The Heaven Trilogy (93 page)

“Yeah, so the guy's a writer. Does that make his word better than mine? I thought we had an understanding.”

“We do have an understanding. You keep your habits out of the public, and I won't throw any fits. This Jan character is definitely a public man.”

“Actually, as I recall, the understanding was you keep your hands off and I get you elected.”

Wilks smiled uneasily and turned pink around the collar. “Come on, Glenn. I'm not a magician. You can't expect me to keep my hands in my pockets every time you haul some upstanding citizen in and beat him up. Who's next, the mayor?”

“This punk's not the mayor, and I'm not saying that I did beat him. And as far as Mayor Burkhouse is concerned, he may be the mayor today, but you just remind him that he
is
up for re-election in nine months.”

Charlie scowled briefly. “Come on, Glenn. Come on, man, we all go way back. All I'm saying is that there are ways and there are ways, you know what I mean? Not everyone's attention is best arrested by a club to the head. I don't need you upsetting the balance we have by making a public display of people like this Jan fellow.”

Glenn looked at the detective and thought about reaching into the desk drawer for his revolver. Put a hole in that forehead. That was absurd, of course. He might have this city by the short hairs, but that was
because of,
not in spite of, men like Charlie here.

He glanced at the book on his desk. Jan Jovic was no louse. He'd been through more than most; had to hand him credit there. There was as of yet no conclusive evidence that Helen had gone back to him, but if it surfaced that she had, Glenn would have to kill the preacher, that much he knew with certainty. It was one thing for a man to stumble onto your possession and mistakenly think it his for a time. It was another thing for that man to be schooled in the matter for a couple of days and then still have the gall to take what was not his.

Glenn placed his hand on the book and tapped its red cover lightly. “This man isn't doing me any favors, Charlie. If he touches my girl, I'm gonna have to kill him. She's been gone for two days now, and if it turns out that she even went near him, I'm gonna have to put a slug in his head. You know that, don't you?”

Charlie lifted his hands in resignation. “No, I don't know that, Glenn. This guy made a complaint, for crying out loud! He turns up dead and I'm supposed to say what? ‘Oh, well, let's never mind that one'?”

“He came here to threaten me. I defended myself. That's the story. And you watch your tone in my office! Do something useful—go find Helen. You should be turning this punk's house inside out but instead you're here telling me how to run my business.”

Charlie shook his head slowly. “I can't cover up everything. Some things have a life of their own, and I'm telling you this is one of them.”

The man needed a lesson in respect, Glenn thought bitterly.

“Did you know that Delmont Pictures just announced a movie deal with this guy?” Charlie asked. “That book there is slated to be on the silver screen soon, and you're sitting here talking about taking out its main character. You think I can cover that up?”

Glenn squinted. “Delmont Pictures? Delmont Pictures is making a film about
this
guy?”

“That's right. News to you, I take it. Maybe if you took a bath and got your head out of that powder now and then, you'd know what—”

“Shut up!” Glenn shoved a huge hand toward the door. “Get out!”

They stood to their feet. Detective Parsons was wide-eyed, but Charlie was not as easily influenced as he once was. He'd seen this all before—one too many times, it appeared.

“Out, out, out!” Glenn jabbed his forefinger at the door.

“We're getting out, Glenn. But you remember what I said. I can only do so much. Don't cut your own throat.”

“Out!” Glenn thundered.

They left.

It had been a bad week. A very bad week indeed.

JAN DROVE the Cadillac in silence, his stomach floating with anticipation, exchanging amused glances with Helen and generally ignoring her questions as to their destination.

She had brought the magic into his house with those blue eyes, Jan thought. She had appeared at his doorstep dressed in her wrinkled dress, trying so hard to find acceptance, feeling despondent and puny, when all the while it was
she
who carried the power.
She!
It was a power to intoxicate with a single look. The magic to send him to the ground, weak-kneed, with a casual glance. The ability to squeeze his heart with the delicate shift of her hand. She could move her chin, just so, to ask for some more bacon or another glass of tea, and his breathing might thicken right there at the table. It was a raw power, maddening and exhilarating at once. And it was she who possessed it.
Helen.

