Chosen (15 page)

After much internal debate, Mariah decided to ask Thomas rather than Frannie to help her think of what to say to her family about the
Findings
. So what if she wanted to talk to him. This was a way to do it without appearing to be personally interested.

She tried to call him four times; however, each time she stuck the phone to her ear, she dropped it back in its cradle when the off-hook alarm began to blast. The fifth time was a charm; she actually dialed his number.

It rang twice. Just as she was about to hang up, she heard him say, “Hello?” Flushed and giddy, she said, “Uh, Thomas, hi this is Mariah Carpenter. I wonder, uh, was wondering if I might intrude on your privacy for, uh, just a few minutes.” Flinching at the words spewing out of her mouth, she took a deep breath and started again. “I have to tell my family about the
Findings
. They’re going to think I’ve gone insane. My mother’s going to demand I come home so she can have me institutionalized. That in itself makes me not want to tell them, but I have to ‘cuz they’ll see the DVD and me in it.”

“Slow down, Secretariat,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice—maybe he was pleased that she called him? “You’re starting to hyperventilate. There’s only one way to tell them: straight out. Remind them of the
Findings
and then just own up to it. You’re smart and strong enough to make your family understand.”

His voice had a calming effect. He was right: there was no other way to do this. They chatted for a while and Mariah relaxed further. This felt nice, this easy conversation. They shared a few childhood mishaps, compared their taste in movies and food, and she laughed at funny jokes he told her and heard him laugh at hers. As Mariah’s reserve toward him began to slip, she felt both frightened and excited.

“I’ll be right down, Mom.”

Several minutes ago Mariah heard the back door slam, evidence that Saul had returned from the airport with Judith. (
Hail, hail, the gang’s all here
.) She could tell they were confused and worried even though she tried to reassure them that she was fine. But they knew she would never waste their time or money on a family gathering unless it was urgent.

When Mariah requested this get-together, Rachel tried, unsuccessfully, to cajole information from her. Even though Mariah said she was in the best health she’d been in for years—they would soon see just
how
healthy—she knew Rachel was not going to like whatever she had to say. Good news you told over the phone; bad news you gathered the family together.

Stephen met her at the airport. She was relieved when he refrained from his usual method of inquisition, knowing that a prolonged drama was a dessert her brother relished. They had a good laugh at their father’s refusal to get rid of this seventeen-year-old clunk of a car which he treated like an exalted elder of the family.

Rachel greeted her at the door with a quick embrace and a scowl. Mariah tensed and sighed inwardly: she hadn’t expected anything else. While her father’s hug felt strong and loving, she noted that his face was pale and, although healthy enough, he looked almost frail.

Mariah glanced around the attic, her childhood sanctuary. Nothing had changed since she played here as a child. Her eyes lit and she grinned, remembering the day her playtime in the attic was severely curtailed.

She was maybe twelve. A minor incident that her father called "The Great Electrical SNAFU" occurred the day she attempted to cool down the attic during the height of summer.

Huffing and puffing, she dragged a heavy fan up to the attic. Since there were no electrical outlets up there, she ganged three extension cords together in order to reach the closest outlet which was in the hall on the second floor. When she turned on the fan, she fried the older-than-dirt circuit breaker and all the lights in the house blew out. How could she know it would do that?
It coulda happened to anyone,
she told her father
. But why does it always happen to you
? her mother had snapped back.

Furthermore, her daddy wouldn’t tell her what “SNAFU” meant. She had to wait until she dated her first sailor to find out.

Mariah entered the living room and hugged her older sister. When they parted, Judith looked puzzled. No one joked that Mariah had found the Fountain of Youth, not even Stephen. No one wanted to admit they saw something that had no explanation.

Rachel insisted they eat dinner before “The Big News.” They tried to make light conversation and enjoy the Swiss steak—one of Rachel’s specialties—but the conversation was strained. Nobody could forget they had been summoned.

After the dishes were washed and dried, the Carpenters assembled in the living room. Saul and Rachel huddled on the couch Stephen had bought them for their fortieth wedding anniversary, looking older (and smaller) against the bright chintz background. Judith curled up in the old rocker next to Saul, sitting on her legs. Stephen sat on the floor, his back against the base of the couch, his shoulder nearly touching his mother’s leg. Dragging in a chair from the kitchen, Mariah sat before them.

Taking a deep breath, she began. “Okay, here’s the
Reader’s Digest
condensed version. Nearly a year ago, I became a Christian. You all know that. And let me repeat, I’m extremely grateful that all of you accepted it without too much grief.” She smiled at Rachel who frowned back.

