

Dedicated to the dreams of writing novels on the Riviera...

"Gods came after creation did they not?

So who knows truly, whence it was wrought.

Does that first Mother Herself know, now?

Did She create or was Herself created somehow;

She, who surveys from the heavens, above us all,

"She knows" or maybe She knows not at all.

Did She Herself create the one god?

And gladly gave Him the Creator's rod?

But so re-fashioned Time and Space

That He was more, and She was less?

Did She turn future into past?

So He came first and She was last.

But surely, She told Him all, all!

Then how could He not know at all?

Or perhaps He knows it not, and cannot tell

Oh! He knows, He knows, but will not tell..."

Hymn of Creation - 5000 BC

Secondhand God

Colin Martin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Copyright © 2011 by Colin Martin

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For information: http://www.ColinMartinAuthor.com

ISBN: 978-1466298248

Prologue

The news reporter was almost speechless. That's incredible news on its own. But he did manage to collect his wits for a moment and blurt out something interesting. The temperature was dropping fast, he was noticeably shaking, but not from the cold.

"I have seen something I could never have thought possible! On this day, December 20, 2012, the history of mankind has been changed forever. Gathered here at this mountain in Oregon, the world has been taken aback by the most incredible display of..."

Juliette grabbed the remote and clicked off the television. She couldn't look anymore. She was totally exhausted, wiped out. For weeks now the events had kept her glued to the news, day in, day out. She just needed sleep, but sleep never came. Her living room was bathed in an eerie glow from the first shards of the morning light creeping above the horizon, and she reached for another smoke. Down to three cigs left, but who cares. Juliette's chest ached from smoking far too much in the last few days.

I wonder if the stores will be open tomorrow? Maybe I should stock up.

Her hand trembled slightly as she flicked the lighter once, twice; she shook it to get the last few drops out. Finally, a flame. She drew the hit deep into her lungs and let it drain slowly out of her nose. The smoke married gently with the slight tinge of bluish glow coming through her windows creating a dance, a life of its own. She pushed herself out of the chair with a slight groan, her legs stiff from sitting in front of the television for hours, and checked her cell phone again. He hasn't called. Juliette had left six messages for her ex-husband that he never returned. He must be busy she thought, with everything that has been going on. Under these circumstances, it was inexcusable.

Juliette stood against the corner of her living room wall arching her back hard into the edge to help massage her tense muscles. She was numb from the events of the evening. Every news channel and organization from all over the entire world had witnessed it. They were blasting it endlessly all through the night. She was so sick of thinking about it and smashed her cigarette out in the ashtray. A chill ran through her body, and she rubbed her arms to tone it down.

Can this actually be happening?

The fear was just starting to sink in. It was unlike any feeling she had felt before – as if there were a hole in the middle of her body in which the winds could pass. A slight panic was building in every part of her being.

Can't anyone stop her?

Juliette was too afraid to go outside and look, but she was going to have to for her own sanity. Watching it on television would prove nothing. She realized she was out of food. There was nothing to eat for the morning and the panic began to set in even further.

How am I going to get food? And more smokes? Will the stores be closed? How am I going to feed Benny?

Her breathing got heavier and harder; she started to get light headed. She knew she would have to see for herself. Her panic had never been more pronounced; her back locked up with fear and shot through every limb of her body – arms, legs – she could feel it in her fingertips. Her skin buzzed with painful goosebumps. She went towards the front door. She placed her hand on the doorknob; it was warm.

This isn't the same world; she thought. Something was different, out of sorts. Juliette opened up the door and slowly stepped out onto her front step. The glow of the horizon was just lighting up the sky. It was 4:30, no maybe 5:00 am. She held her hand above her brow, so she couldn't see the sky, sheltering her from the truth. She had to know if this was real, but it was too hard to look. Juliette was shaking, trembling from head to toe, her body in a nearly uncontrollable convulsion. She took a few deep breaths to try and calm herself.

I can't.... I can't.... Tears were welling in her eyes.

Her hand was frozen in place at her brow. It felt as if it weighed a million pounds. Waves of chills spiraled through her body and in one brave moment for Juliette, pulled her hand away from her face, exposing her greatest fear. She looked up towards the sky; eyes closed. She slowly opened them and stared into the dark Heavens. Oh my God..... my Jesus. No.

She burst back into the house and flew up the stairs to Benny's room. "Baby. Baby get up. Get up." She shook her three year old son until he turned over. "Momma?"

"Get up... get up.... get up....." Juliette pulled her son from his bed, blanket and all, wrapping him up tightly and holding him hard to her chest, walked downstairs to the living room.

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing baby." Her voice cracking with emotion. "I just need you – I need to hold you, baby." She started to sob and whimper.

I just need to hold you.

Juliette couldn't catch her breath. The fear was overwhelming. She drew deep breaths to try and stop from shaking. She took Benny into her arms and sat in the rocking chair. "Why are you crying, Momma?"

"Shhhhhhhh..... let Mommy... hold you for... just a minute." She told him in a whisper between sobs. She burst out crying but tried desperately to keep him from hearing it. "I love you Baby."

"Love you too, Momma." Benny was already starting to fade back to sleep. Juliette rocked him slowly, staring at the wall ahead of her. Some childhood memories flashed through her mind: sunny days, teachers, friends – nothing in particular. She was dazed and staring ahead of her, sobbing hard yet quietly. The tears streamed down her face falling gently onto Benny's blanket. He had fallen back asleep. "I love you baby. I love you so much. I'll take care of you. I won't let anything happen to my baby."

She looked down at her little angel and tucked the tear soaked blanket tighter around his head to protect him. She rocked gently, slowly back and forth. The dawn was breaking through her blinds on a day that would never be the same for anyone on the face of the earth. She rocked her baby gently and started to sing a lullaby:

Where are you going my little one...little one

Where are you going my baby... my own

Turn around and you're two

Turn around and you're four

Turn around and you're a young babe

Going out of the door.

1

I'm not supposed to be here.

Dr. Cecil Woolworth was late for work for the third time this week. And that statement is what he always thinks in his mind when things just get to be too much, or when things seem out of balance. Dr. Woolworth doesn't even know what the word 'balance' means. Balance is when there is an equal amount of bad things going on at the same time as there are good things. But the bad things are all the good doctor can think about. They take precedence over any of the blessings in his life, as they seem to do with most of us. He often wondered what exact decision he made to bring him to this particular point in his life. What day was it, what minute was it when he decided to make a choice that would start a chain of events that he could never recover from?

I'm not supposed to be here.

Somewhere there is another Dr. Woolworth who made a different choice and lives in a better world. What was the decision that made him spiral down a path of depression and confusion? To feel as if he no longer belongs in this reality as he knows it? He will never know that exact moment of that choice. There are just too many of them, and like a snowball pushed down a steep hill, it would be impossible to change anything now.

Dr. Woolworth glanced down at his watch, a Patek Philippe his wife Marion gave to him for a wedding present four years ago. Inscribed on the back of the white gold case she wrote:

'You can have it all. Love, M. Feb. 18, 2071'

Yea, right...

The time was now 10:34 am.

