Broken Souls (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 2) (12 page)

“I simply touch you, hold your hands, and my body’s regenerative abilities help to heal your body. It does not hurt or cause any discomfort at all,” Denton replied and held out a hand. “Please, let me show you. I promise you will come to no harm.”

“Getting people’s hopes up is harmful, mister,” she said. “I’ve had this skin condition since college, and nothing the doctors have given me has worked.” She looked down at herself and raised her inflamed, scaly arms. “Have you ever healed something like this?”

“I’ve encountered many skin conditions in my time. Many of them are caused by autoimmune disorders in which your own body’s defenses turns on itself. Let my immune system boost yours.”

She limped forward a couple steps and stopped. “It’s more serious than that now. It’s not just my skin. It has begun to attack my joints. Some days I cannot even walk without extreme pain.”

Denton came toward her, closing the gap between them so she would not have to endure the extra steps. As he approached, she subtly leaned away from him. He smiled and said, “Take my hands. What harm can that do?”

The woman’s eyes watered as she screwed up the courage to reach out to him. Denton stood with his hands offered to her and waited. After a few moments of anticipation, the woman clasped his hands. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. Despite his earlier claims of professing no religion, he appeared to be praying or at least meditating. The woman followed suit, lowered her head and said, “What the hell? I’ve tried everything else.”

The woman’s hands trembled, and Denton tightened his grip, pressing his fingers into the backs of her hands. From those points of pressure, the woman felt waves of tingling warmth flow through her hands, up her arms and throughout her body. She held her breath, instinctively tightened her own grip and surrendered to the sensations that washed over her.

Lost in the experience, she didn’t notice the soft murmuring of the crowd around her. The spell was not broken until a woman to her right exclaimed, “Oh, my God, look at her face!” Excited chattering from the crowd overwhelmed the murmuring, and then enthusiastic clapping snapped the woman from her reverie. She opened her eyes to Proctor’s friendly smile. She looked down at her hands, her unblemished hands. Trying to say something, she caught her breath, raised her right hand to her cheek and felt smoothness. Letting out a quiet gasp, her eyes widened, and her tears began to flow.

The crowd tightened around Proctor as more people stepped forward.

Though it was a typical mild Northwest Pacific afternoon, sitting on the curved brick steps of Pioneer Courthouse Square watching Denton perform his healings had induced a slight chill, and Ping had volunteered to make a run up to the Starbucks that sat at the center of the raised rim of the plaza. After off-loading drinks to everyone, he took the last cup and handed the carrying tray to Mara, who jogged over to a nearby recycle can to discard it.

When she returned, she sipped her hot chocolate, then turned to Melanie and said, “How long will he stay out here and do this?”

“He’ll stay for another hour or so, until the sun starts to go down below the buildings and shadows begin to cover the square. It’ll get a little too cold for people to stand around,” she said. “And, by that time, he’ll start to get worn out. He doesn’t show it while he’s doing it, but the healing process does sap his strength a bit.”

“Do you and Mr. Proctor encounter much resistance from people when you do these gatherings, like the man with the Bible earlier?” Ping asked.

“We’ve not been doing this for very long. For a few days after the plane crash, Denton didn’t realize he was in a place where people could not heal each other, so it didn’t occur to him to make a point of going out and helping people.”

“So everyone from your realm has this ability, to heal people?” Mara said.

“Everyone in Denton’s realm, as you call it, has this ability. When someone is hurt or sick, it is normal for them to use their natural healing abilities to help each other. It’s a moral thing for them, like if you were to encounter someone whose car broke down in a desert or someone stranded on a boat at sea. The right thing to do is to help,” Melanie said.

“You said,
Denton’s realm
. I’m assuming you’re from a different realm than your husband?” Ping said.

“That’s correct.”

“So both your counterparts were on Flight 559 but were replaced by alter egos from differing realities? That must have been very disconcerting at first.”

“You might say we are still adjusting. There are differences other than our innate abilities that we’ve had to deal with.”

Bohannon, who alternately focused on flexing his newly repaired leg and watching Denton Proctor interact with the small gathering a few feet away, turned to Melanie. “The flyer you guys put out said something about you being able to read souls. What does that mean?”

