Archangel Crusader (11 page)

Upon reaching a fork in the road, Michael entered the freeway and soon rode through open fields. He loved the country full of life in the spring. The miles went by with ease. Stopping at a trucker's rest stop to freshen up, Michael called Debbie at the office to let her know he was on his way. She suggested they have dinner with Walter, her newfound love. Michael smiled at the idea that she would seek his approval, feeling happy for her. Maybe she would not spend the last months or years of her life alone after all.

Chapter Nine

On this fine sunny day in late June, in Washington, D.C., Debbie's thoughts rumbled happily. She had looked in the mirror and liked what she saw. Big brown eyes consumed her thin face, but the new makeup worked wonders. The shadows had fled to the far recesses of her mind and, for a short while, Debbie felt as free and healthy as any beautiful woman in love had the right to feel. She would have lunch with Walter on the set, right after the news.

Walter differed from most news reporters Debbie had encountered. He did not seek stardom, and his honesty seemed complete. His search for the truth included compassion and understanding. Walter's coverage of Debbie's "Plea for the Children" event had been extremely well presented and, unlike some other reports, Walter's had been intelligent, articulate, and favorable in its objectivity. In the few weeks she had known him, they had become close. It would not surprise her if they soon had a more intimate relationship.

To tell the truth, Debbie had fallen in love, and she suspected Walter had too. Nothing had been said yet, but their conversations, purely professional in the beginning, had become more and more personal. The friendship had evolved into a stronger bond. Debbie wanted it, hoped for it. She fully enjoyed this sweetest time of love, when you know, and yet you fear that you may be wrong. The only shadow on the horizon was death itself, but she wouldn't tell Walter about it, not yet, not ever if she could help it. She didn't want pity but a real chance at love and life before the inevitable.

In a state of excitement, Debbie reached Studio Five, fresh and flushed by her brisk walk and the expectation of what this day would bring. Doing so much for others, she never thought much about herself. To do so brought a strange and delightful new feeling.

The small coffee shop of Studio Five, crowded at this time of day, smelled of freshly baked lasagna. Debbie spotted Walter first. As soon as he saw her, he waved from his booth on the far side. A smile brightened his clear blue eyes as they held her exclusively. Debbie rejoiced at the delight in his square face.

Walter, usually serious or concerned in front of the cameras, looked cheerful now, almost boyish despite his obvious maturity. He wore his legendary blue suit. As Debbie reached the table and held out her hand, Walter stood up and took it in both of his. He kissed her fingers with a fervor that made her tingle all over. "And how is my favorite lobbyist today?" Walter's suave voice sent a shiver up Debbie's back, her scalp prickled, and her cheeks felt hot. What a wonderful feeling.

They talked with animation over chicken Parmesan and wine, laughing and smiling a lot. Debbie caught Walter looking at her surreptitiously, but then again, she did the same. While pondering their chances at a successful relationship, she outwardly discussed the filming of the next special report on the needy children of the capital.

"This is how it could start," Walter offered, slicing his chicken. "A few blocks from the White House, people sleep on the sidewalk, on benches. Poverty strikes at the heart of the nation. We roll the camera on the needy, then we show the white tents erected in the public parks throughout the city, providing meals and clothing for the destitute." He ate a bite.

"Good." Debbie dabbed at her chin with a napkin. "But you should also mention the insufficient shelters, whole families paying the price of cold, political games. I would like the emphasis on the children, young children, babies. They are the ones I'm most concerned about at this point, the innocent victims."

"You love those children, don't you?" Walter smiled, all indulgence. “You protect their rights with great conviction."

"I do my best to restore human kindness to this world," Debbie said, embarrassed by the compliment.

"I know, applying your own weight against the odds, fighting to make a difference. I watched the videotapes of your speeches from our archives... Quite inspiring."

After lunch, Debbie took a cab back to her office on Pennsylvania Avenue. She wondered about Michael's call, he had talked in riddles. Tonight's dinner would certainly prove interesting.

Debbie always enjoyed the long conversations with Michael. Each time he visited, they spent hours late at night sharing views on life, philosophy, politics, or how to raise chickens. They did not agree on everything but usually ended up very close in their opinions, sometimes after much debate. That was the fun part of it. They both enjoyed spirited discussions.

It might be awkward to explain to Walter that this man, who was not exactly family, would stay at her house for a while. Nevertheless, Debbie wasn't about to compromise. She never had and probably never would. Michael was a friend and family in law. Case closed.

That afternoon, when she pulled into the driveway of her suburban home, Debbie noticed the black Harley-Davidson and could not help but smile at the similarity between the machine and the man. Wild, handsome shiny steel, with raw power and reckless instincts.

Debbie found Michael on the back patio, playing with the German shepherd. Through the open sliding door, the smell of blooming roses filled the living room, mixing with the scent of Michael's aftershave. From the stereo, an unfamiliar radio station broadcast country rock, a kind of music she hadn’t listen to in years.

Michael really looked like a cowboy, with long jeans and boots. Debbie knew he never wore a hat, but he was true country all the same. So was she, inside, despite her many years in Washington. Michael reminded her of her roots... Arkansas seemed so far away.

"Did I leave the patio door unlocked?" Debbie inquired as a greeting.

"I guess so," Michael lied. “It's so good to see you."

They hugged, giving each other much-needed comfort.

*****

"I'll get the door," Michael told Debbie as she pulled off her apron and ran into the powder room. They had prepared dinner together. One more thing they had in common, they both enjoyed cooking.

The solid oak door opened to reveal a bunch of red carnations hiding a blue blazer and a smiling Walter. The grin dropped an inch and froze for a second while the two men took each other's measure. Walter, shorter and older than Michael, stared with frank blue eyes.

