Chosen (12 page)

Mariah stepped back from Michael. The fierce satisfaction on her face faded as she stared at her hands. They had not been on his shoulders for quite some time. Nevertheless, he had still been entranced, evidenced by his eyes once again in focus.

With each
Finding
, the negative physical sensations decreased to minor pressure in their bodies and lasted only seconds. In this case, the sense of euphoria continued until the
Finding
was over even though she had removed her hands from his shoulders some time ago.

She collapsed into an empty chair, grateful for the wad of tissues Frannie stuffed into her hand. As she mopped the perspiration from her face and neck, she caught a movement to her left. Her eyes widened: she had forgotten Thomas was there.

The last thing people would see when the DVD was aired would send some into religious ecstasy. It would also endear her to the millions of others who would witness this incomprehensible event. With a smile of exhaustion, she looked at Frannie and said, “God has given her back to us. Let’s go get her.”

Mariah watched Thomas shut off the camera, lift it from his shoulder, and rest it on the table. He glanced at her, his brows creased. She wondered what his opinion of her was now.

She turned to Frannie, her voice thin with fatigue. “Sophie Celeste Duval is in Rougemont, in the Province of Quebec. Call the Canadian version of the FBI so I can give them information on the monster who abducted her and where they are.”

As Frannie dialed Osterman’s number to get his Canadian contacts at the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Mariah frowned. She patted the bridge of her nose and blinked several times, a thoughtful look replacing the frown. Neither man missed the wonder tinged with resignation on her face.

More to herself, she said, “How bizarre. More payoff. Just when you think ... but this one happened
before
the
Finding
.”

Michael took Mariah’s hands in his, his touch having a restorative effect. As Frannie talked to RCMP Agent Gilles Archembeault, Mariah’s voice gained strength as she looked from one to the other.

“I don’t have my contact lenses on. Without them, or my glasses, everything should be blurry. I must’ve forgotten to put the glasses on before coming here because”—she blinked and took a deep breath—“I can see perfectly without them.”

Frannie held the final report in her hands, her eyes bright with satisfaction. “Sophie was rescued in time to save her life.” Mariah nodded. While delighted, her attempted smile failed. Frannie knew she was torn between hatred, sadness, and guilt for the kidnapper. “The loon flipped out when he spotted Sophie at a farmer’s market. He was convinced it was his dead wife come back from the grave.

“To shorten this long, incomprehensible psychiatric evaluation, he’s been a dork all his life, and when he becomes a big shot insurance guy with lots of dough, he buys himself a hot-looking trophy wife. But he’s unhappy, boo hoo, so he tells her he’s gonna sell their big house in their ritzy neighborhood and buy a farm in the country. She informs him she’s getting a lawyer, divorce his ass, and take all his money.

“So he arranges for the wife, Dani, to take a train to visit her sister then buys the farm. When she’s ready to come home, he picks her up at the train station, drives out to the farm, kills her, slices her up, and uses her as a bonfire. Then reports her missing. The police learn from Dani’s sister that she’s planning to leave Georgie, so after searching for several months, the cops believe she did just that. If I was investigating this, I’d wonder why she split before she got her hands on his money. But they close the investigation and Georgie lives the quiet life for fifteen years—until he sees Sophie with her mother.

“He takes her back to his farm. Let’s see: yada, yada, yada ... not much else of any interest. You know what happened.”

Mariah’s eyes widen, barely able to repress what felt like a panic attack. “I crossed a serious line with this
Finding
. I manipulated George and sent a jolt of immense pain into his head. That’s frightening enough. What’s so alarming was how good it felt.

“I remember how exhilarating ... that power pounding in my blood. Am I going to keep getting stronger with each
Finding
?” Mariah shivered as she locked eyes with Frannie, obviously another thought blossoming in her head. “Am I going to be able to control this anger as my psychic abilities increase? Or will this sense of domination over another become addictive?”

Craig Osterman tipped back in his chair, planted his feet on the desk, and crossed his heels. Glaring at Frannie, he punctuated his comments by stabbing a half-gnawed pencil at her.

“It’s
over
, Manzetti. I’ll be fucking
damned
if I’m going to lose my job over this. The RCMP went over my head—
way
over—when I refused to give them the name of your psychic, and I got my fucking
ass
chewed off by the Chief. He gave me an ultimatum: tell him who the psychic is or get axed.