In many ways the world Dr. Woolworth lives in is pretty much the same as the one we live in, here and now, save for the fact that in his world, there is no disease nor sickness.

Now, before you start believing that this is some kind of utopia, try and think of all the positives that disease and sickness has brought to society: diet, exercise, the thinning of the population due to plagues, etc. How do you think humans would look and act if they no longer had to worry about getting sick? Freedom does not necessarily lead to the best decisions. Nature often provides us guideposts to follow for a reason.

In fact, the lack of disease and sickness often leads to creative ways to off one's self in the absence of dying early. Accidents, murders, suicides: all acceptable ways to move from this world to the next, unless you want to wait the minimum of 155 years or so before the body simply wears and tears itself down like an old car.

Yes. 155 years of earthly bliss sounds wonderful. Sign me up. But in Dr. Woolworth's world, mental illness was one of the diseases that seemed to be exempt from utopia. Based primarily upon environmental factors such as abuse, torture and trauma, psychosis missed its qualification as a "virus or disease."

Better luck next time.

So why in the world, at least this one, would people not be exclusively happy living without disease or physical illness? Because for you to appreciate the absence of something you would have to have known what it was like before it went missing – just like love, for example. The people living in Dr. Woolworth's world have never known it any other way. See, they didn't cure their illnesses, they live in a reality where disease has never existed.

A reality in its infancy, however. A reality created by a human for the sake of all others around her. That's right. Sixty-three short years ago Dr. Woolworth's world changed forever, but only one person in his entire world knows it. If I could change the way I see the world, to change reality to my liking, by God I'm taking you and everyone else with me.

Billions of people, living their lives as always, know no better. The divine gift that was granted to them, yet thrown to the wind like the leaves, is entirely unknown in their ignorance – except for one.

Yea, sign me up.

"Who would go out in this shit?"

The snow was falling very heavily in one of the worst winter storms in recent District of Columbia memory. Secretly Dr. Woolworth prayed that his ten-thirty called and canceled.

"I don't know doctor." Cindy sighed, holding her head in her hands. "She's here and she was on time. How long do you expect to be?"

"Give me about 10 minutes. There's no place to park again."

He hung up his phone and watched the snow fall. Cecil was one of the district's most eminent psychologists and he had won the Division 38 Susan K. Finney Award for mid-career excellence earlier in the year. For a doctor of only thirty-seven years of age, that was quite the accomplishment. Thank God for mental illness. As he looked in the rear-view mirror, he saw the first signs of crow's feet etching their way across his chiseled good looks. His youth was slipping away, and it was just one more thing to add to the problems on his plate. With the revolving door of patients, it seemed like the problems never ended. Where was he to go when he just couldn't listen to them anymore? Who would listen to his problems? He pulled his Mercedes into a parking spot very slowly, the deep snow crunching underneath the wheels. He noticed a young woman sitting in her car next to him that was quite attractive and wondered to himself how life might be different if he had married her instead. Is that how it really works? Are the choices you make actually to blame for the circumstances you end up in, even if they seemed like the right choice at the time?

She would probably make me miserable too.

Deep down, you can only blame yourself for where you end up in life. You find that point where you no longer care. You don't feel guilty that you are getting paid to help people with their issues, and you just can't stand to listen to them anymore.

"Morning, Cindy."

"Good morning, Dr. C."

Cindy really did admire Cecil, but he added too much drama to her low paid position. She believed Cecil was a good man, but noticed that each day he became a little more withdrawn. He was so much fun to be around when she first started working there, telling an 'afternoon joke' each day promptly around 12:30 during her lunch break that she would use to chain smoke three cigarettes instead of eating.

"Your wife called."

"Already?" He wondered what in the hell she wanted this time.

"I think she found another house, one out in Laurel."

"The last one she found in Laurel was $3.5 million. She's really trying to break my balls." Cecil cried. "And I don't understand why she is telling you anything. It's none of your damn business!"

"Don't yell at me. I'm just relaying the message." Cindy said softly.

"I'm not yelling." He squinted a bit behind his glasses. Quick, sharp pains shot through his temples. "I'm sorry, but things are really just getting to me lately. She is spending money like crazy. I've talked to her about it, but she just doesn't listen. Sometimes I wish..."

"Wish what, Sir?" Cindy asked.

"Never mind. If she calls again, tell her I'm busy."

"You can tell her yourself, Sir."

"Jesus, Cindy! Why can't you help me out here? I've been so good to you?"

"I love you, Dr. C. Tell her yourself."

Cecil reveled in the momentary playfulness. "I'll call her later. I have a patient."

"Oooo my, is that a smile I see?" Cindy said slyly as he walked into his office.

"Send her in, Cindy."

2

The snow was getting deeper by the minute. The computer on Cindy's desk announced the alerts and sudden closings around the area. All of the local schools in DC were closed and most of the government facilities as well, except for level three emergency personnel. The snow was falling at nearly two inches an hour. Cars that had been scraped clean that morning were thoroughly covered again. Traffic accidents littered the highways. Cecil wondered why he even came in at all, but it sure beat staying home with Marion. He could no longer talk about their house hunting; it was driving him to frustration. He hoped the storm would subside by the afternoon, so the city would have time to clear the streets overnight. As much as this job was killing him, being forced to stay home would be even worse.

He felt a solace, however, in the warm quiet of his office. It had always been a getaway where no one could reach him. Finally, the smallest hint of peace settled in his gut – ever searching for the elusive happy place. There is no real happy place. When you reach a certain age that place no longer exists, and you just hang on for the ride. People his age and older never seemed happy anymore. You can never again find the peace of youth.

Cecil walked over to the antique mahogany bureau in the dark corner of the office. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Cindy was walking through the door. He opened the bottom left door and pulled out a flask of twelve year old Boisdale scotch. Cecil carefully poured a shot and downed it before anyone could see him. He was so glad Cindy hadn't found his stash yet after two years.

In the waiting room off to the side from Cindy's office, an elderly lady sat patiently.

"Maren Roberts? The doctor can see you now." Cindy said. The woman was bundled in so much clothing she could hardly see her face.

"I'm sorry you had to wait so long, Dr. Woolworth got held up in traffic. You know, with the weather and all."

"I think he's worth the wait." said the lady softly. "But being seventy-eight years old, I was hoping he wouldn't get held up for too long." The lady grabbed up her purse and slowly edged her way up out of the chair.

"That's funny, Ms. Roberts. Dr. Woolworth could use a good laugh today. Let me get your purse for you."

"Thank you my dear. You are very kind. But what I have to tell him, he may not find amusing."

"Great." said Cindy under her breath. That's usually the case with most of his patients. The doctor didn't need any more crap today – crap that always fell on Cindy to wipe up.

"What was that, my love?" the lady asked.

"Nothing Ma'am. Let me help you into the office."

The lady seemed sprite for her age. And she didn't smell like an old person. You know, like when they haven't changed clothes in a month. Ms. Roberts seemed to be one of the wealthy ones, and at Dr. Woolworth's rate of $500 an hour, she clearly had some money. The world must seem like such a large and cruel place for the elderly. Life never stops its relenting attack on your soul, money and patience and Cindy couldn't imagine how one could keep up year after year, especially when you get old. Something always made Cindy feel uncomfortable around old people, and she bit her nails as she carried Ms. Roberts purse into the doctor's office.

