Jackal

by Jackal in the Mirror (retail) (epub)

  EYES

  Within the realm of nature

  They say all wonders lie

  Some are man’s creation

  And bewilder his own eye

  But canyons made of stone so hard

  And roses sweet and soft

  Sunsets dying in the sky

  Were meant to touch my heart

  Now there’s the wonder best of all

  That I could learn to see

  Not with eyes that tend to lie

  By making great the thing that’s small

  But with my heart perhaps my soul

  The answer to my feelings’ call

  There was a time not long ago

  My eyes were nearly blind

  Forsaking to see anything

  My mind elected to forego

  But one day you brought to me

  The kindly fragrance of the rose

  And made its soft and gentle bloom

  A thing that I could see

  You showed me all the majesty

  Of mountains strong and riverbeds

  And brought my soul to recognize

  That stone can speak to me

  Then all my senses

  Frantically

  Were forced to open up

  And take this gift from you

  At last they saw reality

  Not in things that nature made

  Not in endless dance of sea

  Not in wind and trees that sing

  It wasn’t there that wonder stayed

  The truth is very simple now

  I don’t know how I missed it

  For the majesty in everything

  The setting sun the newborn fawn

  The birds’ sweet harmony

  The changing leaves

  The endless seas

  The rolling hills the gentle breeze

  Live only in the poet’s eyes

  And being blind I needed you

  To be my loving guide

  “Well, Sarah?” Andrew asked.

  “It’s perfect. Better than perfect. But I can’t find a word to describe what that is.”

  “I do. Call it the Andrew Effect,” Lucien laughed. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go sell more of this man’s work. I am now taking orders on commission—everything in the front rooms has sold. Too bad you won’t allow me to sell these portraits; people crave that part of you.”

  “These are mine, Lucien. Never for sale.” Andrew’s tone left no room for debate.

  Lucien shrugged. “Dommage. It was a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed toward Sarah and Conrad, and walked away.

  “Let’s go to Mother’s portrait. I’d like your opinion.” Andrew nudged Sarah forward.

  Martha’s painting didn’t disappoint. The largest of all the portraits, it hung in an ornate gold leaf frame and portrayed a gracious, sophisticated and beautiful woman. The background was a mixture of de-saturated hues of phthalo green and cadmium yellow, and her smiling image exuded devotion and tenderness. The observer had no choice but to smile back at her.

  “You captured her spirit.” Sarah touched Andrew’s arm. “You knew her well.”

  “I did.” He blushed. “She allowed me the freedom I needed. Her blind spot was Daryl.” His eyes filled with tears. “She couldn’t accept what—”

  “Andrew,” James called his attention away from the painful memories. “Tell me, was Matthew able to help you with AlderCreek?”

  Andrew nodded, quickly wiping his eyes. “Yes, very much so. Great referral. Thank you, James. He met with the Board of Directors and me, and of course Karla and Eric. He’s doing quite well.”

  Sarah turned to Karla. “You’re on the Board?”

  “Only because otherwise Andrew wouldn’t attend. Matthew runs the company, but Andrew is chairman and needs to run the darn meetings. He has to keep on top of things, but he hates it.”

  “I really don’t hate it. It’s all a ruse to keep her at my side.” He winked.

  Karla stepped back and looked up at him. “Well, buddy, you’ve shown your cards now.”

  They all laughed.

  “What about the poems that surround Mother?” Andrew asked.

  “Way to change the conversation,” Sarah laughed. “We haven’t spent time with them. Give us a moment.”

  “By all means, be my guests.” Andrew said, and stepped back out of the way.

  The poems closest to Martha’s portrait were arranged in what appeared to be an uneven circle. Sarah recognized them as the love poems she’d read when the book first presented itself. They were all in gold-leaf frames—not as ornate as Martha’s, but in a style that belonged together. Beyond this inner circle were other poems scattered about in darker gold-leaf frames.

  “I bet these represent Gabriel’s mood after she left Paris.” Sarah said.

  “Clearly it broke his heart,” Conrad said.

  “He really loved my mother,” Andrew whispered. “She was very easy to love and she gave back so much.”

  “Did you—” Sarah stopped herself.

