Blessed Child (11 page)

“Well, to be honest with you, Father, I'm no longer sure this should be his new home.”

“And I'm really not interested in what you're sure about, Mr. Marker. I'm more concerned with the child. And I need your help with the child.”

A heavyset woman with long black hair, wearing a dress that was two sizes too small, suddenly marched from the hallway. Caleb stepped out from her shadow and stopped. He still wore the same gray slacks and white shirt they'd dressed him in yesterday. His face lit up at the sight of Leiah and Jason, and he walked quickly for Leiah. He slid onto the couch next to her, and she put an arm around his shoulders.

“Hello, Caleb.”

“Selam,”
he said with a smile.

“And that's another thing,” Nikolous said. “He simply must stop talking in this nonsensical language of his. You did say he knows English—”

“Ge'ez,” Leiah snapped. “His language is Ge'ez. And why do you insist on making comments like that in front of him? He understands you.”

“If he understands, then tell him to speak when spoken to.”

“He's in shock. You can't expect him to answer every question you throw his way.”

Nikolous motioned to the woman. “Please sit, Martha.”

She sat without expression.

“This is the boy's caretaker, Martha.” She dipped her head. “Now he's been positively insubordinate to Martha. And perhaps you are right. Perhaps his insubordination is the result of shock. Which is precisely why we need your help in easing him past this initial phase of transition. We have decided that daily visits immediately following the lunch hour would be good for the child.”

Martha sat like a frog on her chair, bunched up and unmoving. This whole sham was absurd. It felt like something out of a Charles Dickens novel. The judge would take one look at this woman and refuse guardianship.

The boy was absently examining his fingers now. Jason looked at Nikolous sitting stiffly in his chair. “I think I've had enough of this craziness. There's no way we're leaving this boy in your charge. He's clearly not suited to you. You're too impatient and too heartless to be this boy's guardian. I'm going to recommend the judge deny guardianship.”

“On what grounds, my friend?” Nikolous asked.

Jason had expected a bolt of lightning from the priest. The revelation should have at least caused a spark. Certainly more than this simple even-toned question. And it was a good question at that. He had no tangible evidence that they were not suitable. It would have to be the judge's good sense at seeing them at the hearing.

“He doesn't like you,” Jason said. “And frankly I don't think you like him.”

The priest leaned back and grinned through a chuckle. “Dear man, you are far too sentimental. We are raising good citizens, not winning lifelong friends. This child needs good rearing, not hugs and kisses. Isn't that right, Martha?”

The woman shot the boy a stern stare. “He is positively insubordinate and undisciplined.”

“And I suppose you think it's your job to bring him into submission, is that it?” Leiah demanded.

“Please watch your tone,” the Father cautioned. “You are liable to upset the boy. Hardly what we need.”

Jason stood to his feet, flush with heat. “That's it! We're taking him!”

“Taking him? You can't just take him. He's in my custody. Sit down.”

“He may be in your custody now, chump. But until a judge gives you guardianship, you don't have squat.”

The priest chuckled and his lips bunched smugly. Martha's mouth had settled into her first smile. “I'm afraid you don't understand, young man. I've already seen the judge and been granted guardianship. Whether you like it or not, he's under my care for at least some months, and there's nothing short of kidnapping that you can do about it. You really are here to help me, not fight me. Do you understand this?”

Jason's mind spun. They'd already had the hearing? Leiah's eyes had grown round. The boy was still engrossed in his fingers. “This morning . . . ?”

“Yes, of course. Now please sit down.”

Jason sat on the edge of the couch. The man was right; there was nothing he could do if guardianship had already been granted. Yesterday he could have intercepted the process, but not now. Not without a prolonged legal battle. Leiah had lowered her head, but she could not hide the flexing of her jaw. She understood clearly enough that it was Jason's reluctance to take the boy that had brought them here.

“Now, you can either help me or not. That much you can choose,” Nikolous said. He stood and straightened his tie. “I really must be going. If you are willing to help Caleb by visiting him each day at the one-o'clock hour for a week, it would be appreciated. If not, we will find other ways to encourage his cooperation.”