“In fact, he was extremely embarrassed by the reaction of the Mounties when they somehow found out that only two FBI agents knew the psychic’s identity. Even though they were extremely grateful for the information that led to the rescue of the girl and the arrest of the maniac, they were
astonished
that the Chief of the San Francisco Federal Bureau of Investigations not only excused this nondisclosure shit, he himself didn’t know who the psychic was! When he realized how stupid he looked, the Chief was furious.”

When Osterman received no reply from Manzetti, he dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. The pencil now pointed at her nose unwaveringly. “Furthermore, I don’t think you want to jeopardize everything you’ve worked for, and the excellent reputation you’re building, over some misplaced loyalty. I understand why he wants to remain anonymous, but it’s gone way beyond just a couple of routine assist.”

Frannie’s eyes could have melted steel; her voice was as rough as sandpaper. “I already took care of everything.” She grinned smugly at Osterman’s surprise. “I previously convinced our psychic to let us tape the next
Finding
. It just so happens it’s the one with the French girl. And I saw it yesterday. It has ‘Academy Award’ written all over it.”

Osterman opened his mouth to say something, but Frannie cut him off. “I have a suggestion: let’s set up a viewing ‘by invitation only’ and have the telepath present to answer questions. I’ve already talked this over with
her
”—Osterman’s eyebrows disappeared in his hairline at this revelation—“and while reluctant, she’s agreed to meet with a select few.” Frannie was unable to keep the self-satisfied smirk off her face.

“Before you break your arm patting yourself on the back, keep this in mind: if anyone tries to fuck with her, she’ll just stop finding these kids. Remember, she doesn’t have to.”

Thomas edited the feed from the two cameras and previewed the final version on his 52-inch Sharp Equos HDTV. He was, at the same time, flabbergasted and pleased. It was as good as anything he’d ever done despite how shaken he was at the beginning. He assured Frannie that the audio quality, while not perfect, was more than acceptable to the untrained ear, and was sure anyone who saw and heard it would experience the full effect. His only regret was that he had neglected to start the recorder the moment he entered the room. That “hoory oop” command from deep within Mariah’s throat would have been a sensational lead-in.

Thomas found himself conflicted. Being naturally skeptical (thanks to special effects and PhotoShop) he had to reluctantly admit that Mariah Carpenter was the real deal. Even feeling like he’d stepped into another dimension, he somehow relished the prospect of seeing her again. Attracted to her initially, he was now intrigued. She was scary, which made her even more hot.

Thomas Raphael had witnessed a phenomenon previously out of his realm of belief. He would not have believed anyone who told him that they had seen something like this. So why was he contemplating the possibility of a relationship with a woman who obviously fit his definition of “out there”?

Ever practical, he shrugged. Loving a good mystery, he’d play this game out to its natural conclusion and see where it went. Intuition was not necessary to tell him involvement with her would be bizarre.

The newspapers in the Province of Quebec were full of the rescue of Sophie Duval whose maternal grandfather was a prominent local businessman and the vice president of the city council. There was much speculation on the “anonymous tip” phoned in to the RCMP. One shrewd reporter in Montréal retrieved the story off the wire and spent some time researching child abduction cases worldwide within the last year.

What he found became the topic of a well-written, mind-boggling exposé concerning
six
successful recoveries in the United States, stamped with the same signature as the one in Rougemont. His story—about the existence of an authentic psychic whose identity was being kept secret by the United States government—hit the front page with the desired effect: people were shocked by a success of this magnitude, and angry at the politicians in the U.S. for keeping it a secret.

What piqued the public’s interest was the similarity of experiences told by the children. All seven heard a voice in their head asking what they saw and where they were. To those who believed in a Supreme Being, this was proof beyond a doubt of His existence. To those who scoffed at the notion of omniscient intervention, this was either a well-choreographed hoax—perpetrated by a three-lettered clandestine agency in the United States—or a true case of extra sensory perception that needed extensive investigation with electromagnetic field instruments.

Receiving monosyllabic responses to her attempts at conversation, Frannie fell silent. As she maneuvered through traffic up Highway 101 toward San Francisco, she slanted another glance at her passenger. Manzetti was sure the abbreviated answers to her questions were a product of Carpenter’s stress over the panel of FBI agents she would shortly face.