If she only knew this—if she could only grasp her hold over his thoughts, if she too could feel, actually
feel
this same love for him—they could rule the world together. Never mind that she was from the street, it was nothing in the face of these emotions that swept through him.

But she didn't know her own power, he thought. Not the way he knew it. Well, tonight that might change. And the thought of it made Jan's stomach rise to his chest as he pulled the Cadillac along the deserted drive, toward the dead end.

“This is it?” Helen asked.

“What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

“Let's hope we are not late.”

A round white moon cast a perpetual twilight over a wall directly ahead, perhaps twelve feet in height, extending each way as far as Jan could see. Vines covered the barrier, thick and dark but still green by the bright moonlight. No other structures were in sight, only this tall fence. Jan stopped the car and turned off the ignition.

“This is it?”

He looked at her and winked. “Follow me, my dear.”

They climbed out. “This way.” He led her to a small gate buried in vines, cut from the wall, no more than five feet tall. Jan looked back and saw that she stepped lightly, her eyes wide and casting their spell without even looking at him. His heart was bucking already.
Father, this is what you mean. Yes?

He rapped on a section of wood bared from vines. He glanced back and winked. “Jan Jovic is not a man without friends, my dear.”

A muffled call answered and the gate swung in. Jan stooped and walked through the entrance, followed by a hesitant Helen. The man who'd opened the gate stood to Jan's shoulder and wore a smile that could have been stolen from a happy-face sticker. “Thank you, my friend. I won't forget this.” He turned to Helen. “Helen, meet Joey, Atlanta's premier expert on botany. He's the gardener here. A friend of mine.”

She took his hand and gazed about. “Where
are
we?”

They stood at the edge of a sprawling garden—a botanical garden with flowering trees and rosebushes and perfectly groomed hedges as far as they could see. Flagstones surrounded by tiny white flowers led deeper and then branched in three directions within twenty paces. Tall shaped trees stood like guardians over the prize below them; gazebos spotted the paths, each laden with red and blue and yellow flowers glowing by moonlight. It was a paradise.

“You ever hear of the Garden of Eden?” Joey asked. “This is the closest you'll find on earth today. Welcome to the Twelve Oaks Botanical Gardens, my friends. A gift from God with a little help from the taxpayers.”

They looked about without responding. They could not respond, Jan thought. It was a breathtaking sight in the moon's surreal hue.

“You kids enjoy,” Joey said with a wink. “Lock up when you leave.” He walked down the path, around a bush and disappeared from their sight.

Jan stood there in the quiet and suddenly his heart was sounding loud in his ears. This was it. He prayed a silent prayer—
Father, if it is your desire, make it so.

Then he grabbed her hand and ran onto the path. “Come on!” he cried breathlessly.

Giggling, she ran behind him. Her hand felt cool and soft in his. He was feeling everything. The breeze against his face, the flagstone underfoot, the sweet smell of flowers lifting through his nostrils. He released her hand and ran between two tall trees shaped like rockets poised for launch. A thick lawn opened before him and he veered to the right.

She chased him, squealing with delight now. “Jan! Don't lose me. Where are we going?”

“Come on!” he cried. “Come on!”

They raced through the garden; he without direction, only acutely aware of her breathing just behind and to his left; she gaining on him and that was good.
Catch me, my darling. Catch me and touch me.

Then she did. She reached out and touched his side, still giggling. Her finger sent a chill through his skin. Jan pulled up and swung to her. Helen ran full into his arms. He held her and twirled around as if they were on a dance floor and this was an embrace in motion. She laughed and threw her head back.

It was the first time he had held her without tears and he thought his heart would burst from the joy of it. He wanted to say something—something smart or romantic, but he forgot how to speak in that moment. The moon shone on her neck, and her small Adam's apple bobbed barely as she laughed—it was this he saw and he couldn't stand its power over him.

