Saved and SAINTified (42 page)

Xenia
nodded in agreement.

Beset rubbed her hands together. “My husband, Ishaq, died soon after our daughter was murdered. He wasn’t home at the time and couldn’t get past the guilt. It was so painful for him, that it ate him alive.” She paused, her tired eyes filled with tears. “He just couldn’t go on. Ishaq was a good man, but he was a protector and like your husband, he believed that if he couldn’t protect me and his only child, then he was useless. Angel Children, especially the men, take that very seriously—the loss of a child. So, I believe he died of a broken heart. One day, he just never woke up.” A tear cascaded down her face. She quickly wiped it away.

“I’m so sorry, Beset,” Xenia offered, truly touched and horrified by the account. She knew the woman was sincere. No one could fake that sort of pain—mothers recognized it in other mothers. It was unmistakable.

Beset nodded. “So you see.” She looked up at
Xenia, her eyes now full of hope. “You are my second chance. Not only will your daughter’s birth help stop Nizsm, but I get an opportunity to avenge my daughter’s death.” Her eyes narrowed. “I want Nizsm stopped, Xenia. I
need
him to be stopped. I’m just an old woman that people seek to find out if their lover will come back or get a cure for a rash that keeps returning.” She smiled sadly. “This is so much bigger than that, and I know my Ishaq will finally be able to rest in peace. I know that deep down you trust your husband, but your mother’s instinct is causing conflict. You know that if you trust me and I do something to harm you or your child, it wouldn’t be reversible, and you’d blame yourself.”

“Exactly.”
Xenia crossed her arms protectively over her breasts, feeling a sudden chill.

Beset reached across the desk and grasped
Xenia’s hand, much to her surprise. The old lady’s voice shook with emotion. “I would never harm your baby, Mrs. Aknaten. I know it’s terrifying, but if you trust me, you will make it through this. Otherwise, Nizsm may come here and try to settle the matter for himself and then your entire family’s safety would be at stake. He is a selfish, evil man. He never knew what love was and there is no reasoning with him. This is the only way.”

Xenia
continued to hold her hand. She gently circled the thin flesh on the old woman’s hand with her thumb.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Beset. Just give me a little while to think this over. I’ll be out soon.”
Xenia pulled away, swimming in her own thoughts once more. Beset smiled and stood. She quickly made her exit and closed the door softly behind her.

Xenia
, come on. Now is not the type to play chicken. Do you really want that man to come here? Hell no!

She took a deep breath, picked up her cellphone and dialed her husband.

“Hello,” he responded, smacking away.

“Are you eating, Saint? Oh my God. How can you eat at a time like this?!”

“I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day! It’s a sandwich. And I prefer the plain peanut butter. This has nuts in it. Why’d you get this one? You know I like the smooth kind. Was it on sale or something? The jam you got is good though. This is even better than Smuckers.” He continued to smack loudly into the phone.

Xenia
listened to the disgusting sounds of Saint working the peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich around in his mouth, in stereo for her hearing displeasure. She rolled her eyes and shook her head but couldn’t help a smile. This was her husband, calm and collected, doing what he did best.

“Alright,” she said in resignation. “Let’s do this. I’ll be up in a couple of minutes to discuss it further with you.”

“Thank you, baby. See you here in a sec,” he said around a mouthful, then disconnected the call.

****

A couple days later...

Xenia
lay across her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Saint looked down at her while Beset stirred the powder into the orange juice.

“Now S
aint, you need to give it to her, as I told you. The father of the child is the one who must administer it; it’s more guaranteed to work that way. Xenia, I’ve done this many times for different reasons. It works, and there will be no harm to you or the baby. I promise.”

S
aint took the small tan ceramic cup from Beset. “Sit up a little, baby,” he said quietly as he propped her head up with his arm.

Xenia
lifted her head, closed her eyes then hesitated and pushed the mug away.

“Baby, I know in my gut you will be fine, and the baby, too. I’m not wrong!” he assured
, his eyes intense. He could see in her eyes that everything was riding on this. If perhaps, by some off chance, he was mistaken, and Beset was an emissary for Nizsm, she’d never forgive him for as long as they lived. He knew this emphatically. His soul screamed it to him, flashing warning signs throughout his being, but he had to trust his instinct. It had not led him astray.

Relenting,
Xenia timidly took the cup to sip from it cautiously until the juice was completely gone.

“How do you feel?” he asked
after a few moments, tenderly moving the curls away from her face.

“I
... am fine. Nothing feels any different.”

“Right
.” Beset smiled. “Because it’s not. It’s only smoke and mirrors, as they say. This will also stop any psychic impulses she may have and no one will be able to read you, except Saint.”

“What do you mean by psychic impulses?”
Xenia asked.

“
She has no control over them. She is too young—so when another Angel Child talks to her spirit, she may respond. Angel Children are like that, Xenia. The spirit can communicate, even when their minds cannot. This way, there is a barrier and no evidence of life to those trying to telepathically communicate with her. She will be fine—and you, Xenia, will still know she is growing.”

“What about me?” S
aint asked, worry in his voice. “I’ve been talking to her on a daily basis.”

“I
am not surprised.” Beset smiled sympathetically at him. “She will not be able to speak to you anymore, Saint. Now, this is like a normal pregnancy for a father ... you’re
normal
for the duration of her journey until she is born.”

S
aint nodded, though he was disappointed. He loved speaking to Isis; it was something that had been an ongoing routine. He hadn’t told Xenia and her surprised face at that moment said it all. Instead of resentment, she smiled at him and gripped his hand.

