GNELFS (12 page)

Althea looked over at Marley, and then her gaze fell back on Gabrielle. "There is an explanation," she said. "I'm just not sure what it is. There is much we don't understand about the mind. I'm afraid Reverend Marley and I don't always agree on this sort of thing."

Gab turned to Marley. "You're not implying there's something more? Some crazy priest came around this morning, acting like something mystical was taking place."

"I believe very much in a spiritual world," Marley said.

Gab felt her heart thundering in her chest. The pressure of tears was building behind her eyes. She didn't want to hear this from these people. They were supposed to be telling her everything would be all right. Her friend had introduced her to them. How could she have found a counselor who was now telling her something beyond reasonable explanation was taking place?

"Maybe I need some time to think this over." Gab ran a hand across her forehead. "It's all very difficult to understand, and I'm very tired."

Marley took a card from his pocket and placed it on the table. "You can reach me if you need me," he said.

Gab nodded, watching silently as they exited through the kitchen door. The last thing she needed was a would-be exorcist or a well-meaning psychologist who'd want to publish a paper on the phenomenon of her daughter.

~*~

He heard the crowd's jeers and laughter. They threw things, bits of wood and stone, and they spat on him as he struggled through their midst. He was trying to follow the dirt path to his home, but they would not let him pass. They had learned who he was. Someone always learned.

How many times had they thrown stones at him? How many times had he been hated? All of the assaults ran together now; all of the people who despised him had the same faces.

Danube rolled over, half-awake as the dream continued, vividly re-creating the past, the long-ago trek into the mountains.

With a single guide beside him, he had ridden a mule up the narrow, winding path. Pitted and pocked by erosion, the trail was brutal, and winter's harsh breath had seemed to urge him to turn back.

He remembered the gray sky and the clouds so thick and threatening. Snow had come halfway through the trip, blinding, almost a blizzard, and the guide had wanted to turn back. As wind whipped at their clothing and white flakes clung to their eyelashes, only the reminder that he was being well paid kept the guide from leaving.

The convent was perched high in the mountains, and the chilling wind remained relentless as their mounts climbed onward.

The nuns had been waiting, a circle of stern-faced women of various ages, dressed in severe black habits. They showed him and his guide into a broad sitting room, where a fire blazed in an ancient fireplace. The orange glow heated the huge stones and gave off a warmth that seeped through his chilled skin as he peeled off layers of sweaters and scarves.

The room had high ceilings and was decorated with icons of the Virgin and of Christ. As feeling returned to his face and limbs, he looked up at the paintings of the crucified figure and at another which showed him holding his heart in his hands. Then he turned away, looking back into the eyes of the sisters who stood in a line at the edge of the room, their arms crossed within the folds of their habits. They were seven in number, and each one gazed at him accusingly.

They knew who he was. He made no attempt at denial.

"I have come to seek atonement," he said. "I have been a vagabond for too long."

"You will still wander the lands of the Earth," said the Mother Superior. "That will not end."

"I understand. I do not seek a home, only a purpose. It has been meaningless for too many years."

"Your task will not be easy," said the old nun. Her face was rugged, lined as if she could match every year he had known. He knew that was not true. At seventy, she was much younger than he.

"Our order is small," the old woman said. "We spend most of our time in prayer. You will carry the support of those prayers when you investigate things which need our attention. We do not leave the convent. You will be our eyes and our agent. You will purify yourself, and you will remain as such."

"Understood." He'd had his share of fulfillments which had not touched his soul.

He sat up in bed, the memories of the old nun's face in the flickering firelight fading from his thoughts.

Had he found what he was looking for? After all these years had there been fulfillment in the quest for righteousness?

He had kept his vows, had done as instructed by the nuns on what seemed a thousand journeys around the globe. He had earned scars and tears, yet he had faced the things of evil without flinching, things that would have sent many men scurrying for safety.

Yet what difference had he made? The world got worse. Things changed, governments softened their power, but did people change?

He walked to the window, looking down on another street. He was staying in the
Clairmont
, a renovated downtown hotel in
Aimsley
, elegant and quiet. Unfortunately the accommodations offered no solace.

He watched the faint misty rain falling beyond the glass and wondered what it would take for Gabrielle to accept his help.

Katrina called around seven P.M. Heaven was resting, and Gabrielle had just finished an effort to eat a frozen dinner.

"You still haven't figured out what's going on?" Katrina asked.

"Reverend Marley and his friend were kind of spooky about it all. They made me nervous."

"Well it
is
kind of spooky," Katrina said. "Can you explain it?"

"No, but with the psychologist and that weird priest that came by, on top of all that's happened I don't know what to think. It's like you wake up one morning and find out the sky is green and the grass is blue."

"Heaven still hasn't said anything?"

" If she knows what happened, she's keeping it to herself, and I still haven't been able to raise Dave to discuss it."

"Men."

"I don't know what to make of Dave. I don't expect him to keep in touch, but you'd think he'd check on his daughter more."

"He's probably off pouting. Men do that. He'll get over it in time."

"Well, I haven't got time to worry about his immaturity. I've got Heaven to think about, work to worry about. I'm going to eat up my sick leave the way things are going. I have to stay with Heaven again tomorrow."

"They're usually pretty good about that kind of thing," Katrina said. "You're a single parent. They have to take that into account."