“Listen to you!” Leiah cried. “You talk like he's some kind of machine you're trying to get working. He's a boy, for crying out loud!”

Father Nikolous's lips fell flat. “A yes or no will be adequate.”

If Leiah were able to translate her thoughts into action, they'd be giving the morgue a call, Jason thought.

“Yes,” he said.

Leiah spun to him, glaring.

“He's right, Leiah. I'll make a few calls, but it's probably all we can do.”

A silence settled over them, and Father Nikolous sighed with satisfaction. “Don't worry. Martha is wonderful with children. And we hope you will be able to persuade the boy to be a little more congenial.”

He nodded at Martha, who stood and walked over to the boy. She took his arm and pulled him up.

Leiah held his hand. “Hold on! We just got here. We can't spend more time with him?”

“No, I'm afraid not. Not today.” Nikolous motioned to the hallway, and Martha took the boy, who followed like an obedient puppy. Leiah stared after them, dumbstruck. The caretaker and Caleb had taken ten steps when Nikolous stopped them.

“Wait, Martha. Let's make sure they understand me.” He watched Jason without moving his head. “I have arranged to have the boy tested at UCLA's parapsychology research laboratory tomorrow morning, but I fear the boy won't cooperate. There'll be no visit tomorrow. You may see him at the university at ten o'clock. That is if the boy agrees to cooperate.”

“Tested for what?” Jason demanded.

Still the priest did not remove his stare. “Tested for psychic response, of course.”

So that was it, then. The Greek was basically blackmailing them into persuading Caleb to go along with his agenda.
If you want to see the boy again,
persuade him to allow me to pry into his mind. If you don't, my mean witch here will teach your precious boy some discipline
.

“UCLA? They do that kind of thing?” Jason glanced at Leiah, who was drilling Nikolous with her stare.

“I was informed this morning that they are at the top of the field. They are quite eager to test the boy.”

“I suppose we don't have a choice.”

“No, I want you to ask the boy if that will be okay.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

It was feeling like some distant cousin to prostitution, but Jason saw no alternative. He faced the boy. Caleb was already looking at him. He smiled. “Caleb, do you understand?” He switched to broken Amharic to spite Nikolous. “Do you understand?”

Caleb answered quickly in the same language. “Yes.”

“And you . . . agree?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?” Nikolous asked.

“He said yes.”

The Father smiled. “Good. Take him, Martha.”

She pulled Caleb's arm and they walked into the hallway.

Jason spoke again, still in Amharic. “We will not leave you, my child.”

Caleb stopped and turned around. For a long moment he just looked at Jason. Then he spoke. In English. “I believe you.”

They left the complex in silence. The boy had used English to frustrate the Father, Jason thought with some satisfaction. And that meant he had some spirit. That was good; he would need spirit to survive the Greek. Somehow the fact seemed patently obvious now.

And it had been he who'd placed Caleb in the Greek's care. Against Leiah's advice.

The fact sat in his gut like a bitter pill.

9

Day 3

I
T WAS EITHER THE
C
OKE OR SHEER COINCIDENCE
that changed Donna Blair's life forever that day. She chalked it up to coincidence, because everybody knew that when you really thought about it, most everything could be blamed on coincidence. A long string of events and decisions that deposited people to the moment.

If you wanted to get real psycho about it, you could go way back to her decision to switch her major at UCLA from psychology to journalism in '85. Ten years later she became the youngest anchor NBC had ever thrown before a live camera in its prime-time slot.

Or you could go back to her decision to leave the anchor job and hit the road as a correspondent. If she were still sitting at the newsdesk, she'd never have been assigned to cover Charles Crandal. And if she hadn't been assigned to cover the presidential candidate, she wouldn't have found herself on the UCLA campuses midweek, despite her favorable memories of the place. As it was, she'd come to cover a lecture by his choice for vice president, Moses Simon, who had been forced to cancel his appearance when his plane was grounded in Las Vegas due to brake problems.