"Dr. Woolworth? This is Ms. Maren Roberts."

"Good morning, Mrs. Roberts. Have a seat. Cindy? Would you please?" Cecil held his hand out and gestured towards a comfortable, brown leather chair.

"Thank you so much, Doctor." Cindy held her arm until she had settled in and patted her on the shoulder gently. "Can I get you anything else, Ma'am?"

"No, my dear. I'm fine. You have been a treat this morning. Thank you so much." She looked over herself sitting in the chair. "Nice!"

"Sure thing." Cindy said. Cecil glanced at Cindy with a secret 'tick' of his head that he hoped Maren wouldn't see. "If anyone, you know, calls...."

"I've got it. You're busy."

"She is such a cutie pie." Maren eyed Cindy as she left the room. "I remember being just like her not so long ago. She worries too much. Life is a gift, a present that needs to be unwrapped slowly."

"Unfortunately, it's only the elderly that see it that way." The doctor said. "By then, it's too late. It seems each generation is growing up faster and faster, while the elderly try to get back their youth after leaving it on the doorstep."

"To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early or be respectable." A wry smile beckoned from the woman's lips.

Cecil pointed his finger at his patient. "Oscar Wilde? I like that quote. I think you and I will get along famously. And let me apologize for being late this morning, I'm hoping that Cindy kept you company?"

"Oh, yes." Maren lied. "We had such an entertaining conversation."

"Really? About what?"

"Girl stuff. You know. Periods, lip gloss, chocolate cake. If you had been on time, you could have chimed in."

"As much as I would have hated to miss those great topics of conversation, the weather was a bear today, Ms. Roberts."

"Right." She looked down at the floor. "The weather."

Cecil felt an annoyed discomfort. "This visit is all about you today, Ms. Roberts, not about my being late. But I do apologize again for holding you up. Today's all about you."

"It's been all about me for far too long, doctor. You have no idea."

"Ok now. Are we ready, Ms. Roberts? Record!" Cecil shouted so his computer would activate the session recording. The lights dimmed automatically, and the blinds gently closed the snowy day from view. All was quiet in Cecil's office, the wind blew steadily outside creating a soft whistling sound that was truly comforting, almost like a siren's song.

"Patient's name, Maren Roberts." Cecil announced. "New patient. Today's date: January 17, 2075. Session one. Let us start, shall we?"

There was a pause as Maren collected her thoughts, the darkened room shaded the emotions on her face.

"There's something I need to share with the world, Dr. Woolworth. But since the world is a mighty big place, I thought I would start with you." A touch of distress lurked in her voice. "Then I got to thinking: everyone will know in due course – very shortly in fact. However, it always starts with just one."

"So you have a secret, Ms. Roberts?"

"More of a proclamation, I guess, not so much of a secret. Life will become more beautiful in a very short while, then I can get some long awaited rest. It's been a very long time for me."

Maren closed her eyes gently and took a few deep breathes. She looked up at the doctor. Her wizened eyes met his, and she flashed him a tiny smile.

"My name is Maren Roberts. I was fifteen years old when my mother became God."

Dr. Woolworth sighed heavily and glanced at his wristwatch. That familiar sharp pain filled his temple.

The time was now 11:14 am.

3

The rain was gently falling on her as she stood. It was a mist so light that it collected like tiny gems in her dark hair, such as a cobweb collects the morning dew. She stood there staring at her new place to live. A cold chill ran through her bones – Florida was so much warmer. Every few seconds the mist would gather just enough to create a drop that would roll slowly down her cheek.

"Get out of the rain, Maren. I can't afford for you to get sick again." Her mother scolded, but Maren pretended not to hear. This is the place where I will spend the rest of my teenage-hood? She stood there slowly eyeballing the house from the grass to the roof, there was no feeling of home about it. It was a typical ranch style in the quaint neighborhood of Avalon Hills, a suburban clone of all the other houses on the street. If you were a drunk, you could very easily drive up to the wrong house and get shot by the occupants trying to get in the door. It's happened. Good thing I don't drink.

Avalon Hills was actually a beautiful place to live, a fact you could easily miss having been ripped from the place where you grew up and been forced to leave your friends behind. It was a cozy, friendly burg just beyond the District lines close to Bethesda Naval Hospital off of Rockville Pike in Maryland. While it wasn't one itself, many affluent neighborhoods surrounded Avalon Hills providing great shopping, restaurants and points of interest. Our nation's Capital and all of its dubious goings-on were only twenty minutes away at best, providing the perfect fodder for a fifteen year old.

"Maren! Come on!" Her mom screamed. Maren gave her mom a dark glance with a half-hearted scowl. The movers were getting some of the last things off of the truck. They covered the boxes with tarps as they went. This is the first time that Maren had seen the new house. It's not that it was ugly or anything, just new to her – an unwelcome change in her life. Another ordeal of making new friends, finding her way around, dealing with teachers. She worked so hard to make a great life for herself in Florida, leaving her friends behind was painful. And even though her friends told her "We can get together and visit when we can," she knew that would never happen. She would likely never lay eyes on them again.

"Come on, baby." Her dad gently grabbed her arm at the elbow from behind and pulled her towards the front step. Maren's stomach instantly went to calm. "I'll make you some hot cocoa if I can find the pots."

"Ok." She held her dad's index finger with her hand, like a small child. She followed him onto the porch, eying the outside of the house once again. She batted her eyes as the mist got in them – the perfect cover to hide her tears. This is going to be hard.

"I know this isn't going to be easy, Mar."

Her dad called her Mar, (rhymes with 'air') when he was being his regular self, Baby when he was bonding, and Maren of course, when he was pissed. "You know this is what's best for your sister. We all had to make sacrifices for her, maybe this time she'll get better."

"I know Dad." Of course, it's all about Auri.

Auri, Maren's sister, hadn't spoken now for six years, not a word. But she screams a lot and cries often and walks in her sleep. Maren had no idea what was wrong with her. She remembered Auri being a regular kid: laughing, playing – being a horrendous pain in the ass, then nothing – silence. Six years of nothing. Her parents had never told Maren what had happened. Maybe this will be the year I'll ask them, she thought. If she had to leave everything behind and make sacrifices, it would be nice to know what was wrong with her sister. All Maren knew was that her dad had never been the same either. He changed dramatically from when she was a little girl. Her mom was the same woman she had always known.

4

"I can't believe how much shit you have Maren. You should have thrown most of this junk away a long time ago. But now we have to lug it around. You better get to unpacking this weekend, and I mean all of it. Don't try and hide a bunch of shit in boxes and keep them in the basement. If it can't fit neatly in your room, I'm going to throw it out."

If there's not enough space, it's because you picked out too small of a room for me. I wanted to pick my room myself...

She instantly tightened up. Her mom couldn't care less that Maren's life had been reduced down to brown, damp cardboard boxes. It's amazing how you can put your life into little brown containers and re-create it again and again. Maren went to check on the other rooms of the house, with the agenda of finding a hiding place from her Mom, so she could call her friends in Florida. She peeked in each room, one by one, like a cat sniffing the new surroundings. Everything smelled like fresh paint – another reminder that she was very far from home.

