Piercing the Darkness (37 page)

GORING ROLLED HIS
eyes. “Do you actually propose that we forewarn everyone to be looking out for a woman who is supposed to be dead? Just how far down the ranks should that information go? Don’t be a fool, Steele! Once such information leaves this room, it will be beyond our control. Besides that, whom would we tell? How do we choose which direction Roe will go? We don’t know what she’s thinking, and obviously you had no idea she would appear here!”

BARQUIT STOOD BETWEEN
Mr. Steele and Destroyer before the angry predator did something rash. “I remind you, great warrior, that we received no warning! You could have foreseen she would be here, and we would have been spared this difficulty and embarrassment!”

Destroyer calmed just a little. “All right. Granted. For a time, the Host of Heaven hid her from us, responding to the prayers of the saints of God. The saints in Bacon’s Corner do have quite an interest in this battle. But their prayers are weakening now. They are preoccupied with other things.” Just the thought of that cheered Destroyer, and he became more pleasant. “We will find her, Barquit, but by stealth and craftiness rather than force.” Destroyer could see someone approaching the room. “Ah! Behold this! We’ve just gained another advantage the Heavenly Host have not thought to contain.”

“An advantage?”

Destroyer only smirked and looked toward the door.

THERE WAS A
knock.

“Who could that be?” Mr. Steele wondered.

“We weren’t to be disturbed,” said Tisen.

“Who is it?” Mr. Steele demanded.

The door opened a crack, and a young student assistant stuck his
head in. “Excuse me, Mr. Steele. I have a special item for Mr. Goring.”

“I’ll take it,” said Goring.

The young man entered the room with a manila envelope.

TWO SPIRITS ENTERED
as well, quite gleeful, trying not to cackle too loudly. Destroyer ordered them to stand just behind him. They obeyed instantly.

“Very punctual,” he said to them.

They tittered and cackled their delight at such a compliment.

As Destroyer and Barquit watched the young man hand the envelope to Mr. Goring, Destroyer explained, “These two messengers happened upon an interesting development back at the Bacon’s Corner Post Office. I decided to reward them and secure their future services.”

THE YOUNG MAN
exited. Mr. Goring opened the envelope and pulled out the contents with a puzzled expression. A small letter-envelope and a three-page cover letter fell to the table.

Almost at the same time, all four men saw the name on the upper-left corner of the envelope: Sally Beth Roe.

Goring read the cover letter. “It’s from Summit. This letter from Sally Roe arrived last week at the Bacon’s Corner Post Office. Lucy Brandon discovered it and referred it to the peace officer Mulligan. He checked with LifeCircle and Ames and Jefferson, the lawyers on the case. They sent it on to Summit. The people at Summit opened it and thought I should see it immediately.”

Goring picked up the much-traveled letter from Sally Roe, addressed to Tom Harris. All four men looked at it with shock, awe, and then a steadily increasing jubilation.

Goring spoke first. “So . . . Sally Roe is writing letters!”

Mr. Steele was almost smiling widely. “To . . . to
Tom Harris
?”

Goring was skimming the letter from Summit. “Brandon is reasonably sure that this is the first letter.” He dug Sally’s letter from its already opened envelope; it was a document handwritten on three-ring spiral notebook paper. He quickly perused it. “Yes. This sounds like the very first letter. She’s introducing herself . . . Oh no! She’s describing
her encounter with Von Bauer!”

At that, they all gathered to look over Goring’s shoulder.

Mr. Steele read the account, taking great interest in how Von Bauer suddenly died. He then recalled what happened in the Log Cabin Cafe. He looked at Khull. “She
is
into some kind of tremendous psychic power.
Something’s
protecting her!”

Goring wasn’t entirely impressed. “And yet she still seems lost, confused. Look at her here, going on and on about morality, meaning, despair. The woman is a mess!”

Mr. Steele read ahead. “Mm. ‘I’m going to retrace some old steps and find some things out.’ That’s why she was here. She’s hunting for information.”

“And she found it,” said Goring in disgust.

Another thought was sobering. “If Tom Harris had actually received this letter . . .”

