Chosen (26 page)

Gabriel Winters’ plan to move Mariah into a CIA safe house was temporarily aborted when he received intel that something had happened.

The agents reported that, for the past several days, Mariah had been prowling the house at all hours of the day and night. She was more than just restless; she was preoccupied, oblivious to questions directed at her, and exceedingly more and more distressed. Winters had been subjected to some of this change in attitude and immediately suspected a lovers’ quarrel, but that proved not to be the case. Raphael was just as bewildered about her change in mood as everyone else.

He waited, anticipating that something would bring to light her increased agitation. When nothing did, and it was apparent that she was not going to talk, he decided to force the issue.

“Ms. Carpenter,” he said, his eyes assessing her stilled form. Her hands were clasped before her chest as she stared out the living room window. When he received no response, he moved closer until he was less than a foot away.

“Mariah, what’s wrong?” While his voice was pitched low, there was a hard edge to it that surprised him. If this tone had come from anyone else, he would have identified it as fear.

When she finally turned to face him, he was stunned by the look in her eyes. They swam with dismay, anger and fear. They then narrowed. She seemed to be assessing him.

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m seeing things. Bad things. In your opinion, what’s the difference between a nightmare and a vision?”

Caught off guard, he hesitated, then said, “I think a nightmare is a terrifying feeling of helplessness, sorrow, anxiety. Always negative and depressing emotions. A vision is like anticipating something that may happen, and is vividly convincing to the mind.”

“Okay, so we agree,” Mariah said. “First, it’s a nightmare, with all the emotions you mentioned. But more. I feel physically sick when I wake up. Second, I also think it’s a vision because I really feel that I’m seeing something that’s either happening now or will happen.” She paused, watching him for any sign of ridicule, rejection ... anything that would shut this conversation down in a heartbeat. When she saw nothing but patience and interest, she continued.

“It’s the clown,” she said. “I can hear that song. However, I think it’s coming from his head, not mine. I’ve been hearing it for weeks.”

Winters studied her a moment. “Tell me everything you see, hear ... everything. Maybe together we can come up with something that will tell us where he is.” She nodded, relieved he was taking her seriously.

“The first time I realized it was a clown, the surroundings told me he, the whole circus, was in a desert. That was all I could get. Then they moved. That’s the motion dream I had: it’s the train they use to transport the circus.

“Then I’m in another desert spot, but different. Not as remote. Maybe closer to a larger city. Then on to another location and different landscapes. I think I’ve seen at least ten other locations.

“But the nightmare, or vision, changes. Sometimes it’s late at night, long after any circus would be closed. And I see what looks like houses. I think he’s in residential neighborhoods.

“I can’t get into his head to see out of his eyes,” she said, loathing mixed with fear. “And I can’t astrally project to him. I’m blocked. I panic when I see him, so I don’t know if it’s because I’m afraid of him or that he’s doing something really bad.”

She took a deep breath. “All I know for sure is that I
have
to find him, find out what he’s doing.”

Gregory breathed evenly as he watched the sleeping forms of the Cooleys while his eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering through the slats in the vertical blinds, giving him just enough light. He glided toward the left side of the bed.

A frown drew his eyebrows together. Russell was almost completely hidden beneath the covers, his eyes, forehead, and the top of his head the only parts of his body exposed. This was not good. The last thing he wanted to do was get the powder in Russell’s hair where it might be detected. All he had to work with were the eyelids, and they were extremely sensitive. The ricin might make Russell blink, possibly causing him to awaken.

He hated to move to Endina’s side of the bed before completing the procedure on Russell. Taking any more steps then necessary was a risk, albeit small, of something happening which would awaken one or both of them.

Coming to a decision, Gregory straightened, turned, and slipped down to the end of the bed, giving it a wide berth as he made his way to Endina.

Luck was with him. She slept on her left side, the blanket underneath her right arm. Removing the stopper, he positioned the tube above her skin. Very gently, he tapped the tube. He had practiced this many times to make sure none of the powder plumed upward or any trace of it landed on the bedding.

As expected, the powder slid from the tube and landed on Endina’s arm. Holding his breath, Sinclair waited to see if the sensation of the particles would register on the woman’s subconscious. When she did no more than sigh and shift slightly, he replaced the stopper and reversed his steps until he stood next to Russell once more.

Gregory smiled. God was with him tonight. Endina’s small movement had caused the blanket that covered Russell’s face to move, exposing his entire face.

Repeating the process with the tube, Gregory shook powder onto Russell’s cheek and waited to make sure he did not move. When Russell neither stirred, nor did his snoring alter in pitch or tempo, Gregory let out his breath.

Satisfied, he replaced the stopper in the tube and turned—and gasped, his heart nearly exploding out of his chest.

Standing in the bedroom doorway was the shape of a human. As Sinclair’s heart began to resume its normal beat, he realized that the shape neither advanced nor receded from him. Confused, he took a step toward it.

Nothing happened.

Gregory’s mind flooded with possibility. Was this a vision like the one in his nightmare? A foreshadowing? But there was no shifting haze of red and intense heat, and he didn’t feel imminent death.