"How's DC?" Lisa asked. Her voice sounded so tiny on Maren's cell phone.

My friends have now been reduced to midgets.

"I'm hoping that I like it." Maren said. "I didn't see much of it except when I was riding from the motel to here. I kinda always wanted to see all of the museums and stuff, but I didn't want to move here."

"I know, M. But you'll get used to it. You know we'll see each other when we can. We're both getting our licenses next year... let's make a road trip or something! How's Auri? I know her birthday's next month."

"Auri is just the same as ever. What's supposed to change, Lis? She's the whole reason I had to move. But you know what? Let's plan on that road trip next year. I'll bet my dad would..."

"Look, M, I have to get going." Lisa interrupted. "We're all getting together to go to that new coffeehouse on Eighth. Remember the one? There's a cool band playing there tonight. Lots of cute guys, you know?"

"Yea.... Ok. Have fun." Maren sighed.

It's started already. That was quick, it's only been a week...

"Look, M, call me anytime, you know?" Lisa explained hurriedly. "Except on Wednesdays because I have band. And not on Friday evenings because I'm babysitting. Ok, sweets... gotta run. Love ya."

"Yep. Later." Maren held her phone out at arms-length and snapped it shut as if she was closing the door on Lisa. Sitting on an empty floor with her knees tight up against her chest, she laid her head on her arms and gently cried. Her friends would disappear from her life, one by one. So much work, so much effort – gone in a week.

I can't keep doing this.

"There you are. I wondered where you got off to." Her dad startled her a bit. She quickly used her blue sweater sleeve to try and wipe her eyes so he wouldn't see, but it was wool and didn't soak up any of the tears, just spread them around on her face a bit.

"What's wrong?" He knew what was wrong, he just couldn't think of anything else to say. He ignored her tears so she could save face. "Well, you found my new office. Whatcha think? Pretty cool, huh?"

"Nice view of the neighbor's house, I guess." She said quietly. "You can watch them eat dinner and see their fat kid picking his nose."

Her Dad looked at her for a second in silence, then couldn't stop himself from laughing. He made a snorting sound out of his nose. Maren started to laugh as well.

"Oh my God, Mar! What a visual! I didn't need to hear that." he chuckled.

"It's an ok office, Dad. It will be nice after you get everything moved in."

Victor Roberts was a technical writer for corporate brochures and training manuals. He was one of the few people that actually enjoyed his work. He didn't know how to do much else. He wasn't handy at household stuff and knew nothing about cars. He had grown up a bit of a nerd, always currently glued to his computer and before computers, he read a lot of books and dreamed of being a photographer. He constantly took pictures, to his family's chagrin. He was one of those dads that would make his family pose with cheesy fake grins and stand next to every 'Welcome' sign as they passed from state to state.

Maren loved her dad more than anything in the world. He worked from home her entire life, and they had always been close. In most memories she could recall it was he, not her mother, that was holding her, taking care of her, wiping her tears. She felt an incredible peace when he was near – the smell of his cologne calmed her. At fifteen years old, she would still sit in his lap and bury her face into his chest for comfort, and he would gently rock his daughter back and forth. The rocking took her to other worlds, where no one could harm her. Victor found solace in holding his daughter in his arms, gently breathing in the scent of her hair. Maren was his first and his favorite. They both needed each other more than they would ever say. Her greatest fear was of him leaving or dying. She held dearly to the last couple of years she had left before it would be time for her to leave home. The thought made her tremble and turned her stomach.

"Maren, you know how much we love Auri. Dr. Jobeson came highly recommended. Everyone we talked to said he could really help her. I pray every day that I made the right decision moving here. It's more expensive here than it was in Lake Wales – a lot more expensive. Things may get a little tight, a little tough, and Dr. Jobeson is very expensive too. Our insurance will only cover a small part of it, so I hope you know how important all this is to me and your Mom – how important Auri's getting better is to us."  
"I know it is." Maren whispered. "I love her too."

Maren inched closer to her dad across the bare carpet and wrapped her arms around him. He started to do those tiny gasps for air she was so familiar with, trying to hold back the tears. He didn't want her to see him cry. It happened nearly every time he spoke of Auri. His youngest daughter was permanently damaged, and it was possible that she would never fully recover from her mental state. More than just a tragedy for their family, it was a painful blow to everyone who loved her. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, extended family, employers – she was in everyone's prayers. At one time an intelligent and playful goddess of the wild, she was reduced to a shell of a human being. Victor called Auri his little Cinderella, for the fact that she burned as bright as a cinder on a log, warming the body and soul of those around her, and then quickly extinguished into a gray, cold ash. He and everyone had been robbed of her beauty forever; an entire life yet to go, without a soul to go with it. Victor cried harder with each thought of her. Victor cried because he harbored a painful secret: Auri's flame had been snuffed out by his recklessness.

5

It brought some peace to her mind. Those simple little things that make you feel at home: coffee in your favorite mug, a warm shawl wrapped around your shoulders, sitting at your familiar dining room table. Having been moved in for just two days, Regan Roberts made sure that her small dining table, chairs and coffee maker had been set up just like it was in her previous home. A weak, luke-warm cup from the convenience store for a third day in a row would stress her out. She needed that comfort zone; the re-creation of her life as she had always known it. Regan needed to control those aspects of her life: small disruptions caused enormous rifts in her soul. She woke each morning more often than not, with a feeling of a bowling ball in her stomach; a feeling there was something wrong and out of place. She was the first one up like usual – that was just fine with her. She reveled in the peace of the morning without the intrusive conversation from her husband or daughter. Regan's morning time: that's where she would figure everything out. The time where the answers would reveal themselves, and she could put all her worries into tight cubbyholes away from the rest of her day. But that never happened. The time always became too short before something would disturb her thoughts, as when the doorbell rang and startled her, breaking her out of her deep reflections.

"Hi! I'm Perdita. Perdita Skye. I live three houses down that way." A dark featured young girl with beautiful eyes, almost totally black, pointed to the left. She appeared to be about the same age as her daughter, Maren. "I noticed you guys moving in the other day and I saw a girl standing in your yard, you know, about my age. Is she home? Can she come out and say Hi?"

"She's still sleeping, hun." Regan faked a yawn, rubbing the sleep from her eyes in hopes the girl would be on her way. "But I'll let her know you stopped by. What's your name again?"

"Perdita. Perdita Skye. I live three houses down. She can come by if she wants, I'll be home all day."

Regan walked back to her dining table hoping for just a few additional moments of morning peace. Auri was sitting at the table with a glass of juice she had poured for herself. Regan sat silently and gave Auri a slight smile. Sometimes Regan would say 'good morning' to Auri, and sometimes not. She knew her daughter would not say anything back. Auri just stared ahead at the wall. Auri would often look into her mom's eyes, like a puppy trying to communicate. But as soon as Regan would say anything, her youngest daughter would look away. Regan took another sip of coffee and sighed. Life was such a long and problematic ordeal; nothing ever seemed to go her way. There's always something to figure out, troubles to deal with, a long list of undone chores and tasks. Regan glanced around her kitchen at all of the boxes yet to be unpacked, and a thousand things to be sorted and put away. She rested her chin on her hand and let out a sigh.