“Things have been, uh, happening since then. In the beginning, I thought it was part of the whole new religious experience. But as time goes on, I’m convinced it’s not.” Her eyes went from face to face. No one moved. No one spoke.

“You’ve all read about a person who’s been very successful in finding kidnapped children,” she said. “And that each child tells the police they hear a voice in their head that asks them where they are.” At this statement, Saul’s head began to shake from side to side and a pained look flashed across his face.

Mariah hesitated then continued. “You’ve probably also read that the psychic insisted on remaining anonymous. It’s pretty obvious why, knowing what the media will do once they find out who this person is.”

The air felt hushed with expectancy. The furniture even appeared to lean forward in anticipation. Her father seemed to grow more distressed with each passing minute, so it was to him that Mariah spoke as she sensed his agitation.

She felt like she was about to plunge into the frigid winter waters off the coast of Maine without a wet suit. “Anyway, it’s finally happened. At the insistence of the FBI, the last
Finding
, which was three days before Christmas, was, in this order, video-taped, locked up, stolen, and sold to NBC. So the, um, person ... psychic ... will be revealed.

“So why are we all here? I need to tell you before you see it on television that the person who’s been finding these children is me. I see through their eyes, communicate with them in their heads, and get them to pinpoint their location. It’s like the night I found Marty Zablonski nineteen years ago. And I feel the same when it starts: the sweating, the rapid heartbeats, and then I just, ah ... kind of feel myself in their minds.”

Her family became a still life portrait. Even her mother was shocked into silence. Mariah stared into Saul’s eyes and thought she saw fear in their depths. Leaning back in the chair, she said, “Okay, let’s hear it.”

Judith uncurled her legs and braced her hands on the arms of the rocker. Mariah knew it had been hard enough for her to accept the
Visitation
. She was a woman whose feet were not only planted firmly on the ground, sometimes it seemed they had taken root there. She now shook her head, disbelief plain on her face. It seemed like she had lost a battle and now had to question Mariah’s sanity.

Rachel, however, gave voice to her incredulity as tears leaked from her eyes. “You’re telling us you’re able to talk to children
in their heads
? Are you
meshuganah
? This is the craziest ... I told you years ago to never ... I thought you stopped doing those tricks years ago?” She jumped up like she’d been goosed and made a move toward the kitchen. Saul took her arm gently, and they exchanged a glance. Dropping back next to him, Rachel folded her arms across her chest and glared at Mariah, fear and helplessness radiating from her.

The two men, however, appeared to believe without reservation. Stephen’s eyes danced with excitement as he tugged on his earlobe. “Uh, yeah. This is, to say the least, fascinating. I have so many questions I don’t know where to begin.”

Saul stared at his hands lying in his lap. When Mariah said, “Dad?” his head shot up, his expression somewhere between resignation and dread. Their eyes met and something passed between them—something that frightened her.

“What’s the matter, Dad? I realize this is really weird stuff, but is there something else? Talk to me, please.”

Judith and Stephen swung their gaze from Mariah to him, and Saul felt himself age before their eyes. A thin smile trembled on his lips as Rachel squeezed his hand. The news hadn’t shocked him nearly as much as it had the others.

He attempted another smile. This time he managed, although it was weak. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s nothing,
mameleh
, really. I’m just thinking about all the
tsoris
, the trouble, you’re going to have when people find out.”

And then a vision he had tried so hard to bury flooded his consciousness.

It was the night she came to him, his baby, with questions about another one of her mother’s worn out clichés. She had waited patiently until dinner was done, the dishes were dried, and he was in the little cubbyhole he called his den, reading a new science fiction magazine. Since she wasn’t allowed to ask a lot of questions during dinner—Rachel demanded they have some peace, at least at mealtime—and she wasn’t allowed to ask them when the television was on—he wanted it quiet while he watched his programs—she had finally caught him during a narrow window of opportunity; dinner done, TV not yet on.

She said sweetly, "Daddy, I have a question to ask you."

Lowering the magazine to his lap, he gazed at his ray of perpetual sunshine over the top of his Ben Franklin glasses. She asked her questions; he gave her answers that seemed satisfactory.

As he began to raise the magazine back up to a comfortable reading level, he felt light-headed and his heartbeat quickened. Dropping the magazine back onto his lap, he stared ahead.

Mariah still stood before him. The light from the 75-watt bulb, shining through a rip in the lampshade, cast uneven shadows on her face and body. Even allowing for this, Saul became paralyzed by the image before him.