But simply being at UCLA wouldn't have done it; she had to be in the psych department, which simply wouldn't have been a reality if the Coke machine upstairs had been working. So maybe it was the Coke after all.

Knowing the building from her old days, Donna clapped down the concrete staircase to see if, perchance, the Coke machine outside of Psych 101 was still in the same cubbyhole they'd stuffed it into fifteen years earlier.

It was.

And so was the granddaddy of all coincidences in this train of chance— none other than the student she had fallen head over heels for in her sophomore year: Jason Marker. Well, he wasn't
in
the cubbyhole. But he was there, facing the machine, a green 7-Up bottle tipped to his lips.

She froze and gawked for a second. He turned, the bottle still in his mouth, and his bright blue eyes transported her back in time.

“Jason?”

He lowered the bottle and looked dumbly for a moment. “Donna?”

“It's you. Holy Moses, it really is you!”

He grinned wide. “Donna Blair. What in tarnation are you doing here?”

Hearing his voice brought back a hundred memories, and suddenly she was very glad for this string of coincidences. “I'm here for NBC, covering a non-speech.” She walked toward him and kissed him gently on the cheek. “How are you? Haven't heard a peep out of you in years.”

“Long story.” They looked into each other's eyes and smiled. “A non-speech, huh?”

“Long story,” she said. “So what brings you back to the playground of our youth?”

She caught his blush, but he covered quickly. He tilted his head. “Very long story.”

“Well, as it turns out, I just happen to have the time for a very long story.”

He glanced down the hall, uneasy, it seemed. For all she knew he had a wife and three children waiting around the corner. “Then again, maybe it's not the best time. I just have—”

“No, it's okay,” he said, turning. “If you don't mind unusual situations, that is.” He shifted on his feet and took another sip from the bottle. “So are we a Mrs.?”

“Actually, no. We're a correspondent. The two are mutually exclusive.”

He chuckled. “News, huh? Always knew you'd put that pretty face to work one day.”

In the early days she'd insisted that her rise through the ranks had absolutely nothing to do with her face, but truth be told, nobody got excited about hearing a hag run through the news, no matter how eloquently she dispensed it. It was only in the last year that Donna Blair had grown comfortable with the fact that beauty, although only skin deep, brought a favorable dimension to the news hour. And beauty was a quality she'd been blessed with.

“So really, what brings you here, Jason?”

“Well . . . a boy.”

“A boy? A boy brings you to the psych department?”

“The Parapsychology Research Lab. They're running tests on him as we speak.”

“You're kidding. What on earth does agriculture have to do with parapsychology?”

“Like I said, it's a long story.”

“I've got all morning, kiddo,” she said, taking his arm. “Show me what you've got. I was a psych major once, remember?” It was the correspondent coming out of her, she thought. Once a hound dog, always a hound dog. She flipped out her phone and punched her cameraman's number. “Hi, Bill. Go ahead without me. I'll catch you back at the studio in a while—something's come up.” He grunted his approval and she pocketed her phone.

The feel of her hand in the crook of his arm had Jason's mind spinning through their six-month whirlwind romance. Breaking off had been a joint decision, but he'd always known that it had been she who had cooled first. Now he couldn't help but wonder if she heated as quickly as she cooled.

She'd released his arm when they entered the small viewing room that overlooked the main lab. Nikolous stood with one hand on his chin and the other supporting his elbow, peering into the adjoining room through a large one-way window. He eyed them like a hawk. From the opposite side of the window Leiah turned, arms crossed. A dozen empty folding chairs sat facing the glass. The lights had been dimmed to ensure privacy.

“This is ridiculous, Jason,” Leiah said, casting Donna a quick glance. “He's been in there for over two hours, and she's done nothing but push him further into his shell.”

Jason explained to Donna. “Dr. Patricia Caldwell's running some basic tests on the boy.” He motioned to the glass and then addressed Leiah and Nikolous. “I'm sorry; this is Donna Blair. She wanted to have a look.”