"Good morning." Regan addressed her daughter, giving it a try after all. Silence was returned, like usual.

"Did I hear the doorbell, Mom?" Maren stumbled into the kitchen with bloodshot eyes and ragged hair; she had not slept well. Maren was easily disturbed by change.

"Some brat came to the door looking for you. She said her name's Perdita and she lives three houses down that way." Regan pointed and crossed her eyes attempting to mock the girl. "Perdita – weird. Isn't that the name of the dog in 101 Dalmatians?"

"I don't want to meet anyone." Maren scowled. "I'm tired of meeting new people just to have them disappear. I think I'll just keep to myself the whole time we live here – is that ok?"

"No, it's not. You're stupid, Maren. You'll have to make friends sometime. You have to go to school, you know. What are you afraid of? You're not normal."

Maren walked out of the kitchen with Auri following her. Auri loved her big sister. Even in her silence you could see that. Maren made her way into the family room where a large object had a mover's burlap cover over it. She yanked it with a powerful tug to reveal her closest friend and most prized possession in the world – her piano. It was a Kawai upright with a mirrored Ebony finish – gorgeous! Her father had bought it for himself, but never found the time to learn to play. Instead of putting it up for sale, Victor encouraged his daughter to take lessons. It was one of the best decisions he ever made. Maren gently trailed her fingertips across the top of instrument with respect and love. Auri imitated her sister, rubbing the piano bench with her small hand. Maren looked down at her sister and smiled, bending over to whisper in her ear: Mom can go to Hell. Auri gave the tiniest hint of a smile.

Victor had signed Maren up for piano lessons a year before. She had dreaded the idea so much that she had nightmares for a week. But after she found out that she was a natural talent, Maren really enjoyed the lessons. She was learning to read music and play more complex pieces. Her music teacher, Mrs. Bartley, praised the young Maren hardily and gave the girl confidence in her abilities. Piano was more than just fun, it was escapism for her. Maren would get grooving just enough to get lost in the music, lifting away the problems that plagued her. So much dynamics and emotion coming from this frail girl and this large musical box – it was a fantastic experience.

6

The idea that Maren wanted to become a musician was born at her parent's Christmas party a year earlier when Victor insisted she play a number for the guests. He wasn't being pushy about it, he just wanted to show off to his friends. Maren picked Debussy's Claire De Lune because she loved listening to Van Cliburn play it on Youtube. She figured it would be easy, which it was – for her. The guests gathered in the living room to watch.

"Everyone, my daughter wants to play a song for us." Victor pretended that it was a random act but in reality planned the whole thing out. He lived vicariously through his daughter; that's what she genuinely loved about him.

Maren was a little nervous at first, but the smile on her dad's face helped find that warm, fuzzy place. She started the piece softly and slowly. She was in control of the notes – owning them. Each note seemed to have a life of its own. She slowed down just a bit to let each note live before its short existence faded away. The room echoed the tones just right, hanging for just the perfect amount of time. Maren imagined keeping the music alive, finding meaning in each note as if they were little souls. Some were short lived; some made a larger impact – just like each one of us. She could see them as colors hanging in the air before her: a rainbow of soft waves undulating like smoke rings, dissolving into tiny sparkling fireworks as the volume faded away. She was creating life with sound. The passages were not rushed, the life of each tone was fully expressed before fading away into oblivion. She swore that the people gathered to hear her play could see them as well. As the piece came to a close, the last remnants of life gently sparkled into the darkness. She sat quietly in her contemplation, head bowed towards the floor.

Holy shit. Someone murmured.

"I told you she was good!" Victor said proudly.

Those were the moments that made Maren feel alive; creating peace and her life's purpose. Writing music was how she expressed her feelings, shared her thoughts, communicated her loves. While the rest of the world struggled to express their love for someone or to describe how beautiful life really is, Maren would describe through song. It was a thing of envy – to be so free with her thoughts. She harbored a secret from her parents that created a deeper intimacy with her music. She had synesthesia – the ability to see musical notes as colors. As a child, she discovered that no one else around her had the same ability. It made her feel like a bit of a freak, so she kept it to herself.

By two-thirty in the afternoon, Maren wasn't dressed. Still in her flowered nightgown, she was meticulously unpacking the boxes containing her life. Her room seemed much smaller than the last, she found it to be difficult to condense her life. Adults have an easier time cleaning the clutter from their lives; maybe it's just a personality type. Whatever it was, Maren didn't have it. She would cling to any little object – frightened to give it up lest a part of her memories may vanish with it.

"I know you think I'm hard on you Maren, but it's out of love. I just want you to understand how hard it is out in the world. You're growing up so fast, but I don't believe you're ready for the responsibility. You're too withdrawn."

Her mom entered her room and sat on the bed. "You have to learn how to deal with other people rather than hiding from them. That's what I used to do, and it was a big mistake. I've learned to take some control over the bullshit that people will throw at you. It never stops, you know? The bullshit I mean. It will wear you down till you're a nub of a person. People suck – that's all there is to it."

Maren said nothing. She knew better than to argue or say anything at all. She just stayed focused on finding a place for her things. Maren felt threatened and intimidated by her mother. Regan was beautiful: a tall, athletically built woman with long blond hair that flowed perfectly over her shoulders. Her hands were strong, and her arms were muscular with the veins and tendons popping out when she lifted bags of groceries. Her mother's eyes were a piercing steel blue, almost unnaturally colored. Her nose was thin and came to an attractive point, rather than one with a bulb at the end or bumps along the ridge top. Her smile was nearly perfect with beautifully white, straight teeth. This was a natural beauty, she rarely wore make-up. Regan was the alpha female, and it unnerved Maren; she felt the opposite of her mother. Maren was slight of build, jet black hair with slender and fragile hands, much shorter than her mother by almost six inches. Maren's skin was fair and as white as porcelain, like a China doll. Beautiful in her own right, Maren succumbed to the comparison to her mother, and it diminished her self-worth – a comparison in her own head, of course.

Maren had obviously been switched at birth, and her mom hated her for it. Auri, on the other hand, was an exact miniature copy of her mother in almost every way. Regan was closer to Auri and considered her the favorite child. Maren believed her looks were the reason why – nothing was further from the truth. Regan, jealous of her daughter's capacity to believe in something and love with very little condition, had given up her ability to see the beauty in others long ago.

7

"Hi! I'm Perdita! What's your name?"

Crap. Please go away. Maren stood up from her sitting position on her front porch where she had been writing some lyrics. It was freezing outside, but the cold air helped clear her mind.

"I'm Maren. Nice to meet you." She held her hand out in a half-hearted gesture and fake smile, then sat right back down in the same spot and continued writing.

"What are you writing? Poetry? Can I see?" Perdita insisted. "I love poetry!"

"No. Maybe later."

"Do you want to take a walk? There's a beautiful park behind this block. We can get to know each other better. I'm really glad you moved here, there aren't any other girls our age on the entire block."