“Probably the best way to describe it is the ability to give someone an objective, outside perspective on what is going on with their psyche—things they may not be aware of.”

“That sounds very intrusive,” Bohannon said.

“It is a very intimate experience, but it’s not about intrusion. We can’t force someone to participate, and, while we remember what was said during the session, the impetus for what is said is not actually known or remembered by the reader.”

“It sounds as if you have the ability to read someone’s subconscious mind,” Ping said.

“That’s as good an explanation as I can give,” Melanie said, “but I think it’s little more complicated than that.”

“So why are you not doing readings for people now?” Bohannon tilted his head toward the crowd. “The flyer said you would.”

“Since the experience can be disturbing to some people, we generally think it’s best to wait for people to ask about it. Occasionally Denton will encounter someone who he thinks might benefit from the experience, and he’ll ask the person to talk to me. It’s a much more difficult concept to explain to people than healing.”

“Yeah, I’m still not sure if I’m following what you mean,” Bohannon said.

Melanie smiled and said, “Detective, would you like me to do a reading with you? I get the impression you are curious about the state of your soul.”

“Ha! I was raised by a Baptist preacher. I’m pretty sure the state of my soul is in disrepair, but thanks anyway. I think I would prefer to stay in the dark for the time being.”

Melanie turned to Ping. “How about you, Mr. Ping? You seem like someone who wouldn’t have any qualms about learning more about himself.”

“Oh, I don’t know. We all have things we’d prefer not to face, I suppose,” he said.

Melanie patted the bricks on the step next to her. “Come, sit with me. I think you will enjoy this.”

Ping hesitated for a second, and Mara nudged him. “Go ahead. What can it hurt?”

He leaned in and whispered to her, “I’m not sure this is a good idea, given the dichotomy of consciousnesses I have inside me.”

“She said she can provide perspective on your psyche. Give it a shot. I’ll be here the whole time.”

Ping looked askance at her but walked over and sat next to Melanie. “What do I do?” he asked.

Melanie placed her hands on each side of Ping’s face, making a point of centering her fingers over each temple. “Breathe deeply and relax. A lot of people close their eyes, but it’s not required,” she said.

Ping kept his eyes open and locked them on Melanie’s.

She rolled her head slowly as if trying to get a kink out of her neck. After three turns of her head, she stopped with her chin slightly tilted to the left, giving her a pose that looked almost inquisitive. Suddenly her pupils dilated, turned into black pools that overflowed and overwhelmed her blue irises, then blotted out the whites of her eyes, turning them into orbs of swirling melted tar.

Ping focused on the roiling blackness in Melanie’s eyes as she said, “I can see where you came from, the life you had there.” The swirling tar disintegrated into clouds of gray dust that formed a vortex, morphed into Ping’s profile. “A strong sense of unfulfilled destiny—you knew one day you would be called away. To here. To this place.”

“Yes,” Ping said, in a slurred whisper.

“You are the mentor, the navigator to The One.”

“Yes.”

“But you carry a burden that burns away at you, a fear that consumes you.”

Ping’s eyes widened, and he whimpered, “Yes.”

The gray dusty profile that filled Melanie’s eyes spun apart into a sandy storm and coalesced again into the head of a serpent, a dragon. A stream of smoke flowed out of her nose, followed by a lick of flame. “There is another.”

“Yes, the fear that consumes me.”

Melanie swung her head haltingly back and forth, dragons still in her eyes. “It is not the beast that consumes you. It is your fear.”

“No, it is the dragon.”

“You fear ignorance. You doubt yourself. You think your knowledge is inadequate to fulfill your destiny.”

“Yes.”

“You have the knowledge you need, somewhere. However, you must learn the lessons you have taught others. Embrace the nature of existence. Embrace the many facets of you. And when the time comes, you will be free of the beasts inside, the dragon and the doubt.”

Melanie’s hands slid from the side of Ping’s face, and her head dropped to her chest.

* * *

“Are you two all right?” Mara stood over Ping and Melanie, looking pale and concerned.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Melanie smiled, wiped soot from her upper lip. “Mr. Ping, how are you?”