Goring looked up. “Of course. It could have spelled the end of everything, including Brandon’s lawsuit.” But Goring’s mood began to lighten. “But as it now stands . . . Sally Roe has virtually betrayed herself to us. See here? She plans to write more of these letters, and that could be the key to finding her, predicting where she’ll be, finding out what she knows, and just what she has planned!”

The four men looked at each other. It just might be that.

“If we can continue to intercept these letters, observe the postmarks, derive clues from their content, I would say we would have a remarkable advantage,” Goring summarized.

“But can we trust Brandon to intercept the letters?” asked Mr. Steele. “Won’t she buckle under the legalities?”

Goring smiled. “No, not Brandon. She has too much to lose by not cooperating, what with the lawsuit now in progress. Besides, if we can persuade her that it would be in her best interests to cooperate with us, then . . . we will have all the more leverage for controlling her with each letter she tampers with.”

The men exchanged glances and nodded. It sounded like a workable plan.

Goring concluded, “We’ll consult with Santinelli when he gets here. If he’s agreeable, we’ll send word back to LifeCircle to persuade Brandon to continue intercepting the letters and sending them to
Summit. Eventually, most certainly, Sally Roe will tell us where she is, and . . . you, Mr. Khull, will then be of value to us.”

Khull smiled, relishing the thought.

The two messengers behind Destroyer cackled and slobbered in delight.

“A Judas,” said Destroyer. “Someone who will betray Sally Roe into our hands: Sally Roe herself!”

CLAIRE JOHANSON AND
her live-in boyfriend Jon Schmidt shared a large, white house on the outskirts of town. The house was once the center of a large ranch, but the ranch had been divided into several smaller farms, and now the house remained as a comfortable, manageable estate for Claire and Jon’s purposes. She was, of course, a legal assistant for Ames, Jefferson, and Morris; Jon was an architect and painter.

But most of all, they were the founders and facilitators of a movement, a fellowship, a gathering known to its members as LifeCircle.

Today was a LifeCircle meeting, not too formal an occasion, but rather a time to share, to combine interests, to discuss new discoveries and insights. There were plenty of cars parked on both sides of the road that ran in front of the house, and the house was full of people, not only from the immediate Bacon’s Corner area, but from other communities as well.

In the living room, the fine arts enthusiasts enjoyed a miniconcert of mind-expanding music by a popular instrumental trio consisting of flute, guitar, and string bass. The president of the local grange was there, in a strange daze as he listened; Mr. Woodard, the elementary school principal, was also there with his wife, relaxing to the lilting sounds. Some young farmers were in attendance as well, some enjoying the music, and some thinking of moving on to another activity elsewhere on the grounds.

Upstairs, in a bedroom that was totally empty except for cushions everywhere on the floor, young men and women participated in a yoga workshop, humming and droning like a beehive, sitting in the lotus position. They were everyday people—a rancher, a carpenter, a UPS truck driver, a teacher of “special needs” children, a couple who ran a day-care center, and Miss Brewer, who taught fourth grade at the Bacon’s
Corner Elementary School.

Outside the back door, sitting in comfortable chairs under a vast grape arbor, a discussion group of some dozen people was taking time to share ideas and hear the opinions of a visiting author regarding the application of Zen to farming.

In a corner of the backyard, not too far from a swing set, several young children cavorted on the grass, pretending to be ponies. Leading them all was Amber, now Amethyst, jumping, prancing, and spouting words of wisdom.

“It is as you see it to be,” she was saying. “If you see yourself as a black horse, that is what you are. If you see before you an open prairie, that is where you are. Create your own world, and run free in it!”

So, the kids created their own world and ran free in it—as far as the back fence, anyway.

In Claire’s office on the main floor, behind closed doors, a meeting of great importance was in progress. Claire sat regally behind her desk; Gordon Jefferson, the ACFA attorney, sat at one end of the desk, his briefcase at his side; opposite them sat Lucy Brandon. Next to the door, in a neutral position, sat Jon, Claire’s live-in. He was blond and handsome, like a male model for running shoes, and had a quiet, confident demeanor.