“Is she totally blocked
? Can I say one last thing to her?” His eyes watered. He didn’t know what was happening to him. Though he knew she was fine, alive and alert, just the thought of her being removed from him in any capacity upset him in a way he hadn’t imagined. He’d spoken to all of his children while they were in their mother’s womb. It was a special tradition. He’d be concentrating on Xenia’s pain and worry the entire time, not considering his own.

“Yes, but hurry.” Beset encouraged as she turned her back, and placed some items back into her bag.

Saint hovered over Xenia, then placed his hand affectionately on her stomach. His lips didn’t move—he spoke telepathically to his little angel:

Isis
, this is Daddy. I will still be here, but I won’t be talking to you for a little while. Just because you don’t hear from me, don’t think that I’m not here. I am. I’ll always be. I will touch you, and talk to you, but you won’t be able to hear or feel me the same way you could previously, until you’re born. I love you, your mother and brothers so much. Be good to mommy, okay? I will see you soon...

He cradled
Xenia’s stomach with both hands, then pressed his lips to her navel over the thin fabric of her gown, lingering there.

“Okay,” Beset whispered. “It has taken effect now. She heard you though.”

“I know.” Saint quickly wiped his eyes. “I could feel it.”

****

Two weeks later...

Jagger
crossed his arms over his burly chest and paced back and forth in the conference room. It was ten o’clock in the evening. Saint scratched his head and marched back and forth like a soldier, while Lawrence flipped through several stacks of papers.

“So, Mr. Brooks, I need to ask you again, how you were screened
?” Lawrence asked for a third time.

“But I’ve already answered this.” The man looked over at S
aint and then at Jagger with an earnest expression, as if trying to plead his case nonverbally. He rubbed his hands nervously over his thighs.

S
aint walked toward him and leaned against the table to his right. He crossed his ankles and rubbed his hands together. Then, he flashed his award winning grin—cracked it like a beer can, lavishing that foamy first taste, before he took him down, swallowing him whole.

“Now look, Brooks, we know who you are, okay? We can do this the easy
way or the hard way, but I promise you, there is no chance of you walking out that door,” Saint pointed to the exit, “the same way you walked in here.”

“But S
aint, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Brooks slapped the table in angst.

“Brooks, turn the theatrics off. This isn’t Masterpiece
Theater, man. Broadway is not your calling.” Saint glared at him. “I didn’t let you in here. I didn’t give you a referral. You just showed up, from an invitation. Now, Thomas is a good guy, yet he probably didn’t know any better. He had permission to invite someone and you wiggled in that way, right under the radar. That was sloppy, and now I have to clean up the mess. You got in good with him, you know.”

S
aint noisily shoved his gum to the other side of his mouth. “Pretended to be his friend, pretended you wanted to be a Rainbeau ... all that good shit. You’re a fuckin’ spy, Brooks.”

“What? That’s preposterous!” 

Saint scowled at him, observing Brook’s disheveled blond hair, porcelain skin and beady blue eyes.

“Well, we have some of your records here from your personal computer
...” Lawrence started.

“What! That’s an invasion of privacy! How did you get my
—”

“We’re asking the questions, Brooks. You’re busted.” S
aint threw up his hands, straightened and popped his gum, devilishly smiling as he rounded the table. He pulled out the chair near Lawrence and sat in it, then slammed his fists on the desk, startling the mole.

Jagger
kept his silence, his sunglasses atop his buzz cut hair, his signature five-o-clock shadow and his intimidating stance doing their job. He stood like a Marine—once a Marine, always a Marine. He was no longer active, but still behaved like one. Saint shot his partner a look, then glanced back at Brooks.

“You see
Jagger here?”

Brooks looked at
the large man, visibly shaken as Saint continued to speak.

“I stated when
Jagger was brought into the group that, by trade, he is an investigator. He is a former Marine, too; he worked in intelligence. He snoops for a living. He is a walking weapon of mass destruction. He takes a small piece of information and he builds on it, just as if he were creating a work of art. Isn’t that neat?” Saint smiled widely, chewing enthusiastically on his gum as he sat back leisurely in the chair.

Brooks remained quiet.

“As soon as I was introduced to you, I knew there was something fishy about you, but I was busy. We had three conferences at that time, back to back. James had just passed, I had my own shit goin’ on. I had no time to concentrate on you.” Saint rubbed the back of his neck. “Lawrence here is an employee, a Rainbeau, and my friend, as you know.” Saint rubbed his hands together. “Both of these men agree with me, Brooks. They agree with the decision I’ve made on what to do to you, as well.”

“What are you talking about?
Do
with me?” Brooks’ eyes traveled over the three men. He looked like cornered prey.

“I’ll get more into that in a second. Let me give you a run-down of what we know
.” Saint started to enumerate. “One, we know that you’re a plant, an informant for a small government agency in Michigan. They’ve been suspicious of James’s activities with the civil rights movement since the 1950s, and of other minority causes he was involved with. So as soon as word got out that he was sick, you jumped on it. Your organization tried to take him down in the ’70s—1976 to be exact—but you aborted the mission, probably because things got too hot. Now, you want your hands on
me
, thinking I may be an easier target. Nothing could’ve been further from the truth.”

S
aint shot him a threatening look.

“Two, we know who your contacts are and who you’ve been speaking to, every single person. Three, you are affiliated with several racial supremacy agencies. Four, your mission is to expose and dismantle the Rainbeau Knights of the Round Table and lastly, we know that
you volunteered for this mission. This isn’t the first time a cat like you has tried to take me down, but to come into the Rainbeau Knights and do it? Wow!” Saint laughed. “Now that was just fucking dumb! You never walk into the shark’s mouth and beg him not to bite you, man.” He shrugged. “For you? It’s a wrap!”