That statement stuck with Gabrielle. She was a single parent. She'd never thought of herself that way, but it was true. She had expected a perfect marriage, a normal family life. The world just didn't allow for that anymore. Everything was screwed up. Dave had been so immature and self-centered, the result of being spoiled and pampered by his parents.

Now Heaven was being affected by something. God, what kind of life would the child face when she was traumatized this early?

Gabrielle had always counted herself lucky that she had remained basically unscathed by life. Growing up, she'd had a fairly stable family, and she hadn't gone through the bad things some of her friends had faced. Until now. She had to find a way to protect Heaven—and to get her help.

Tomorrow she would contact a different psychologist, someone more traditional. Althea was skeptical about Marley's inclination, but she wasn't as quick to dismiss the strange as Gab would have liked. She shook her head, realizing she was upset because Althea hadn't told her what she wanted to hear, that nothing was wrong. Hoping for that wasn't going to do her daughter any good.

Tonight, Heaven was sleeping in her mother's bed. Stepping into her bedroom, Gabrielle sat gently on the edge. The child seemed to be sleeping peacefully, covers tucked just below her chin. A teddy bear was embraced by her left arm.

Tomorrow, help. Tonight she would watch over her and pray.

~*~

Althea sat at the desk in her home office, a small converted bedroom with a desk, a lamp and room for her computer and printer. Atop the clutter of paperwork rested the
Gnelfland
Bedtime Storybook
. She'd stopped on the way home to pick it up. She tried to keep abreast of the latest items for children, but the
Gnelfs
had soared to popularity recently and she hadn't had a chance to look them over.

Thumbing through the brightly colored pages, she glanced at simple phrases and studied the images. It was hard to imagine the comical figures being frightening even to a child.
Gnelfs
were bumbling, well-meaning nomads given to occasional altercations with dragons and the usual villains, nothing too vicious or violent. Still, there was no judging what it might be about the
Gnelfs
that frightened Heaven. Perhaps they aroused latent anxiety, something related to separation from her father or other trauma in her life.

As to the event with the slashes, Althea remained uncertain. Some explanation
 
existed, and though Heaven's mother didn't seem the type, abuse by Gabrielle couldn't be ruled out. She might be angry at the child, following the breakup of the marriage. She could view the child as responsible, or she could resent being tied down by her. The possibilities were really limitless. Althea had seen any number of such scenarios played out time and time again.

Abuse would be a more reasonable explanation than the bizarre supernatural occurrence Marley might favor to explain the cuts. He meant well, and was quick to call her if necessary, but she was concerned about his willingness to accept an otherworldly cause. People were usually more threatening than ghosts.

Opening the drawer at her side, Althea slipped out the package of Virginia Slims. She smoked infrequently, but sometimes the need arose.

As she exhaled, she rose and paced across the room. If the child was being abused, she'd need to look into it. The doctors who had treated Heaven had probably already passed word on to Child Protection, but suspicions wouldn't give the agency much to go on. Besides, Althea knew that organization was already overworked and understaffed due to recent state budget cuts.

She thought about giving Marley another call, but dismissed the idea. She didn't want to hear him postulating potential explanations. He was young, and his zeal became frustrating at times.

They had met when he had contacted her about a year earlier seeking help for a child from his congregation who had been molested by her uncle. They'd been able to defuse a potentially harmful situation and get the child out of danger, and they had stayed in touch. They didn't always agree on things, but they had developed respect for each other's position.

Althea was aware she might need him if this proved to be an abuse situation. If Gabrielle Davis was mistreating her daughter, they would have to find help for them both.

She was headed back toward the desk when she heard movement at the window. She pulled her robe tight. She hadn't given much thought to Peeping Toms, but the office was at the back of the house. The protective cover of the shrubbery might provide even more inducement to horny kids than the thought of glimpsing her body.

 
She switched off the light but could see nothing in the back yard. Moonlight offered enough illumination to give her a view, but the shadows were still. Perhaps it had been her imagination. She was about to draw the curtains when the sound repeated. Now it came from across the room, or had it been inside her head? Could there be something wrong with her perception? She dealt with such problems so often it was hard not to be concerned about herself.

She fumbled for the lamp switch again as she peered through the darkness in the direction from which the sound had seemed to come. Before she could turn on the lamp, however, it tumbled over the edge of the desk. The shade bounced aside, and the bulb shattered against the hardwood floor.

She froze. Barefooted, she knew any move could leave her with a fine sliver of glass in her foot. She had visions of thin and razor-sharp fragments on the floor.

Carefully, she began to calculate where she might place a foot safely, and was about to make a move when another sound, something like a grunt, came from across the desk.

She turned, keeping her feet in place to look in that direction. The slit in her gown opened with a whisper. She felt something like a breeze and realized the fabric had parted near a calf.

In her turn she must have snagged the cloth on the edge of the desk, she decided. That could be the only explanation. Her fingers slipped through the fabric and touched her skin, making sure there was no cut. When she was satisfied the flesh was not broken, she straightened again, peering through the darkness.

She could see no sign of movement in the thick shadows cast by the moonlight coming through the window. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. What had happened to the child could not be repeating itself with her. It would be ridiculous to think something from a patient's psychosis could be manifesting itself within her.

She prepared again to take a step, but as she lifted her foot the lamp cord suddenly tangled around her ankle, and she was thrown off balance.