The Forbidden Trilogy (26 page)

Time to play a little prank.

As the Bishop droned on... "To any who hold back even
the smallest penny of abundance, everlasting misery shall surely follow you for
your lack of faith and lack of support...." Drake slipped into the
Bishop's oily, weasely little mind. "And so we petition you as Christ
petitioned His followers, to give until it hurts, for only then will
you...." –and Drake was in— "...dance the hokey pokey in
heaven."

A murmur of surprise started like a wave through the packed
congregation. When the Bishop actually started doing the hokey pokey, bursts of
guilty laughter hiccupped throughout the crowd.

Father Patrick, sitting on stage behind the Bishop, looked
straight into Drake, and the ten-year-old understood in that instant... the
Father knew.

***

"That was how we met." Drake closed the memory
back up, putting it away carefully in his mind. He didn't have many happy
memories, but those he did, he guarded fiercely.

"A day I shall forever cherish," Father Patrick
said. "And between you and me, that pompous Bishop deserved a bit of humbling.
But, back to the point of it all: yes, you are different."

"There are more of my kind. Not
exactly
like me,
but with different abilities. All kinds of powers, things you wouldn't believe
if you saw!"

The priest's eyebrow arched up in surprise. "How
many?"

"I don't know exactly, but an entire school's worth,
and younger kids in another facility. They're using them, doing horrible
genetic experiments, and... I've fallen in love with a girl. Sam is her name,
and she's pregnant with my child. I'm going to be a dad, and... the kicker
is... we've never even...." Drake hesitated. "We've never known each
other in the Biblical sense," he finished.

The priest laughed full belly at that. "You can use the
word, boy. Sex. I'm a priest, not dead. I'm familiar with the word. As to the
rest, I need to give this some thought."

Drake fidgeted in his chair. "Do you think I'm
crazy?"

"No, but this is a lot to take in. I'm not surprised
that there are others with special gifts. History, and my own life experiences,
prove that, whether through supernatural or genetic intervention, some people
are blessed with incredible powers. But an organization that would exploit
these children, use them and experiment on them? This is the highest level of
unholy. They must be stopped."

"We're trying to work out a plan. Sam's friends are
there. We need to rescue them."

Father Patrick reached over and patted Drake's hand. "I
can't imagine what you're going through, Son, but you're not alone. We have
resources that can help. I know the Church doesn't have quite the political
reach it used to, but we still have some influence. Whatever I can do, I
will."

"It's such a relief to finally talk to you about this.
I've been so alone in it all, and now I'm about to be a father. I've never even
known a real father in my own life. All this other stuff aside, how am I
supposed to take care of a child?"

"That's an entirely different conversation, Son. It
won't be easy, but it isn't for anyone. You're loyal and loving and your child
will feel that, even when you make mistakes. And you have your church family to
help, always."

Drake nodded. As usual, Father Patrick nailed it on the
head. No one knew him like this man did, and no one Drake knew had more wisdom
and insight. "There's more. Sam is really sick. I think this organization,
in addition to impregnating her, also drugged her and all the kids there. She's
going through major withdrawals. I'm worried about her, and about our baby, but
she won't let me take her to the hospital. She's scared they'll take her away.
But I can protect her. I can get her out. Only, she doesn't really approve of
my 'special abilities.' At least one of them. I love her, but when I'm around
her, I feel like something inside me is bad. Do you think what I can do is
evil?"

The Father didn't answer for many, long, silent minutes.
They ventured out of comfortable silence and into a twitching kind of quiet
that forced Drake out of his chair so he could pace the room. When the priest
finally did speak, the direction of the conversation surprised Drake.

"Do you remember the story of Joseph and his ability to
decipher dreams into prophesy?"

"Yeah, his brothers were jealous of him and sold him to
slavery, but he used his gifts to garner favor from the Pharaoh. He became very
powerful."

"His gifts were often considered in the realm of
sorcery. In fact, many gifted prophets in the Bible went against the norm of
the day."

"But I'm not a prophet. I control people's minds.
There's a big difference."

"You were born to be who you are, my boy. Every gift
has a dark and light side. It's a tool. The morality or immorality isn't
inherent in the tool, it's in how you choose to wield it."

"So what do I do? How do I help her? When we were
escaping the center... something happened. A woman who was helping us died. Sam
wouldn't leave her, but we had to get out of there. Sam had been shot and was
in shock. I didn't have time to think, I just acted... and I controlled her to
get her to the car. I don't think she's forgiven me, even though she says she
has. Was it wrong to do that?"

"Only you know if what you did was right or wrong. As
for Sam, it's a very hard thing to lose control like that. Try to see it from
her perspective. Don't give up, Drake. And know that I'm always here if ever
you need me."

The priest pulled a rosary out of his desk and handed it to
Drake. "Take this. I know you don't use it in the way I might suggest to
others, but let it be a symbol of the love I hold for you, the son I never
had."

Tears filled Drake's eyes as he reached for the gift.
Precious gems of emerald, ruby and sapphire alternated to create a beautiful
pattern that led to a silver crucifix, with the anguished Jesus hanging from a
cross. Drake always wondered why Catholics focused on the torture and pain of
the crucifixion, while Protestants focused on the empty cross of the
resurrection. Father Patrick had explained once.
'The crucifixion is a
reminder to us of the Lord's sacrifice. For while others focus on the
redemptive nature of humanity, we choose to focus on the redeemer Himself, so
that His sacrifice is never in vain.'

The priest handed him a tissue. Drake wiped his eyes and put
the rosary in his pocket. "Thank you, Father. It means more than you
know."

"Come, I will walk you to your car, and you can tell me
more about Sam."

They took the long way, walking around the pristine church
grounds, strolling between rows of colorful flowers and lush trees sprinkled
with angelic sculptures that looked as if they played hide 'n seek. Drake had
said more than he intended. The old priest always did have a way of getting him
to open up.