Maren, sensing that this chick would never leave her alone, folded her note in fours and put it into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Ok." Maren sighed. "Let's get to know each other better. But I need to be home before dinner. I have to finish this song."

"Song? Are you a singer?"

"Sort of."

"Do you play in a band?"

"No."

"Then why are you writing a song?"

"It helps me make sense of things." Maren explained. "I look at what happens in my life as moving from point A to point B. Writing connects the dots, so I create a circle. I need to know that no matter where I'm going, I'll always end up back at my roots, back to the me that I know. I don't want to forget where I came from, know what I mean?"

"Sure. Well, not really. Are you always this deep?" Perdita asked.

"Yes."

"Good luck with all of that."

The girls walked in silence for a few minutes, side by side. Perdita produced a small orange and began to peel it, pulling off a slice and offering it to Maren.

"Kiyomi?"

"What's that?" Maren scrunched her nose.

"It's a Japanese orange. My dad buys them at the market. They're very good. Sure you won't try it?"

Maren accepted Perdita's offer and took a bite of the small fruit. "That's good."

"I like everything Japanese." Perdita boasted. "When you're into everything Japanese they call you a 'nipponophile'. Did you know that?"

"No."

"Yea. I can speak some Japanese. Do you want me to teach you?"

"Sure. But not right now."

"Well maybe tomorrow then, after school. Can I listen to one of your songs?"

"No."

The girls walked down a long path through the woods that ran behind the neighborhood. It was starting to snow lightly, and the sky was grey and overcast. Maren rubbed her arms to fight the chill. Growing up in Florida, she didn't own a thick enough coat to keep her warm. Nearly seventy-five yards or so from the last house on their street, the path emptied into a small open green with a picnic table. A lake extended from the border of the green about one hundred yards across to a forest's edge. It was frozen solid from the long Maryland winter.

"We're here!" Perdita lifted her hands in the air. "I love this place. It's so quiet this time of year. I come here when I want to be alone. In the summer, lots of small kids play here and make a bunch of noise, but this time of year..."

Perdita breathed in the surroundings deep into her lungs.

"... this time of year it's just so peaceful; so quiet. Nothing can touch me here."

"It is kinda peaceful." Maren looked around the woods and bare winter trees before her. Steam from her and Perdita's breath filled the air. "But it's just so cold, I'm not used to it."

"Where are you from, anyway?" Perdita asked.

"We moved here from Florida."

"Wow. That's a long way. Why did you move here?"

"To help my little sister get better."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. Something. It's a long story."

"Is she going to be ok?"

Maren's teeth were chattering, and the conversation had become awkward. Maren was a very private person and easily embarrassed.

"Can we go back now? I'm freezing."

"Sure." Perdita said, a bit disappointed. There would be time to get to know her new friend later. "It really is getting colder fast, we better go."

Maren sat at her piano in the warmth of her parent's family room. She didn't mind that the cold March air was keeping her inside. She wasn't looking forward to all the activities of summer and having to get to know everyone in the neighborhood. There was a peaceful solace in the dark of winter – a place where she could hide away and just write her music. She could hear her father in his office talking on the phone, and her mother was out shopping for loose gemstone beads at a craft market. Regan was a jewelry artist and spent her days at home putting together gemstone bracelets, earrings and pendants to sell at art and craft shows. Regan often traveled from state to state, city after city, selling her jewelry at festivals for days at a time. Sometimes it made decent money, but often it didn't. It would often rain or the crowd just wouldn't be into it; there was no telling what could happen. Maren's mom had boxes and boxes of pieces and parts of rings, necklaces, earring wire, thread, gemstones and tools. Maren often stole small round gemstone beads from her mom's tool box and would give them to her friends. She didn't see her mom much during the spring and summer months. Regan might be home only two or three days a week during her busiest selling months, but that was ok with Maren. She looked forward to her mom being away from home – it was so much more tolerable. Spring (and peace) was right around the corner.

Maren ran scales up and down the keyboard with her slender fingers. Up and down, back and forth, over and over again. She practiced this routine nearly every day because she wanted to be the best – again and again for hours. It was a meditation for her, it keep her from thinking too much. Her songs defined who she was, and solidified her thoughts so she could analyze them later. The songs were the diary of her life, her confidant, her true friends. Maren felt little by little that feeling of ease, that everything may just be ok here, away from everything she had ever known.

8

The snow was gently falling on that crisp, cold Monday morning: Maren's first day at her new school. She had left that morning with a kiss on the head for a sleeping Auri but didn't say goodbye to her mom. Regan was still sleeping too, but Victor was already up and headed into his office for work, a typical day in the Roberts household. Maren gave him a hug, not wanting to leave. When she was a baby, she would sit close by her dad and play with her toys as he worked. She had gotten very used to that and had never quite made a comfortable transition to school life. Maybe everything she needed to know her dad would teach her.

Maren was not looking forward to the fact that the school year had already started, it was more than half way through the year, in fact. Nothing could be more horrible for a teenager than to be the new kid. She hated to have to explain herself, where she was from, why she had moved, who she was. So much effort for so little reward. But with her head held high, she boarded the bus to start her day. She would get through it just like everyone else.

Regan awoke from her slumber and put on her robe. She quietly opened Auri's bedroom door and peeked in: her little one was still sound asleep. Finally, some peace from the children. Regan tiptoed into Victor's office, wrapped her arms around him from behind and kissed him on the head. Good morning, lover. She ran her hands through his chest hair and nibbled lightly on his neck, giving him goosebumps down the length of his arms. I love when I can do that to you.

"Morning, Bebe. Where's Auri?" he asked her.

"Sleeping. And our other brat has gone to school. Wanna play?"

He didn't say a word as she ran her hands through his hair, then spun his chair around facing her as she stood. She opened up her robe, pulled it off of her shoulders and with a few shakes of her firm body it fell gently to the floor. Victor looked up at his wife, and she smiled down at him. He kissed her softly up and down her stomach, across her breasts and stood up to kiss her lips. She pushed him back down in the chair: My turn....

Regan unbuckled her husband's belt and slid his pants down around his knees. Victor caressed his wife's soft, blonde hair in his hands as she tasted him slowly. After seventeen years of marriage, his heart still skipped a beat when she looked up at him with her beautiful steel-blue eyes. He held her face in the palms of his hands as she pleased him, her mouth so warm and wet. His wife's face was so soft and flushed with red, he pulled her hair back from the sides to the back to see her better. Incredibly, each and every time she remained the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Soft, tiny white hairs, ran the length of her strong arms, and he ran his fingertips gently from her wrists up to her shoulders and back again.

He was the luckiest man in the world to have such an attractive wife. It ruffled his feathers like a hen-house cock, it gave him confidence and well-being in his work and social status. His love for her ran deep through his soul and oozed from every pore. She still gave him almost painful butterflies that could double him over in a second. He bent over as far as he could and kissed her on top of the head as she circled him with her tongue. He drew in the smell of her bed-head hair and couldn't take any more, gently pulling up her head from its perch and rising her to a standing position with him. Regan smiled devilishly as she licked the taste from her lips, and tilted her head back so Victor could run his tongue up and down the sides of her neck.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her towards the back of his desk. Her reached around behind her and swiped an area clean, knocking papers and tools onto the floor. "Shhhh..." Regan giggled. "You're gonna wake Auri. I don't want her to.... to.... uhhhh..."

