A Guardian of Innocents (35 page)

“Thanks.”

“There’s another reason why I stopped by. Tessa’s been pestering Dad to find your biological father. Track him down, I guess. Says it’s important that you talk to him.”

“I don’t see why,” I said, “all it would do would—“

“Anyways, he found him. Wasn’t all that hard actually. He’s kind of quasi-famous, at least he is among a certain type of people. He’s a minister. Travels a lot around the country doing those, uh, big top tent revivals. Healings and miracles and such.”

“Yeah, my biological mother told me it was something like that.”

“So you’ve met her?” Aaron asked, “I’m curious. Did she have any psychic talents?”

“No. I never asked, but I didn’t detect any.”

“Huh. Maybe he’s the real deal then? If you didn’t inherit your talents from your mother...”

“I see what you’re saying,” I countered, “But being a mindreader, if he is one, would probably just make him a more effective swindler.”

Aaron grinned. “Why don’t you visit him and find out?”

“What? Am I supposed to just take another vacation and travel to another part of the country again? My work probably wouldn’t appreciate that.”

He handed me a pamphlet. “That shouldn’t be necessary. He’s coming to Newark in a few weeks. Schedule’s right there.”

“Lafferty Ministries,” I read aloud, “Did Tessa say why I need to meet him?”

“She wouldn’t say. Just that it’s important for you.”

*          *          *

In the weeks that followed, I used a chunk of the money for a down payment on a car and managed to schedule a weekend off. I drove to Newark alone, trying not to think too much about why, trying to free myself of any expectations.

I got lost a few times and had hell finding the place, but I did finally find the shopping center parking lot where the great blue tent had been erected. I walked in there pretty late in the show.

It was hard to see the guy on stage. Everyone was singing and jumping and clapping. A holy-roller convention if I’d ever seen one. You’d think you were at the state fair with all the spilled plastic cups of soda and popcorn lying on the black asphalt among all the gray folding chairs lined up in semi-neat rows.

I looked up towards the blonde-haired man through dozens of hands outstretched towards the heavens in worship. And as the song winded down, so did the mood of the crowd.

“Friends,” the man on stage spoke, “I thank you for coming out on this cold winter’s night to support us in our cause. You have truly treated us all very well.”

Applause. A few ‘Praise Jesus’s’ bounced around the tent.

“Now is the time that we ask those among us who want a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and don’t feel like they have it to please... step forward. You can make that commitment today! You can say, ‘God, I’m tired of livin’ for myself and I want to live for You starting TOO-day!’ Come on down here! Let’s win some souls for Christ, TOO-day!”

I observed with a tired interest how most of the people approaching the stage already considered themselves to be born-again Christians.

For show,
I thought to myself,
This is nothing but a show.

“Would everyone please bow their heads in prayer,” the blonde-haired man asked the audience.

As most of the occupants of the tent lowered their heads and shut their eyes, I found my feet to be taking me closer to the stage.

“For all those before me, please repeat after me...”

I stared upward at the face of my father as I walked further towards him. With intense concentration, I silently asked him,
Can you hear me?

His eyes snapped open and met mine. I was puzzled by the first thought which came to his mind:
Bryan.

His heart was galloping, but still he continued on with the prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father...”

*          *          *

Hold on! Wait!
He telepathically shouted at me as I turned to leave after the service had concluded.

He was being mobbed by locals wanting to shake his hand and doing his best to get away while remaining polite.

Please wait! I’m trying to get to you. Don’t go!

I stopped at the entrance to the tent, refusing to turn around.

It’s only fitting,
I said back to him,
You walked out on me, and here I am a quarter of a century later, walking out on you.

He abruptly broke through his crowd of fans and jogged towards me. I could feel the attention and curiosity of others upon me now.

I thought you were dead! Stillborn!

The truth I felt in those words shook me to my very center. I would’ve known if it’d been a lie. I was beyond shocked. I was galvanized.

He slowed his pace as he approached me. “I don’t know how this is even possible,” he said out loud, “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“I suppose,” I answered.

“Great. There’s a Denny’s on Commerce Street, a few blocks east of here. Can you meet me there in an hour?”

I remembered passing by the place twice in my several botched attempts at locating this revival. “Sure. I guess... But don’t be late.”

I felt maybe I’d been unjustly rude to him as I walked out to my car, but I didn’t kick myself about it too hard.

I drove immediately to the Denny’s and parked my car. Not caring to wait inside by myself for an hour (or possibly longer) I chose instead to roll my window down and smoke one cigarette after another and think.

Okay, if my dad’s a mindreader like myself, a telepath, then wouldn’t he have known whoever told him I was dead was lying? And why was it important for me to talk to him? What the hell is it that I have to learn?

I whispered, “What kind of game are we playing here, Tess?”

Only forty minutes had passed when I sensed Mr. Lafferty looking for me.

“Motherfucker’s early,” I grunted.

I got out and followed him through the front entrance and said, “Hey.” He turned around, a little startled, then smiled.

“I’m glad you came,” he replied, smelling the air, “I guess we should sit in the smoking section.”

“Yeah.”

We found a booth and ordered our drinks. He thumbed through his menu absently; I didn’t even bother to pick mine up. I didn’t expect to stay for too long. The silence was already stretching itself out to an uncomfortable length.

“So how did you find me?” he asked finally.

“Friend,” I answered.