Father Patrick turned to him when they arrived at the car.
"What do you plan to do now?"

"I don't know. Wait until Sam gets better, then figure
out the next step. Her friends are still trapped there. We need to figure out a
way to get them out."

"And what will you do with so many children and teens
if you do free them? Where will they go? With whom will they live?"

"Honestly, we haven't thought that far ahead. We've
kind of been reacting more than planning so far."

"Do you have a few more minutes? I'd like to show you
something."

Drake nodded and followed Father Patrick back into his
office.

He moved aside a picture of the crucifix and revealed a
safe. "I had a sense, some time back, that we would need this, though I
didn't know why or when." Father Patrick pulled out a thick envelope and
handed it to Drake.

"What's this?"

"Open it and see."

Drake sifted through the papers: A deed to 100 acres of land
in Washington, and the blueprints for what looked like a mansion.

Drake sat, stunned. "What
is
this?"

"It's for the children you rescue, a place for new
beginnings. It can be anything you want, including a live-in school for your
paranormal friends."

"This is incredible. How did you—?" Drake looked
at the man who had practically raised him. "You seem awfully prepared for
something you knew nothing about until a few minutes ago."

The priest's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "What
can I say? I was a Boy Scout."

"Right... and it has nothing to do with how you always
seem to know things you shouldn't?"

"My boy, I have no idea what you're talking
about."

"I should introduce you to Sam. She's good at reading
people."

The priest laughed and hugged him. "I'd love to meet
her. I have nothing to hide from your mind-reading girlfriend."

"Thank you, Father. You've given me hope when I was
ready to give up."

"Never give up, Son. There is always reason to
hope."

Goodbyes were hard, but Drake needed to go someplace and
think. He needed to process all this new information and figure out what it
would mean for him and Sam.

He was pulling into a parking spot at the beach before it
occurred to him that he'd never told the old priest what para-power Sam had. So
how'd he know she could read minds?

Drake inhaled the cool, salty beach air and sank his toes
into the warm sand. The crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean always calmed his
mind, but not this time. He dropped his shoes onto the sand and rolled his
cargo pants up past his calves, so he could feel the sharp bite of the cold
water over his feet.

The sun hovered over the ocean, ushering in another day.
Surfers dotted the watery landscape; Drake longed to be one of them, lost in
the Zen of the wave, no other care or concern but that one moment of bliss.

His life had changed too much for surfing to bring him any
peace. That day so many months ago changed everything. He'd been primed to win
the regional Venice Beach Surfing Competition—next stop, Hawaii. Brad had
warned him to keep a low profile, but surfing was too important to him, so
Drake competed.

And he'd paid.

***

In a perfect moment of synchronicity and connection, the
wave broke and wrapped around him in a watery cocoon from which he would emerge
reborn. In that state of bliss he didn't notice Max cutting him off, didn't
feel the pull of the current until his board threatened to spill him into the
depths of the ocean.

With paranormal strength he steadied himself and kept his
feet under him. A look of surprise flashed across Max's face before he directed
his attention to the wave that also threatened to engulf him.

The men rode their boards to shore and were greeted by
hundreds of voices cheering their success.

To anyone watching, they had both just scored a serious
victory. Even the judges wouldn't be able to tell that Max had cheated and
tried to sabotage Drake.

Words mattered little to him, but Max had just declared war.

Drake shoved Max to the sand using a touch more than normal
strength, just enough to sting. "What the hell, man? Are you so desperate
to win, and so afraid of me, that you would cheat?"

Max's eyes turned cold, but he pushed himself up and stared
at Drake. "I don't know what you're talking about, but do that again and
I'll make sure you're disqualified from the final round."

A group had formed, drawn into the drama. Drake passed his
board to Brad and stormed off toward the showers to cool down before he blew it
for good.

The warm sand squished under his feet, and the hot sun
blazed down on his head.

He stripped off his wetsuit and stood under the showers,
letting the warm water wash away the sand, salt and anger. Today could change
his life forever; he just needed to keep his cool and ignore Max.

He'd been so absorbed in his rage, he hadn't noticed the
buzz of warning under his skin that someone was watching him.

By the time he felt it, it was too late.

Something stung his shoulder.

He reached around and pulled out a dart. His thoughts
swirled around in his head and his recent clarity gave way to a jumble of
incoherent ramblings.

"Dude, are you all right?"

A voice spoke to him, but male or female, he couldn't tell.
His vision blurred and he slumped onto the wet cement, the now cold water
spraying over him until it ran out of time and stopped.

"Drake, you'll be okay. Come on, boy."

Another voice he didn't recognize. He reached out with his
mind to stop whoever was touching him, but nothing happened. His power didn't
work. Then he felt it, the compulsion to obey directed at him as someone
siphoned his powers from him.

When hands pulled him away from the familiar noises, he
tried to fight with his muscle.

"Damn it, he's still too strong. Get him to the van,
quick."

"Don't worry," one voice said to the other.
"Drake, you will relax and walk quietly to the van with us. You will not
put up a fight or make any noise."

He nodded, stood and walked forward.

Before Drake could process anything more, a painful whack to
his head sent him tumbling into darkness.

The leader yelled at whoever had hit him, and then Drake
lost consciousness.

***

That day had been life-changing, just not they way he'd
hoped or imagined.

Drake wondered if his blood still stained the block of
cement his attackers had used to bash in his head that day, after hitting him
with a tranquilizer gun from afar. Overkill, much? They hadn't underestimated
his strength, at least.

Still, not all was lost. The priest's words gave him hope.
They could form a plan. They had help. They were not alone.

But how did the priest know so much? Was he really psychic?

A shout from behind pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Drake!"