat Sarah.”
“You mean like she’s cheating us?” he asked.
“Sarah isn’t cheating us,” Shelly replied. “Isn’t my life worth a few thousand dollars?”
“That’s not fair, Shell!” Jay shouted. “I’d give my last dime to make you well. I’d steal more if I had to.”
“But you don’t have to, Jay. Just write Sarah the check. It’s only five-thousand.”
Josh shook his head in antipathy. Five-thousand? Jesus, what a scam. Hannah was obviously smart enough to keep the total under the radar of anyone who might process the check. Unless the check was for five figures, no one would pay much attention at a bank. The woman probably knew that when she suggested an amount to pay for the “healing.”
Then it dawned on him like a stinging whack across his cheek. Sarah didn’t know what Hannah was doing. Sarah was so out of it after she helped someone, she probably had no idea that Hannah put on the full-court press afterward. He almost slapped his forehead at his own stupidity.
Sarah’s reaction when he’d first confronted her with the amount of money she charged clients should have made it clear to him. The averted eyes. The tear. They weren’t high drama meant to sway Josh’s opinion of her. They were the reactions of a distraught woman, a woman who was hurt by the news. Her words to Hannah before she healed Shelly rang in his ears. Not this time. Sarah wouldn’t turn anyone away, so Hannah kept up her game.
“You can always stop payment if you find out Sarah didn’t do her job,” Hannah insisted as Josh stepped back into the living room.
“I suppose,” Jay said, clearly considering the notion.
Shelly wrapped the fingers of her right hand around her husband’s bicep. “See? I’ll go see the doctor tomorrow. He wanted to do another ultrasound anyway. You’ll see, Jay. The cancer is gone. I know it is. I felt it leave.”
“Felt it leave?” Josh asked, arching an eyebrow.
She turned to stare at him with enormous brown eyes and such a long face that she reminded him of an El Greco painting. “Yes, I felt it leave. It flowed right out of me.” She stopped, probably considering how to explain such an experience. “Have you ever had a really bad splinter that you had to dig to get out?”
Josh nodded.
“It was like that. It’s like she dug inside me, deep inside me. And then she just...plucked it out. All of a sudden, I have energy. I have life.”
Jay shook his head and frowned. “Shell, you’re just getting your hopes up—”
She whirled to face him. “No, Jay. I don’t need to get my hopes up. I’m well now. You’ll see.”
Jay was already pulling a checkbook out of his front pocket. Hannah grabbed a convenient pen from the end table and handed it to him.
Josh looked over to Hannah. She was literally licking her lips in anticipation. Her display disgusted him. “Don’t you even want to know how Sarah is?”
Hannah breathed a small, annoyed sigh that made Josh think that not only did she not care, she didn’t sympathize with Sarah’s suffering at all.
“She’ll be fine,” Hannah finally said. “I’ve gotten... I don’t know...used to this, to seeing her collapse after she heals someone. She’ll just sleep for a while then she’ll be fine.”
“She looks like hell. How could you possibly get used to that?” Josh asked, not hiding the anger in his voice.
“I have to take care of things when she’s done,” Hannah insisted, narrowing her eyes. “I have...responsibilities.”
“You mean you have to make sure people pay up.”
She set her fisted hands against her broad hips. “Someone has to watch out for us. Someone has to make sure we keep a roof over our heads.”
Something about her seemed so disingenuous, Josh had a hard time controlling the desire to run home and start researching the finances of the Fannings. Libby could surely find something. He’d text message her and get her right on that as soon as he left. “Does Sarah set the prices?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted to gauge Hannah’s reaction. Damn, he wished his cousin Laurie was here. He could sure use her empathic insight.
Judging from the blush on her cheeks and the stammer in her voice, Hannah was growing anxious. “Well, no. But...she...she knows we need to support the family.”
“Where does your husband work?” Josh asked.
“He...he doesn’t...work. He manages our finances. Sarah and I have a small trust fund.”
Josh let his gaze wander the room, settling first on the couch, then on the pitiable television. “I can see he does a wonderful job of that.”
Hannah huffed and puffed. “He...he...”
He tried to draw blood, knowing being grilled in the presence of Shelly and Jay made Hannah even more upset, hopefully flustered enough he could pull the truth from her. “Does Sarah know you hit clients up for money the minute she passes out?”
“They offer,” Hannah insisted. “Most of the time.” The last words were muttered so softly, Josh barely caught them at all.
Jay ripped the check he had been writing out of the checkbook and held it up. “This money does go to Sarah, doesn’t it?”
Hannah nodded, a little too enthusiastically as far as Josh was concerned. “Of course.” She reached over to pluck the check from Jay’s hand.
Jay shot her a frowning glare. “It better. And you can bet sure as hell if Shelly’s ultrasound isn’t what she expects, I’ll be back.” His eyes narrowed. “And I won’t be happy.”
Reaching into his pocket, Josh retrieved his wallet and fished out a business card that he handed to Jay. “I’m a reporter. I’m working on a story about Sarah and her abilities. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate a call or an email after Shelly sees her doctor.”
Jay nodded and took the card before slipping it into his checkbook.
Hannah quickly ushered Jay and Shelly out the front door. Josh knew she wanted him to leave too, but several things kept him anchored to the spot.
He wanted to question Hannah. Thoroughly. He wanted a better look at the pictures thumb-tacked to Sarah’s bedroom walls. But most of all, he wanted to know Sarah was going to be all right.
“You really should go,” Hannah scolded as she came back into the living room. Her tone made him surprised she wasn’t wagging a finger in his face to admonish him for having the temerity to refuse her. “Sarah wouldn’t want you to stay.”
“How many clients does Sarah see a week?”
“Six, seven.” Hannah shrugged. “Probably one a day. At least most days. Every now and then she’ll have two.” She at least
had the good sense to look upset. “Those are...bad days for her.”
“I have no doubt if she reacts like she did to Shelly. Who are the people in the photos?”
She looked confused. “Photos?”
“On Sarah’s walls.”
“Oh, poop. I forgot to get Shelly’s picture. Sarah is gonna be pissed at me.”
“So they’re clients?” Damn, there had to have been hundreds of them. One a day. How many years ago had Libby told him she’d been struck by lightning? Two? Three?
Hannah nodded. “Yeah, they’re people Sarah healed. She always wants a remembrance, even though she always remembers every name. You really should go.”
Josh shook his head and headed back down the hallway. He caught Hannah’s frustrated huff. Going into Sarah’s room, he realized she hadn’t moved a muscle. He watched the slight rise and fall of the afghan and was relieved to know she was just sleeping, even if it was the sleep of the comatose. Walking over to the largest wall of photos, he began to consider each face.
God, if she had healed every single one of these people, what kind of life had Sarah had these last few years? Was every day a trial of getting up, healing someone, and then being thrown into a state of unconsciousness? How could she survive if she kept that up? No wonder she looked to be courting collapse, if not death.
She didn’t even know what month it was.
Each picture held a story he suddenly wanted to understand. Young. Old. Black. White. It didn’t seem to matter. Had Sarah laid hands on all these people? Had she cured them all?
Josh gave his head a quick shake. Sarah couldn’t heal people. It was a trick, an incredibly eerie example of the placebo effect.
“Sarah? Shelly and Jay left. You don’t have to pretend now.”
Sarah didn’t wince at his extraordinarily loud voice. No jerk, no flinch. Not even a sleepy sigh in response.