He pursed his lips, “Okay... So you are..? Uh, Shannon’s your mother, right?”

“Biologically, yes. I’ve only met her once though.”

“She put you up for adoption.” He seemed to say this more to himself than to me.

“You’re catchin’ on quick.”

I took out a cigarette and lit up, unashamed of my filthy habit. His look of mild disgust reminded me of Aaron.

“Look,” he sighed, “You’re acting like you don’t even want to be here, so why did you even bother trying to find me? Is there something you want?”

I picked up something from his thoughts that really pissed me off, “Not money. I don’t want or need a single fucking penny from you.”

“I never said that.”

“You were thinking it. You need to learn how to hide your thoughts better around other psychics.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms, glaring at me, “If you are going to use that word, then lower your voice. Remember what it is I do for a living... So what
do
you want? Why did you come out here tonight?”

I lowered my eyes to the table, thinking.

“I just want some answers. Like who the hell told you I was dead?”

“Your grandmother, actually. Shannon’s mom.”

“And you couldn’t tell she was lying?”

“We weren’t face to face. She wrote me a letter. But from the emotions I felt when I touched the paper, I was sure she had told me the truth. But then maybe she just
thought
it was the truth. She was one of those typical Mormon yes-wives who would believe the sky was key lime green if her husband told her so.”

I scanned him, but detected no attempt at deception or equivocation.

“So why did you leave? My mother said her father paid you to get out of town.”

“What!” His voice rose considerably. A few heads turned. “After high school, I went on a mission for the Mormon church. I was in Brazil for 2 years. I didn’t even
know
I had a child until after I got back. Every time I tried to call Shannon’s house, someone would pick up, say hello and then hang up when they heard my voice. When I went to their house, no one would answer the door, even though I knew they were home. After I’d done that a few times, I was served with a restraining order. That should be in public records. You can probably look it up if you like.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled.

“After that,” he went on, “I left. I’d been planning to get out of that ridiculous town anyways. I already knew my own brand of faith didn’t conform to traditional Mormon dogma... I’m furious at your mother for putting you up for adoption. I would have raised you myself had I been given the choice.”

The sincerity of his words touched me, but anger arose within me as well. I could have been spared the agony of growing up under the twisted rule of Jack and Doris Wright. I’d had a shot at a normal life—and it had been stripped from me.     

“I tried calling them every now and then—all the good it did. No matter where I called from, when they heard my voice they hung up. Until one day Shannon answered... and even
she
hung up on me. That hurt a lot. And that was when I gave up.”

I sat silent for a moment, finishing my cigarette, trying to think of what to say next. I could see (and feel) that reliving that piece of history was torturous for him. I could relate. I wanted to change the subject, but he beat me to it.

“So I guess we’ve established that we’re both blessed with telepathic abilities. Are you capable of anything else?”

I shook my head, “You?”

He nodded his head, slowly. As if he were about to make a solemn confession.

In a near whisper, he said, “I can usually heal minor injuries and ailments. Minor ones. Nothing of any real grandeur. I can’t make paraplegics jump out of their wheelchairs like other evangelists claim to.”

“Hmm, the friend who led me to you has that same power. Only hers is a lot more extreme.”

He smiled. “Really? Tell me about her.”

We talked for several hours—and I ended up eating dinner with him after all, the both of us downing cup after cup of coffee. I don’t know how my sudden trust in him became so complete so quickly.

As we exchanged life stories, I tried to leave out certain details, but it was pointless. He was a stronger mindreader than I was, and kept detecting where my stories would derail from the truth and kept forcing me to back up and elaborate until he was satisfied.

He seemed only slightly unsettled that I was a killer of predators, and was surprisingly unabashed at the supernatural elements of my stories. The idea of a preternatural underworld that exists as a kind of sub-basement to the more tangible material world we see around ourselves seemed to be a given for him, as though it were something he had always been aware of. The only item of any real shock value that he pulled from my memories was the knowledge that I was the Mansfield Gunman.

After the story telling was done, he changed subjects rather abruptly, “So, are you an atheist or agnostic?”

I smiled weakly, “After all I’ve seen, I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what to believe... If there is a God, I don’t think He cares about us. How could He with all the shit He lets happen in this fucked up world?”

“If nothing bad ever happened to us, Jeshua, then this wouldn’t be Earth, it would be Heaven. We live in a world that straddles the fence, the borderline, between Heaven and Hell. Or at least that’s what I believe. We’re here to make a choice: which side of the fence do we jump down to?”

“Look. I didn’t come here to get preached to,” I said, nervously stirring my glass of ice water with a straw.

“And I’m not going to. I’m only sharing with you what I believe, as you just did with me.”

Clearly detecting the subject of religion was irritating me, he began telling me about my half-brothers and –sisters. He invited me to visit his family down in Macon, Georgia at his permanent residence. I told him I’d think about it.

My father insisted on paying the check. And as we were saying our goodbyes out in the crisp midnight air, I remembered something.

“When we first saw each other, you thought my name was Bryan. Why?”

The sad look returned to his eyes. “They wouldn’t even tell me what they’d named you. So I decided to give you a name of my own. It was my uncle’s. My favorite uncle. At times, it seemed he was the only sane member of my family when I was growing up.

“Alright, you’ve got my cell number. I always leave it on, except of course when I’m doing a service. Don’t be afraid to call me if you want to talk, even if it’s at four a.m. Okay?”