Regan's eyes lit with pleasure, and she threw her arms back over her head as Victor easily laid her out over his desk and pushed himself inside. After nearly a month of not being intimate with each other, it didn't take long for either of them.

Victor wiped the sweat from his brow and kissed Regan deeply. He ran his hand around the small of her back as he held her in his arms. His feelings for Regan had waned very little, which actually surprised him. Throughout his early adulthood, he bored quite easily with women, coming in and out of his life just about every two months. But he knew she was different. Victor was attracted to Regan's tough demeanor, which thinly veiled her vulnerable side: a little girl confused about her purpose in life, fighting personal demons instilled by guilt for an incident that she never talked about. While this may be a recipe for relationship disaster, it worked for Victor. He longed for the complex challenges that would prove his manhood, being simple just bored him no matter what the risks to his personal happiness may be.

Regan had a duality about her that was hard to read. On one hand, she could easily hate the entire world and curse it to damnation with one breath. On other occasions, she desired to hold each and every hurting person until they healed from her love. But in either case, it was always about control. Victor never knew exactly which woman he would deal with day by day. Her duality was never more apparent than on the first day he laid his eyes on her.

He met her in 1993 when she was only 22, at the Louvre in Paris. Regan was visiting France on a field trip with her art department from Virginia Commonwealth University. She was working on her fine arts degree and loved classical paintings, Victor was visiting some friends and smoking a lot of weed – that was about all he really was doing. A girl he had been interested in and hoping to conquest while he was abroad mentioned that he should go to the Louvre and expand his horizons. After he spied the tall, blonde bombshell standing in front of Poussin's Le Deluge, he decided to do just that.

"It's a testament to the horrific sublime." Regan whispered to him as he stood near. "In the midst of God's greatest punishment, people are still trying to save human life. I love the Noah story. I don't believe that God really told Noah to save the animals, and just a few of the people, I believe he did it in spite of God. I think God was so over it that he never intended anything to survive. Noah took it upon himself to save what he could. That act of defiance alone was all it took to put himself above God, if just for a moment, which is where we all desire to be – or at least some of us." Regan looked at Victor for the first time with those blue eyes and he melted from the inside out. "What do you think?" she asked.

"I... well... uh..." Victor had wished he hadn't taken that last hit. He cocked his head a bit to the side. "This is about the Noah flood?"

She giggled under her breath. "Not exactly, but it alludes to it. It's part of a series of four paintings called the Four Seasons. This one is Winter, or more precisely, Poussin's depiction of the Old Testament flood."

Victor took a deep breath and gave her his hand. "My name's Victor. Victor Roberts. I'm visiting friends in Levallois-Perret. I'm probably saying that wrong."

"You are." Regan said and corrected him. "So what brings you to France, Victor Roberts?"

"Fate."

"What do you mean?"

"I always believed that what I would treasure most, I would find here in this country." he lied. "I've believed that since I was a kid."

Regan saw through his line and smiled to herself. "Do you think you may find that treasure, Victor? I mean, most people don't realize the treasures they have, even when they're standing right next to them."

Victor felt the coy connection between them and pulled back a bit to have fun. He looked at the painting again and put his hand on his chin in a fake contemplation. "So, if this is the flood from the Bible, how come there are only a few people in the scene? Where is everyone?"

"Well, that's the thing." Regan replied. "The representation of humanity doesn't have to be in great numbers, it can be in the guise of just one person. One special person can speak for us all." She pointed to parts of the painting as she talked. "See, Noah is the good in us. And see this baby? That is our innocence. And this lightening and raging seas? That's God pretending he can do our thinking for us."

The two looked at the figures and colors and elements of the elegant art. "So," Regan asked Victor from the corner of her eye. "You really believe in fate?"

Victor smiled and winked at her. "I do now."

Regan smiled back at him. "I may just believe in fate, too."

"Oh?"

"Yea. I was just wishing I could get high, and from the smell on your breath, I think I'm in luck."

9

Regan looked at the referral slip: April 5, 2012. Her and Auri sat at the dining room table having their usual breakfast together. This would be Auri's first day with Dr. Jobeson, her appointment being at 2:00 pm. "I hope Dr. Jobeson will help us out Auri. I think you're going to have fun with him. He's so nice, there's no need to be nervous."

Auri stared ahead at the dining room wall, not acknowledging her mother's voice. Regan looked down into the coffee grains floating around in the bottom of her cup. There's no reason to be nervous at all. He'll be nice to us.

Regan stared ahead at Auri, and her mind wandered back to the events leading up to Auri's accident. Private events she will have to expound upon in far more detail than she felt comfortable with. Regan held her emotions inside of her and never really had a good, long cry over the events that affected her daughter. Maybe this would be the day, she thought. Maybe she needs to get it out of her system. Maybe talking to Dr. Jobeson would be better for her than for Auri. What could he actually do for Auri anyway? She often felt that familiar welling up of emotions that we all feel when we need to cry. You know it's going to feel so good when it's over, but it's hard to start. It's a tightness in your chest, a heaviness in your head. You can feel it come on like a sneeze, but for Regan, it always just stops short of it happening. She would find a convenient excuse or interruption to stop it in its tracks.

Regan bent over the small dining room table and looked into Auri's face. "Let's go for a walk, baby. We never do that together... or it's been a while at least."

Auri looked past her mother into nothingness. Regan gently grabbed Auri's chin, and pulled it upward towards her eyes so Auri could look into them.

"Go for a walk? Does that sound like fun?" Auri stared right through her mother as if she weren't there. Regan sighed heavily. "I'll get our coats. Your sister and her new friend went walking in the woods behind the neighborhood and said it was nice. We'll go there." She dressed her daughter like a doll, pulling her coat on sleeve after sleeve and buttoning it up, tying her shoes. She yelled through her husband's closed office door that she was leaving with Auri for a bit. He acknowledged with a muffled 'Ok.' Regan and Auri made their way out of the house to the end of the block and found the dark, damp path that Maren had told her of. It was snowing a little heavier now, the branches of the trees gently and quietly collecting lines of powered frost along their tops.

Mother and daughter slowly wound their way down the path, now covered with a dusting. It was so quiet, so peaceful; the only sound was the wind picking up and moving the tops of the tall trees around with a gentle roar.

They walked down to the picnic table and had a seat. Regan closed her eyes and took the silence deep inside of her, calming her usually frantic nerves if just for a moment. The roar of the tree tops continued to be the only sound – so meditative for her right then. Auri sat quietly looking out over the lake. The wood's edge on the far side was quickly becoming obscured from the snowfall growing heavier. "I guess we can't stay long." Regan said gently with her eyes still closed. "It's really starting to come down." Regan was enjoying a rare peace, a moment that you can't pay for. It felt so nice, her muscles began to settle down from the knots of angst they were typically tied up in. Regan breathed in deeply through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth in a second of relaxation.