  “Find out that Gabriel was my father?” he said in hushed tones. “I figured it out many years ago. The artistic side of me had to come from someone other than Robert.” He smiled. “I sort of discovered it when I stayed with Gabriel in Paris. I was with him the last years of his life. No one knew I’d been there.”

  Sarah turned to him astonished. “Your mother didn’t find out?”

  He shook his head. “He insisted we keep my visit between us. He gave me some lame excuse about my art reflecting his influence and wanting to find out if she could tell.”

  “Did he influence you? Did she notice?”

  “I’d say. Thanks to him, I discovered the softer, more tender side of people, along with the animals I’m attracted to. Mother noticed the difference, but never made the connection. The book you returned to me is actually the book he gave me. I found my notations in the back.”

  “Those were yours? How did it end up in the bookstore in Eureka?”

  “I lost track of the book many years ago. I must’ve left it behind somewhere and someone found it and sold it.”

  “James told me a man bought it for his wife. She auctioned it off and a publisher got it.”

  “So how—”

  “The publisher tried to get the rights and made a big public fuss about it to attract the author. After that, all of sudden all talk about the book ended. It was left in the bookstore and it patiently waited for me to find it.”

  “I imagine Mother did that. She must’ve gotten it from the publisher. Maybe she hid it in the bookstore, afraid that Daryl would destroy it, like he destroyed his.”

  Thank you, Sarah. Thank you for my boy’s happiness.

  Sarah jerked back as James stepped between them and put his arms around their shoulders, giving Sarah a small squeeze. “Whatever you two are whispering about has pleased Martha immensely. She’s found peace. She’s gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean?” Andrew’s shock was evident.

  “I only engage with those who are attached to his earth to resolve issues. She no longer needs to be here, so she’s left.”

  “Did she say anything?” Andrew asked.

  “Would you like to tell him, Sarah?”

  “You heard what she said?” Andrew asked her.

  She nodded. “A second ago. She thanked me. But seeing your happiness is what freed her, as well as hearing that despite knowing about Gabriel you never stopped loving her.”

  “Look,” James stared at one of the framed poems.

  “It’s glowing,” Andrew whispered.

  Transfixed by the effect, they observed the words as Andrew’s mellow voice softly brought them to life.

  HELLO

  To be away from you

  I
s the same as being lost

  With only vaguest hopes

  Of finding home again

  Maybe I should simply let

  My imagination fly

  Toward far away and long ago

  And remember where I’ve been

  Abandoned in a desert

  Where the hot sun bakes the sand

  Assaulted by the nature

  That inhabits such a land

  No water left my strength all gone

  I head toward a horizon

  That I know you lie beyond

  And so my search begins

  The fight is strong against the wind

  The sandstorms rage all round

  But the memory of your face

  Makes my weakened heart rebound

  An oasis I have found

  That helps to ease my pain

  The palms give shade

  A spring fresh hope

  I’ve had a breath of air at last

  And now my life resumes

  But in the distance I can see

  That new storms head for me

  The desert stretches forth once more

  I steel my will and start anew

  Each step becomes an agony

  Each breath a cry for you

  In the vastness I can see

  The road that leads to you

  The stars that sing for me

  The moon that lights my route

  I have found a place of light

  Where flowers’ sweet perfume

  Permeates the air

  As proof that you are there

  Hello my love

  You’re here at last

  Andrew sighed. “Gabriel?”

  “Welcoming her?” Sara whispered.

  “It’s a possibility,” James answered.

  Andrew grinned. “I believe that is the case.”

  Sarah reached for Andrew and squeezed his hand. “Then all is as it should be.”

  V. & D. POVALL

  A husband and wife writing-team that has authored and published nonfiction manuals and articles as wells as written four short screenplays, six full-length screenplays, several novels, and a science-fiction epic.

  Jackal in the Mirror is the third title in The Perils of a Reluctant Psychic suspense-mystery series. The first, which introduced Sarah and her remarkable psychic powers, was The Gift of the Twin Houses. The second, Secrets of Innocence, cemented Sarah’s extrasensory abilities, and her exceptional talent for unraveling mysteries.

  The authors bring a variety of experiences to their work. Between them they possess a doctorate and years of practical experience in film, television, and theater.

  Thanks to their rich international family backgrounds, they bring to the page a wealth of experiences and points of view. They speak several languages and have lived in different cultures.

  For more information, please visit their website at www.2authors.com.