The shadow began to resolve until it became more visible. It was a woman, a short woman, with dark red hair. He was unable to see the color of her eyes, but it was unimportant—he knew who it was.

She was angry, but also frightened. Terrified, in fact. He felt sure the anger came from a sense of helplessness and fear. She had seen him, had watched him baptize the Cooleys with the ricin,
but could do nothing about it
.

He gloated. God had made another miracle, had given him the gift to see this apparition. Never before had he sensed any extrasensory abilities: maybe there had been none up until this point. But there could be no doubt now.

Gregory’s smile became smug. She was the famous Mariah Carpenter, the psychic who found kidnapped children. He knew
her
, but she didn’t know
him
. Didn’t know
who
he was, didn’t know
where
he was. That was why she was angry. She was powerless to stop him.

Gregory had read about the attempted assassination in the church, how a man who believed her to be the antichrist had tried to kill her but had wound up dead himself. And Gregory now had proof that the man was right. Satan might have given Mariah Carpenter the power to see him, but God was protecting him from her. He was exultant: she couldn’t touch him.

He moved forward confidently, walked right through her, down the stairs and out the door. The smile that stretched the limits of his lips never reached his eyes.

Mariah stopped speaking. Her eyes became glassy, and she seemed to stare right through him. She shuddered. Her breath became shallow. Winters thought she might be in the beginning throes of a
Finding
: he was right, but it was like no
Finding
she had ever done before. He had to lean closer to hear her voice which was barely above a whisper. Her eyes widened in fear.

“Dark. A house. I think ... he’s in a house. In ... it’s a bedroom. Something in his right hand. A ... something ... tube ... powder in a tube. He’s doing something ... tipping the tube ... shaking ...”

Then she blinked, and her eyes swam back into focus. She was trembling. He imagined it was more from anger then fear.

“I don’t know what this powder means. I think he sprinkled it on the people in the bed.” She gritted her teeth in frustration. “I can’t get a lock on him. But I felt two distinct emotions in his head: madness and arrogance.”

Gabriel stared at her, speechless for the first time in his life. He hadn’t known Mariah Carpenter all that long, but this uncertainty concerning a psychic vision was disturbing. He realized that, in comparison,
Finding
the abducted children had been simple.

This person, this clown, had her completely off balance. She was right about one thing: her coulrophobia was hampering her ability to get into his head. And he didn’t know how to help her overcome it.His plan to move her came to a complete stop. She would never agree to move now, at least not while she was so agitated, so caught up in finding this clown.

She stared into his eyes, evidently seeing something she needed. All anger and fear vanished. In its place, pure resolve. “I have to find him and get over this stupid fear or he’s going to win. He’s diabolic, extremely intelligent, and crafty. Whatever he’s doing, he’s proud of himself. It’s something he’s planned out meticulously. Even if I could identify him, you won’t pin anything on him.”

“I know how trite this is going to sound, but if it’s something illegal, you can’t take the law into your own hands. Not even you.”

Winters waited for a reaction. When her face remained impassive, he said, “If you can get a name, a location—anything—we can bring him in. I guarantee you I’ll crack him.”

She smiled for the first time since their conversation had begun. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re good, and that, under normal circumstances, you’d have him confessing to everything from murdering Lizzie Borden’s parents to assassinating John Kennedy.” The smile disappeared. “But you’re not dealing with anything even resembling normal. It’s like he’s possessed. And I’m pretty sure he’s got some hidden psychic ability.”

That caused Gabriel’s eyes to widen. Mariah said, “He saw me. He knew I was there. He was delighted. He knows I’m afraid of him. I tried to communicate, but he just kept smiling. That repulsive, demented clown smile. And if I’m not mistaken, he knows who I am. He’s dangerous because he’s completely insane. Maybe that’s the reason why I can’t get into his head.”

The resolve on her face hardened. “I have to find him. Psychically. I have to get into his head, as repulsive as that is to me, and see what he’s doing. But whatever it is, he’s going to do it again, believe me. I know in my heart that I’m the only one who can stop him.”

Mariah came fully awake, finding herself crouched beside the bed, her head clutched in her hands. She was being bombarded by voices that shouted, shrieked, and moaned—separate yet intermingled, with the detonation of cacophonous sounds that threatened to grind her brain to pulp.

One voice momentarily emerged from the deafening soup, filled with horror and agony, pleading over and over: “
Ms. Carpenter help me. Oh God, NO! Mariah! He’s going to ... please ...
pleeeeasssse...”

Another sound floated to the surface: the
screeeeech
!
of metal scraping metal. Were there also human cries being swallowed up by those more strident ones?

Had all these noises been audible, the decibel level would have been enough to perforate her eardrums. Instead, her head felt like an over-inflated balloon filled with helium, on the verge of bursting.

More: the thunderous
boooooommmmm
! of flexible metal struck repeatedly, the sound like a clap of thunder with the reverberations that followed. In between the echo dying from one pounding to the
barrrrrong
! from the next assault, she was able to make out the words of a male voice bellowing furiously. “
Let me da fuck outta here! I’ll rip your freakin’ heads off, you fuckin’ assholes! If you don’t open this fuckin’ door RIGHT NOW, I’m gonna tear this mother-fuckin’ place to fuckin’ pieces and ram them up your fuckin’ asses, you pricks
!”