Frannie’s thoughts drifted back to the morning Mariah found Sophie and her subsequent conversation with Michael Jenkins as Mariah sat slumped against the wall, too tired to get up and drive home.

“Energy,” he had chortled, his eyes glowing. “Our friend here is capable of controlling raw energy at the subatomic level to enhance her psychic abilities! It’s only been a theory up until now, but I’m positive she drew energy from the lights. That’s why they dimmed. And she extracted it from the air, which is why we felt the air stir. Now, the lavender light: I would have guessed only a prism could deflect a certain bandwidth of light and create the color, but I just don’t know.” Practically dancing a jig, he said, “Don’t ask me how she did any of it. I haven’t a clue!”

As one, their heads had turned in Mariah
’
s direction. With a beats-the-hell-out-of-me shrug, she grinned feebly, clearly as mystified as they.

Brought back to the present, Frannie could see, out of the corner of her eye, that the object of her scrutiny was still lost in thought. She pressed down on the accelerator and the BMW shot forward.
Time to get this over with
.

Mariah saw Frannie glance toward her several times, and surmised her reason. But Frannie was wrong. She was not thinking about the upcoming interrogation: she was still worried about what happened during the
Finding
of Sophie. Several things had occurred that were remarkably different from the previous
Findings
. She was now positive that God had nothing to do with any of them.

She, too, had felt the air stir but had no idea that she extracted power from the energy in the room. That part, and the lilac mist that surrounded her, might be a miracle attributable to God, but she doubted it.

When she realized that Sophie was dying and too terrified to be coherent, Mariah had exploded, angry and frustrated. Under normal circumstances, Mariah Carpenter was a mild-mannered person; however, she did, on occasion, explode, usually at herself and especially if she did something klutzy. If, on the rare occasion when the eruption was focused on another person, she would feel terrible and apologize profusely to whoever was at the receiving end.

Yet, what she did to George Malchelosse ... she was positive that God would never let her manipulate another human being. The Devil would, but no deal had been struck for this psychic talent.

That she was capable of doing it was disturbing enough; that she had
enjoyed
hurting him, had deliberately lanced pain through his head in punishment for what he’d done to Sophie, and felt a rush of extreme pleasure when he grabbed his head and screamed, was shocking.

She remembered the cold fury that engulfed her and the overwhelming desire to kill. Could she—
would
she—really take someone’s life? What would she do if the situation presented itself again? With a sigh, she realized that the thought of committing murder didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should. That was alarming. Were the changes in her psychic abilities also affecting her sense of right and wrong?

Unable (or unwilling) to answer these questions, Mariah came back to the present ... the inquisition.

So, what do you think they’re going to do, stick your brain under a microscope? I don’t think so. Just refuse to do anything you don’t want to. They can’t force you. If they try, we’ll slap their bureaucratic butts with a lawsuit even a second year law student could win
! A welcomed but foreign sensation filled Mariah’s head: confidence, even though she would be confronting strangers. With a grin, she reached into her purse for her new mood enhancer; a bag of M&M’s with cashews.

The pep talk had the desired effect. She felt more reassured that these FBI people were no more than that: people. Who had a job to do. And she was a person just like them. Except that she could get into people’s heads, converse with them, and see out of their eyes. Oh, and now, manipulate them like they were marionettes, and cause them pain.

Enough. If you don’t think you’re normal, how will you convince them? Just look ‘em square in the eye and be cool. Remember, you’re just a person who has this strange gift and that’s about the extent of it. You’re no different then you were before, outside of this minor detail
.

Minor detail? There were many inexplicable anomalies in the universe that fell into the miracle category. Mariah believed in the paranormal, that some people used more of their brain matter than others, but she never gave any credence to claims of cures from faith healer or the sight of the Virgin Mary’s weeping statue.

By the time they arrived at FBI headquarters, Mariah Carpenter was considerably cheered, thanks to the internal ooh-rah talk and the sugar rush. While glad that she seemed happier, Frannie regarded her friend’s innocent smile (and the twinkle in her eyes) with suspicion. They parked in the underground lot and rode the elevator to the eleventh floor.

At the end of the corridor was a solid mahogany door with a gold plaque that read:
Catalina Conference Room
. Just before Frannie opened it, she said in a loud stage whisper, “Give ’em hell!” Was Mariah’s grin just a little too brilliant?