The Messenger

20

Amanda was sitting silently in a corner of the room, not moving. No telling what she was thinking, but his guess was that she was in something like a state of shock. He walked over to her and whispered, “Are you all right?”

She nodded, but looked back and forth between him and the woman in the bed.

He held out his hand in mute invitation, and she took it in hers, seeming relieved by his touch. She allowed him to lead her from the room.

He didn’t let go, not as they walked down the hallway, down the stairs, out of the building, across the parking lot-toward the far corner of the lot, where he had left the van in a shady spot. Every step along the way, he waited for her to say something or to pull away from him. She did neither. She seemed content to be holding his hand, but her brows were drawn together in thought.

He was afraid to speak first, afraid whatever half-cast spell they were under would be broken.

There had been a time, he knew, when two unmarried persons of the opposite sex, walking hand in hand without chaperonage, might have been-to say the least-frowned upon. Things were not so now.

There had also been a time, not too long ago, when couples “went steady” and often walked hand in hand. That, too, had changed. In some ways, holding hands was more serious now than it had been a generation or so ago.

In this time, in this place, with this woman-what did it mean to her?

What did it mean to him?

A desire to be connected to her. To trust and be trusted. To…see where this would lead.

She might not feel any of that. Still, he held on, acknowledging to himself that he was so absorbed in savoring the contact, he was having trouble thinking straight…

When they reached the van, she let go. He tried not to let his disappointment show. He said, “There’s an open lot just beyond these trees. Do you mind if I let Shade stretch his legs a bit before we leave?”

“No, that’s fine.” Shade was let out and the van locked. They stood together beneath the trees and watched the dog romp through the grass.

Amanda said, “Just tell me it’s not a trick.”

“A trick? Oh-you mean, what happened with Benecia?”

“Yes. I can’t imagine that you’re the kind of person who would intentionally try to fool her husband, even in the name of giving him comfort. But-”

“I see. You’re worried that I only pretended to have some ability to communicate with her.”

“I don’t mean to hurt you or offend you,” she said quickly. “I-I just can’t exactly figure out what happened in there.”

He smiled. “You haven’t hurt me. I’m glad you’re skeptical. Let’s see. I could have picked up the information about her daughter from the nursing staff or Larry, or even another patient. And, as you mentioned, I could have been saying what I thought he wanted to hear.”

“I don’t think you would do that,” she repeated.

“Con artists specialize in finding the weakness in another person, and having that other person practically exploit himself or herself. Who could be more vulnerable than the guilt-ridden husband of a dying woman, eh?”

“How on earth would you have known he had fooled around with other women?”

“Oh, if I simply guessed at it, the odds would be in my favor where adult males are concerned.”

She digested that thought in silence. Shade came back to them, lying down in the grass near their feet.

“About those adult males,” she asked. “Would you be in the minority?”

He smiled. “I’ve never married.”

“Okay. But you’re good looking and rich and-so, are you a player?”

“If I said I once was, but I haven’t been for a long, long time, you’d take my word for it?”

She laughed. “I see your point.” She paused, then said, “But I would take your word for it.”

“Why?”

“Well, I guess Rebecca taught me a few things.”

That didn’t sound good. He said carefully, “She’s experienced, I suppose.”

“Very. In some ways. Not so much in others.”

“‘Not so much’ how?”

She frowned, as if puzzling out how to explain it. “Take trust, for example. She has almost none. She’s really cynical. You can be taken in with cynicism, you know.” She looked up at him. “It can make you fail to trust the people you should. You never get anywhere in life that way.”

“No,” he said in a tone of wonder, “I don’t suppose you do.”

“It’s kind of the irony about being a trust funder-most of the people who live off trusts stop trusting.”

“For understandable reasons.”

“Maybe. In the end, I suppose that’s the worst thing a con artist does to people-makes them afraid to trust other people, and their own judgment. Rebecca has known a lot of con artists of…a certain type.”

He thought over what she had said. He wouldn’t have guessed her to have made such a study of her cousin, nor to have been so sympathetic to her.

“So,” she said, “if you think you can trust me, tell me what went on with Benecia.”

“It’s not easy to explain. The truth is, I’ve never really talked about it much.”

He was silent for a long time. She waited.

“It’s a gift, you might say.” Although I did pay for it, he thought bitterly. “You talked earlier about usefulness? This is my one bit of usefulness in this world. It’s a little complicated, but basically, if I’m near someone who is dying, who is close to breathing his or her last breaths, sometimes I can help that person communicate with loved ones.”

“Wow.” She took a deep breath. “Wow,” she said again. “But, is it sad for you? I mean, being with someone so-so intimately, and then letting them go?”

“Sometimes, yes, brief though our acquaintance may be. I have met some remarkable people over the years. And I’m fortunate in that I seem to be called to help those who are ready for death-I’m just there to settle some matter for them before they let go.”

“So, are you a mind reader?” she asked uneasily.

He smiled. “No. I have only that one connection, for that brief time. Your thoughts are safe from me, Amanda.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true,” she muttered.

“Believe me, in the short time I’ve known you, there have been many times when I would have loved to know what you were thinking.”

She blushed.

“Take now, for instance,” he said, and her blush deepened.