There was so much more. Howls and whistles and maniacal laughter; horns blaring; boom boxes thumping; voices screaming in delight from carnival rides and rock concerts. Woven in and around the merciless racket was the gibbering of the insane, rising and falling like a Gregorian chant. It was as if her brain had become a multi-band receiver and she was unable to stop it from sampling thousands of channels at the same time.

The pain was excruciating. Her eyes, swollen and inflamed, opened to no more than slits. All she saw was a red mist of agony.

Mariah began pulling herself up by grabbing handfuls of the comforter. When she gained her feet, she staggered, the noises causing her to lose equilibrium. Was the constant moan she heard in the background coming from her?

She suddenly felt herself being lifted off the ground, the pressure against her back and behind her knees barely felt against the numbness of her naked skin. She hoped it was Thomas.

A voice, slowed down like a 78 rpm record (with a thumb on it), penetrated the deafening noise as she thought she caught the word “hospital.” She reached out blindly, connecting with what she supposed was his arm, and managed to force out a name passed her thickened tongue and swollen lips: “
Miiiiiikllllll.
”

The distorted voice spoke again. The words “doctor” and “sick” came through a bit more clearly. She felt her mouth form the other names—
Peeeetrrrrr, Maaaathhhhhwwwww
—although she wasn’t sure if any sound came out.

When she attempted to repeat them again, a voice in her ear, familiar though muffled, said reassuringly, “I understand, sweetheart.”

Something soft slid up her legs. He was dressing her, bless his heart. He sat her upright, pulling something warm and fuzzy over her head then shoving her arms into the sleeves. Once again she was laid down as he left her side to call Michael.

The only movement from her still form was the rise and fall of her chest, her entire being now concentrating on blocking the riotous sounds. If she couldn’t achieve this, she feared she would sink into blithering insanity.

From somewhere deep inside her, Mariah forced herself to create a monotonous hissing sound—and slowly, carefully, the noises began to recede behind it. Thomas’ voice became clearer as she somehow managed to allow it to penetrate the white noise, although it had a hollow and distant sound, like he was talking through a megaphone.

She knew he was talking to Michael when he finished the call with, “Thanks for calling both of them. We’ll be there immediately.”

She sighed, relieved. He
had
caught Matthew’s name even though he never heard her mention Matthew Clark, the minister in charge of family counseling at Chelsea Heights Community Church.

She moved her head imperceptibly when she heard another voice. Opening her eyes, Mariah’s vision swam dizzily as she watched a second form come into view. The bed sagged as it (he) sat beside her. She cautiously shifted the white noise barrier minutely to allow the new voice to penetrate, and instantly heard Winters say, “...do you mean, she doesn’t need a doctor?!”

Mariah reached out and caught Gabriel’s arm. Cautiously, she began to sit up with his help as his arm moved around her shoulder. She leaned into him, glad for the strength he provided. She was relieved when she felt nothing more than a slight twinge in her neck. Clearing her throat (the sound reminding her of gargling honey) she spoke slowly and deliberately. “Better ... must ... go ... church.”

The feedback in her ears was encouraging. The debilitating pressure in her head lessened with each passing minute. Mariah felt light-headed from concentrating on the white noise, but knew if she let it go, the overwhelming sounds would come roaring back.

She saw the remnants of panic still in Thomas’ eyes as her vision finally cleared. She smiled with what she hoped was reassurance, although it felt more like her face contorted.

“I’m sorry I scared you, babe,” Mariah said softly, her voice sounding like fine sandpaper. She continued to speak slowly, nearly in a whisper, to lessen the impact the sound created. “Every noise in the world ... is ... was ... in my head. I ... it’s ... blocked for now. I can move. Let’s go. This is ... going to be ... a long night.”

Thomas sprinted ahead of her to get his truck. Mariah made it down the stairs by holding on to the banister with one hand, her other one clutched by Winters, his arm circling her waist for balance. For the first time since meeting him, she welcomed his solid presence.

Mariah frowned when she slid into Gabriel’s car idling in front of the house. What were David Paradise and Teddy Boles doing in the back seat? She liked these two agents, but she didn’t need a crowd when she was in the throes of a
Finding
.

David, with his beautiful face and ruddy complexion, had become a good friend almost immediately. A big man who had been a heavyweight boxer in the Army, he was as solid as a redwood tree with a heart as big as the Grand Canyon. He and his wife, Beth, lived in a tiny town named Ariel, in a log cabin his father had begun many years ago but had left for David to finish.

Teddy was just the opposite. A bookworm, tall and lean, thin to the point of emaciation. He seemed too mild-mannered to be an FBI agent—but looks were deceiving. She enjoyed sharing esoteric conversations with him, glad she was on his good side after reading his arrest record with the Bureau.

She saw Thomas pull out of the driveway, noting that Phillipe LaPrad was in his passenger seat. Why did Winters think it was necessary to bring all these men along? Whom did he think they were going to meet on the way to church at one o’clock on a Tuesday morning?