It is only a whisper of what I feel, Jan.

The voice spoke in his mind and he nearly stumbled, mid-twirl. So then Ivena was right. It was beyond him. But then he knew that already.
I love you, Father.

Jan broke away, laughing with Helen now, feeling more alive than he thought possible. He jumped into the air like a child.
I love you, Father! I love you, I love you, I love you!
Then he faced Helen and his love for her and the Father were nearly the same.

He winked at her and ran farther into the garden.

She flew after him; they were two birds frolicking in flight. They tore through the garden, falling into a sort of hide-and-seek on the run. It was the finding that attracted them, and they did it as frequently as possible, at nearly every bush large enough to conceal whoever led the chase until the other caught up for an embrace.

Jan plucked a yellow flower and placed it in her hair above her ear. She found it funny and picked another for his hair. Time was lost. Man had been created for this. It was the kind of thing a man might sell everything he owned for, Jan thought. But it could not be bought.

Spare me, Father, or I will die looking at her. You've put a fire in my heart and I cannot tame it. But no, don't quench it! Feed it. Feed it until it consumes me.

Robbed of breath from the run and aware for the first time that his wounds sent a slight ache through his chest, Jan swung into a gazebo and crashed back into a bench. She hopped into the seat opposite him and they sat sprawled, panting and laughing and looking at each other.

This is it
, Jan thought.
This is what I have waited my whole life for. This madness called love
. He put his head back on the latticework, looked to the sky and groaned. “Oh, my dear God, it's too much.”

He looked back at Helen. She was staring at him with a wide smile, catching her breath. “This is what I call a date, Jan Jovic.”

“You like?” he asked, mimicking her customary verbiage.

“I like. I most definitely like.”

“I couldn't think of a place more suited for you.”

She sat up and leaned on both arms. “Meaning what, Wordsmith?”

“The flowers, the smell of sweet honey, the rich green grass, the moon— they're nearly as beautiful as you.”

She blushed and turned to face the lawn. Goodness, that had been rather forward, hadn't it! He followed her gaze. He had not noticed before, but the lawn sloped to a fountain, surrounded by a glimmering pool. It was a warm night and a breeze drifted over the water to cool them. The rich smell of a thousand musky flowers lining the gazebo filled the air. In this very private garden they had found a secret place, hidden from the bright moon's direct glare but washed in its light.

“We're not so different, you and I,” Jan said.

“We are very different. I could never measure up to you.” She had grown sober.

“Nor I you.”

“Don't be silly. You're a rich man,” she said. “A good man.”

“And your grace could not be bought with the wealth of kings.”

She turned to him, grinning. “My, we
are
a wordsmith, aren't we?”

“There aren't words for you, Helen. Not ones which tell with any clarity what should be told.”

Helen was staring at him now, her blue eyes swimming in the moonlight. She held him in her gaze for a long time before standing and walking to the gazebo's arching entrance to face the moon with her back to him. “This can't happen,” she said softly. “We're from different worlds, Jan. You've got no idea who I am.”

“But I do. You're a woman. A precious woman for whom all of heaven weeps. And my heart has joined them.”

“Don't be crazy! It's too much. I have no business being here with you.” The strain of tears had entered her voice. “I'm a drug addict.”

He stood and approached her from behind. “And I am desperate for you.” He couldn't help himself. He could not bear to hear her speak like this. His heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted only to hold her. The madness was so very heavy.

“I'm sick,” she bit off bitterly. “I . . .”

And then she ran. She ran from the gazebo and around a row of short pines, crying in the night.

Oh, dear Father, no! This can't happen!
Jan bolted after her. “Helen!” His voice rang in the night, desperate, as if braying in death.

“Helen, please!” He caught sight of her fleeing around a bush ahead and he tore after her. “Helen, I beg you, stop! You must stop, I beg you. Please!” He was near panic. How could she have swung in his arms one moment and now fled so quickly?