“So, if you aren’t a mind reader, what do you call this? Are you a psychic?”

“No. I don’t think of myself as a mind reader or a psychic. It’s not ESP.”

“What do other people who do what you do call themselves?”

“I’ve only met two other people who did this. One gave it up completely. The other has been dead for many years. The one who died-he never gave me a name for it. I’ve read some old folktales that indicate there are others…in my situation, let’s say. They’ve been known by various names. The rare English texts on the subject refer to us as the Messengers. If there is an ‘us,’ that is. I suspect I am the last of them. I’ve searched for others, to no avail.”

They heard a car park nearby.

“If you don’t mind,” Tyler said, “could we talk more about this at home? I’d rather not be overheard.”

“Sure,” she said, and they walked back to the van.

He put Shade in the back and was just moving to open Amanda’s door for her when the dog began growling.

Amanda’s face went pale.

“Don’t worry,” Tyler said quickly. “He’s not growling at you. But I wonder what’s bothering him?”

He stood still, listening. Shade continued to growl.

“Wait in the van for me,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” Amanda said, and stepped behind him.

She followed him as he moved cautiously around the van. A silver Lexus was parked in the next stall. He had seen it before, he was sure.

Behind him, Tyler heard Amanda draw in a sharp breath. “That’s Brad’s-”

Tyler turned to see that her speech had been cut off by an arm wrapped around her throat.

Brad held a knife in the other hand and was aiming its tip at her heart. He pulled her back a few paces. Despite his weapon and hostage, his eyes were wide and fearful. His face was bruised and scraped, as were his hands. He looked as if someone had beaten the hell out of him.

Tyler tried to slow his own breathing, held his hands open and out at his sides. He looked at Amanda’s terrified face and did his best to communicate to her that he would not let harm come to her. How he was to ensure that, he had no idea, but he knew they had to try to be calm, to get Brad to calm down.

“You don’t want to hurt Amanda, Brad,” he said in a low, steady voice.

“We’re going to go for a ride in my car, Tyler,” Brad said, pulling Amanda harder against him.

“All right. But Amanda can stay here.”

“No. Amanda, reach into my left pocket and get my keys.”

She did as he said.

“Now press the button to open the trunk.”

She did.

“Hawthorne,” he said, “get in the trunk.”

Before Tyler could respond, Amanda hit a second button on the keys, setting off the car alarm.

“No!” Brad screamed, and grabbed the keys from her. He shoved her to the ground as he hit the button to cancel the alarm.

Tyler launched himself toward Brad. Brad slashed with the knife, and Tyler felt a sharp sting along his ribs as he knocked Brad over. Brad struck his head against the van as he fell, and dropped both knife and keys as he landed in a stunned heap.

Tyler picked up the weapon and keys and stood up quickly. He moved toward Amanda. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

As he reached toward her, to help her to her feet, her eyes widened. “You’re bleeding!”

He looked down at his side, pulled his torn shirt away. “Caught the tip of the knife. Just a scratch.”

“It looks deeper than a scratch to me.”

“Hmm. The bleeding has nearly stopped, see?” As she stood, he looked her over more carefully. “You’re hurt.”

“Just scraped up a little.” She was staring uneasily at Brad, who moaned. “Is he going to try that again?”

“I doubt it, but let’s get him into the van and take him to the house.”

“You’re willing to take him to your house after that?”

“Take a look at him,” he said, stooping back down next to Brad.

Brad’s gaze was unfocused. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him.

“Who hurt you, Brad?” Tyler asked gently.

Brad closed his eyes and moaned. He curled into a ball.

Amanda, still wary, came closer.

“He’s in need of a doctor,” Tyler said, “but I don’t think your family would like the police involvement and publicity we’d get if we took him into the hospice to ask for help.”

“Brad, what got into you?” Amanda said. She turned to Tyler. “Why was he trying to do that to us? I mean-he’s Bradley! He never even got into fistfights as a kid. And-look at him!”

“Yes. We’ll have to try to ask him about all of that later. I don’t think he’s himself right now.”

Tyler coaxed Brad to his feet and helped him to the van’s side door. Brad opened his eyes but seemed disoriented.

“Is he drugged?” Amanda asked.

“It seems so. Are you still feeling afraid of Shade?”

“No. Sorry. He was obviously trying to warn us.”

“He does have a fierce growl. But I promise he won’t harm you. If you’ll open the door, I’ll settle Brad in back.”

She did so, and although Shade sniffed all three of them, he did not growl or attempt to bite Brad.

Brad, becoming aware of Shade, made a whimpering sound and cowered away from him.

“It’s all right,” Tyler said. “You’ll be all right.”

“He’ll kill me!” Brad said.

“No, he won’t harm you. He’s really a gentle dog-provided you aren’t trying to harm me.”

Brad looked between Tyler and the dog and Amanda. He suddenly burst into tears. “Amanda! I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, Brad.”

He began to weep harder. “I’m so scared!”

“Everything will be all right, Brad,” Tyler said. “I promise you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Can you? Can anyone?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so tired. Scared and tired.”

“It’s all right. You don’t need to talk now, just rest, okay?”

“He’ll kill me,” Brad murmured again and lay down and closed his eyes.