"Hi! Walter, I presume. Please, come in. Debbie will be right down." Michael liked Walter's strong handshake. A slight mind probe confirmed the favorable impression as he closed the door and hushed Walter into the living room.

"These need some water," said the older man, a little uneasy.

"Here." Michael took a tall crystal vase from a Chinese buffet and handed it to Walter with a smile. "The kitchen is that way. Would you like a drink?"

"Thanks, Maybe a glass of wine." Walter disappeared into the kitchen. Sounds of running water, big splash... "Shit!"

Michael ran into the kitchen to find Walter on all four, trying to mop a huge spill on the floor with paper towels.

"Hey man, let me do this. Don't be so nervous... She's crazy about you." Thinking this would be as good a time as any to test Walter’s view on the paranormal, Michael snapped his fingers, making the spill reabsorb and disappear, but not as fast as he expected. The flowers jumped into the vase, paper and ties vanishing from view into the garbage can.

"What in heaven?" Walter stared and followed Michael who took the flowers to the dining room table.

By that time Debbie appeared, smoothing her white summer dress, smelling good, with a fresh coat of lipstick, distracting Walter from asking any questions, although he looked in Michael's direction, puzzled. Debbie made the introductions then served a delicious tomato-tarragon-chicken dinner with French ratatouille. Michel refused the wine. Toward the end of dinner, the conversation turned to more serious matters. The time had come for Michael to find out if his plan could work.

He had the best possible audience. These two influential friends could mean success or failure. Michael had to win them over to his cause. Since ethics forbade coercion, however, he would let his friends make up their own mind. He’d have to trust in their good will.

"So, are you going to tell us what brought you to the capital?" Debbie asked, as if on cue, producing caramel custard cups on a tray with a pot of fresh coffee.

"I thought you'd never ask." Michael collected his thoughts, reclining slightly in his chair.

"As much as we like each other's company and conversation, I know that you didn't come just to visit with me." Debbie sat, looked for a cigarette, then stopped herself and served coffee.

Michael smiled with sympathy. He knew what she was going through. Addiction made a powerful contender. He felt appalled at his own conduct of the day before.

"I can't tell you everything yet," Michael started, alert and a little nervous. "But I'll tell you this: I had some kind of revelation... Don't ask me how or what... I want to start a consciousness movement. A planetary quest to elevate the ecological and spiritual awareness of the people of America first, then of the whole planet. I'd like to call it the Earth Crusade. What I need is some exposure, maybe TV coverage."

"Don't you think the world has enough gurus and TV preachers?" Walter vehemently stirred sugar in his cup. "They made a bad reputation for themselves over the years."

"I'm not asking for financial support," Michael explained, ignoring his coffee. "My purpose is just to make people aware."

"Something like the Hunger Project in the eighties?" Debbie suggested, seemingly more open to the idea.

"Yeah... An appeal to the masses to support whatever organizations are already in place and functioning. Everything from ecology to anti-racism and charity, including anti-violence, the study and development of psychic abilities, UFO research..."

"That's quite a spectrum!" Walter interjected. "How do you expect people to take you seriously if you spread yourself so thin?" He unbuttoned his blazer and sat back, crossing both hands on his stomach. "Besides, some of these issues are very iffy. These are not the sixties anymore... UFO research? The serious viewers may take you for a flake. Even the network may object under the pressure of the Council on Foreign Relations and the Trilateral Commission. As for psychic powers, I personally think they are a hoax. I never met anyone who could prove or demonstrate them beyond the shadow of a doubt." Walter lifted an eyebrow at Michael, in challenge.

Although he appreciated Walter's honesty, Michael had not expected him to resist so much. If the trick with the flower vase hadn’t impressed him, Michael would have to resort to a more dramatic demonstration.

"I have good reason to believe in psychic faculties from first hand experience." Michael slowed his breathing, concentrating on a point low in the center of his forehead, at the level of the pineal gland. "Have you ever seen an aura? You know... The magnetic field around the body?" As four avid eyes stared in silence, Michael continued. "Watch, and tell me if you think this is a hoax."

Eyes closed, Michael heard static and felt the warmth radiating from his body. The air around him sizzled with electricity. Surprisingly, his head hurt with the effort. When he opened his eyes, the room shimmered with blue brilliance.

"Beautiful!" Debbie marveled with a bemused smile. "Did you do that? How?" Her wide, brown eyes sparkled.

"Impressive trick," Walter admitted, "but this does not constitute hard evidence. Optical illusion, magnetic phenomenon... This house could be rigged for such a demonstration. David Copperfield made the statue of Liberty disappear." He sipped at his coffee.

Michael could see the hurt on Debbie's face. "Then what would it take to convince you?" he asked. "Materializing something where there was nothing before? Moving objects from a distance? Walking through walls? Speaking from mind to mind?"

"Let's be reasonable here." Walter spread his hands in conciliation. "These things are scientifically impossible."

"You said it. At the present time, scientifically, they are. But they can be done through other means. Let me demonstrate." Michael rose from his chair.

"You can't be serious." Impatience tinted Walter's tone.

"I’m dead serious. How do you think I mopped up that spill in the kitchen earlier?" Michael screamed in Walter's mind, leaving him red-faced and wondering. "You want proof?" he said aloud, some irritation in his voice. "Let's go to the back yard, so you cannot say that the house was rigged." Michael walked straight to the wall, and banged his head."

Debbie and Walter looked at each other and laughed.

"What did you do that for?" Debbie asked, still laughing. "Are you all right? I'm sorry for laughing but it was funny."

"I meant to go through the wall, but I don't feel quite right today." Michael rubbed his brow, wondering at his failure. The drinking of the day before must have affected his neural pathways. Also, he had lost his calm.