It was a much older Mariah, somewhere in her late twenties, early thirties. She was solidly built; full-breasts, narrow waist, strong, sturdy legs. Her beautiful auburn hair was now pure white, and her eyeballs were (God help him) yellow. Not the sickly orange/yellow of jaundice, but a soft lemon color. Her irises were no longer hazel; they were reddish brown, almost the same color her hair should have been. And her pupils were black and slightly elliptical.

His eyes strayed to her right hand as she waved good-bye, and he saw that her fingers—too long, too thin, too few—all about the same length. Her lopsided grin displayed teeth that were not only white but slightly pointed.

The image lasted no more than a second. Once again, his nine-year-old daughter stood before him, her brilliant smile lighting the dark corners of the room.

When she left Saul gasped, unaware that he’d been holding his breath. His heartbeat returned to normal, his eyes once more focused and clear. With a shudder that rippled through his body, he thought, “What in the name of God Almighty was that?”

That vision of her with the white hair came to him only one other time‒the night she found her friend Marty. Now here she was, finding abducted children. The memory of that vision brought with it a prescience of disaster that filled him with terror.

When Mariah knew that her father was not going to tell her what was bothering him, she moved on to the
Healings
. The change in her physical appearance that made her look about twenty years old was obvious. It made it a bit easier for them to accept the
Findings
. The whole thing was so fantastical, they had to believe it.

For the rest of the evening she answered questions and provided them with details about the
Joinings
. They realized that she was as bewildered as they were. When everyone was satisfied that Mariah was not a gibbering lunatic, they could even joke about the extreme measures she’d taken to become healthy.

Now their worry shifted to her personal safety as well as their own. They would need to use common sense and maybe enlist the help of the police to ensure some semblance of normalcy and safety in their lives.

“Tonight, we pre-empt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this special report. And now, here’s Tom Brokaw.”

Low key and professional, he epitomized the skilled and polished journalist. No one could tell his pulse raced with the thrill of this exclusive. It was a broadcast journalist’s dream come true ... and maybe, the
Peabody Award
.

The reading lamp next to the couch in Mariah’s living room reflected on the television screen. It created the illusion that either it was on Tom Brokaw’s desk, or that he was in her living room, sitting on her couch. Her hand dipped into the bowl of M&M’s on her lap. She threw them into her mouth one at a time.

I wish that he
was
here rather than in front of millions of people on the verge of ruining my life
.

Two months ago, Frannie had called with the bad news: the DVD of Sophie’s
Finding
was stolen out of Osterman’s desk. Mariah had experienced the flush and light-headedness of anxiety even though she had anticipated something like this would happen. And she knew who had stolen it. She remembered the speculative and calculated look on the face of Jude Ciriatos.

Her eyes narrowed, her attention riveted on the television screen. She had to admit she was impressed with Brokaw’s lack of sensationalism, grateful that the thief had at least put the DVD in the hands of a classy man.

The special began with interviews of those who were peripherally involved in the
Findings
: FBI agent Harold Sapitnaski, Bureau Chief Samuel Feliciano, and police official Eric Bridger. He followed it by eliciting emotional testimonials from the parents of Amanda Forrester, Kevin O’Reilly, and Joseph Armstrong. He even managed to score carefully conducted interviews with Zaphiel Engel.

Then he aired the uncut, unedited DVD. It spoke for itself—sweating, the praying, the facial expressions as dramatic as any classical performance. While it percolated in the brains of his viewing audience, he spoke to members of the “A-Team”: Pastors Michael Jenkins and Peter Martin, and FBI Agent Frannie Manzetti.

The religious angle was played to the hilt when Michael and Peter were interviewed. Who could deny the sincerity of their faith? Many who previously doubted the existence of God were now uncertain. Those who already believed bowed their heads, pressed their palms together, thanking Him for His magnificence and blessings.

His dialogue with Agent Manzetti was everything he expected it to be. She was terse, angry, and embarrassed that NBC was in possession of the DVD.

And finally, the
coup de gr
a
ce
: his passionate, insightful interview with Mariah Adele Carpenter, the star, a “Kidnapper’s Worst Enemy,” as he dubbed her.

Brokaw had contacted Mariah himself. She was flustered when she heard his voice, being a fan and affected by his celebrity. At first she declined to be interviewed, but he convinced her that things would go a lot easier for her if she appeared cooperative and told the story in her own words. When she relented, he flew her to New York on a private jet. She was pleased that he was as courteous and charming in person as he appeared on the TV.