“I’m okay. That was a little disconcerting, but I have to admit it felt enlightening, like my perspective of myself has been expanded in some way,” Ping said.

Bohannon raised a hand to get their attention. “What was all of that stuff about a dragon? And why was there fire coming out of Melanie’s nose?”

Melanie had a blank look on her face and self-consciously rubbed her nose. “Fire? Out of my nose? What is he talking about?”

“You don’t remember?” Ping asked.

“I don’t generally have physical manifestations of any kind. Are you saying fire came out of me?”

Bohannon pursed his lips in a silent whistle and nodded.

“Like I said earlier, I generally remember the words that are spoken, but I don’t remember what motivates them. I would assume that the reference to a dragon is metaphorical, something that means more to you personally,” Melanie said to Ping.

“That’s it exactly, something metaphorical,” Mara said, nodding at Bohannon.

“That smoke and fire coming out of her face was not metaphorical,” the detective said but decided to let it go after Mara glared at him.

Ping simply smiled and nodded.

Melanie looked at Mara and patted the bricks on the other side of her from where Ping sat. “Mara, come sit with me.”

Mara shook her head and backed up a step. “Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’m not much of a believer in these sorts of esoteric things. Just ask my mom.”

“I promise it will not hurt,” Melanie said. “I have a strong sense that a reading will help you gain some perspective.”

Mara looked to Ping to back her up. He simply nodded to her and said, “There might be some benefit for you in doing this. It is a little disorienting at first, but there’s something enlightening about it that I can’t put my finger on.”

“I, I don’t know.”

Melanie smiled, trying to reassure her. “We can stop anytime you feel uncomfortable.”

Mara walked over to where Melanie sat and joined her. “What do I do?”

Melanie placed her fingertips on Mara’s temples, laying hands along the sides of Mara’s face. “Like Mr. Ping, breathe deeply and relax. Let the experience flow over you.”

Mara watched as pools of inky, glossy blackness spread over Melanie’s eyes until there was nothing in them except the reflection of Mara’s anxious expression. The smudge of light that made up Mara’s image intensified and expanded, filling Melanie’s eyes with a blue fluorescent liquid that vanquished the darkness. They swirled and glowed from within, casting a dull radiance across Mara’s face.

Melanie gasped and said, “Oh my. Endlessness. I see endlessness.”

“Yes,” Mara whispered.

“Time. Space. Consciousness . . .”

“Yes.”

“You are the maker of reality, the mother of consequence, the one called progenitor.”

Mara flinched but was drawn by the light that shone from Melanie’s eyes onto her face.

“You have entered the Crucible of Creation, and soon the Battle for Existence shall be engaged.”

Mara’s eyes widened. “Tell me what that means.”

Melanie gasped again; her neck muscles tightened, and she gritted her teeth. Her jawline flexed, and her face reddened. The light emitting from her eyes intensified. An expression of fear melted across her features, punctuated by another gasp. “Stalking . . .”

“What?” Mara asked.

“They are stalking you. You can sense it.”

“Who?”

“Misery and joy. Misery and joy.

“What are you talking about?”

“They are drawn to you, and they will come.”

“Who, Melanie? Who?”

“A nemesis, a blight. Your adversary.” Melanie trembled; she scratched at her own arms as if ants were crawling on her.

Mara reached out to her and said, “Who are you talking about?”

Melanie fell backward onto the wide brick step, her entire body rattling as if she were having a seizure.

Mara leaned over Melanie, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back up. The light in Melanie’s eyes was fading to black, to the inky swirling orbs of tar in which Mara could once again see her reflection. “Melanie, are you okay?”

Melanie’s head lolled onto her right shoulder, and, in a child’s voice, she said, “Mar-ree, Mar-ree! I’m coming!”

With a shaking hand, Mara lifted the paper cup to her lips, and she grimaced. The hot chocolate was ice-cold. The entire square was beginning to feel ice-cold. She glanced around and noticed that the surrounding buildings cast long shadows over the square, and the temperature was too uncomfortable to be sitting on bricks. Standing, she decided it was time to get away from all of this soul-reading nonsense. It appeared that others were coming to the same conclusion, at least about the cool fall weather.