Beep... beep... beep... Regan was startled from her trance by her cell phone.

Beep... beep...

"Fuck." she whispered under breath. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Roberts? This is Stephanie with Dr. Jobeson's office. How are you?"

Regan in no time reverted back to her stressed out demeanor. "I'm ok. What's up?" she said with a shortness.

"We are going to have to reschedule your appointment for Wednesday. The doctor had a family emergency to attend to."

"Are you kidding me? This is completely unprofessional. I'll have to check my calendar. I may not be able to do Wednesday."

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Roberts, this was completely unexpected, and the doctor apologizes for your inconvenience."

Regan started to get angry. "Do you know how long we have waited to see this man... Stephanie is it? This was Auri's first visit! We haven't even seen the man yet! Like I said, I don't know about Wednesday. I'll have to look. But we can't keep changing schedules here. My husband and I are very busy people. I have to go out of town a lot."

"I understand Mrs. Roberts. The doctor apologizes for this. It is a family emergency after all. We also have some questions about Auri's hospital records that we need to discuss before your appointment as well."

"What questions?"

"I can't discuss that over the phone. We will have to talk on Wednesday."

"What questions?"

"Mrs. Roberts, we will need to talk to you about that when we see you in person."

Regan started to well up the panic in her stomach. Her family had moved to DC for this man so Auri could get better. This was a huge disruption in their lives. Regan was still terribly anxious about the accident and hated explaining it to each new staff member.

"Is there a problem with the records? Do I need to call her previous doctor? I wish you could explain this right now. I'm starting to worry."

"No need to worry, Mrs. Roberts. We just have to clarify what the hospital records indicate."

Regan had her back to Auri sitting on the picnic table. Instinctively she swung around to check on her. Auri was gone. A chill ran through her body that took her breath away. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her baby, her tiny feet sliding slightly, trying to keep her balance as she walked slowly over the frozen lake. Auri held out her hand and in it, a small acorn she was trying to feed to a squirrel sitting in the middle of the lake.

"Oh my God! Auri!! No!" Without even thinking, Regan dropped her cell phone in the snow and ran towards her daughter across the ice. "Auri, no!! Stop!!"

Little Auri paid no attention to her mother. She crept ever closer to the squirrel chewing on a nut. Her arm still stretched out with its offering, her small legs scissoring to keep their balance. Regan ran as fast as she could to reach her daughter, slipping and nearly falling as she went. She was panting with hard breath from panic until she reached the center of the frozen water, and stopped just short of Auri's position. The little girl stopped and turned to face her mother. Regan held her arm out so her daughter could take her hand.

"Don't move, baby! Stay there." Regan inched gently closer. "Come here, slowly. Take my hand.... take my hand."

Auri didn't move. She was frozen in place. She dropped the acorn onto the ice and reached out to take her mother's hand. Regan stretched to take her daughter's hand. Auri inched a bit closer. Their fingers were a foot apart, unable to touch. Regan took a couple of deep breaths and slid her foot another inch closer; an inch closer. There was silence on the lake. No sound at all. Regan reached as far as she could for Auri. Then a slight, deep rumble echoed gently from the ice; then a dark cracking sound like a tree branch splitting from the trunk. Flushed instantly with panic, Regan realized what it was.

"Auri!!"

The ice broke violently under Regan's weight and in a millisecond she disappeared into the icy water, right before Auri's eyes. Auri let out a blood-curdling scream as her mom thrashed about in the hole gasping for air. Regan's muscles locked up from the cold – she couldn't catch her breath. She panicked, desperately trying to grab the edge of the ice, pieces breaking off with each attempt. A muffled bone-chilling cry for help could be heard from her lips each time she bobbed to the top for air.

Auri screamed again and ran around the break in the ice and across the lake towards the green. She didn't even look back at her mother, or where her mother once stood. Her little legs scrambled up the path towards the nearest house, slipping and falling as she went. The snow was coming down heavier. She saw the house at the end of street, nearest the park, coming into view through the falling snow. Time stood still for little Auri as the path seemed to be a mile long. She began screaming again as the house got nearer to her. The ice and snow were slowing her down, and she was breathless by the time she reached the back porch of the house. She pounded furiously on the back door.

Regan's body had given out from the cold. Her muscles and diaphragm had locked up, and she slipped quietly beneath the surface of the lake. The water was dark – she could only see a small dusky light from the hole in the ice. The sunlight gently lit up her hands, which were floating above her head, stretching outwards towards the jagged break on the surface. Her eyes looked up towards the hole. Was anyone coming to help her? She held her breath until her spine felt as if it were going to snap. Almost instantly, all of her exertions had suddenly ceased, and a perfect tranquility superseded her panic. She no longer thought of being rescued or was in any bodily pain. In that last critical moment, she saw her whole life in a moment, arrayed before her as in a mirror, and a faculty opened up inside of her mind for comprehending the whole and entire part. Every slice of her life from infancy to old age was revealed slowly as one entire connected scene. She could hear bells ringing in the distance; visual auras of the most vivid colors she had ever seen flowed through her brain. Next, all was at peace around her; a peculiar feeling of well-being surrounded her creating a perfect temperature around her body, neither too hot nor too cold. She felt herself as if floating in space; looking down on the world now spread beneath her feet.

Lastly, came a darkness and oblivion.

10

We humans got it all, we perform the miracles.

– Them Heavy People

She slowly walked around in circles holding her arm up towards the ceiling. Pointing it away from walls and lighting fixtures, Maren tried desperately to get a signal on her phone. Are the hospital walls made of lead? I mean really, are they? She hated to have to worm her way back to the entrance, but she needed to talk to a friend. Down the elevator three floors, two left turns, two rights, one more left and through the corridor past the gift shop and cafeteria: she would never find her way back to her Mom's room. Another chill settled deep into her fair bones. Cold blasts of air poured in the lobby each time the automatic doors opened.

"I'm unable to take your call in person because I'm having an out-of-body experience. In fact, I'm standing right behind you and I can hear everything you say. But leave me a message anyway to help me reconnect when I get back."

"Lisa, pick it up. It's Maren. Mom's been hurt really bad. I'm at the hospital with my dad and my sister. Please call me back. I need someone to talk to. I love you."

Maren leaned her back up against a cement pillar at the hospital entrance and placed her face in her hands. My life fucking sucks. A dark pain swelled slowly in her stomach, her ch'i disrupted by a life out of balance and an underlying knowing that it was only to become more challenging. One bad thing after another. Why? She was just at the age where the world was supposed to be opening its gifts to her. The wonders of each city and situation and life intertwined to create one-of-a-kind experiences to be digested in their beauty. But this moment brought a lowly emptiness: frightened that her responsibilities would suffocate her dreams of growing up the way she chose, to overshadow any freedoms of youth. It was difficult to look at her mother lying in the hospital bed, eyes darkened and sunken deep into her face, and she couldn't do it. Maren sat with the other family members around Regan's bed. She could only take quick glances at the once powerful and beautiful woman, now reduced to a motionless mannequin, then stare down towards the floor at her own feet. Maren was afraid. She was afraid of a host of issues that now raised their ugly heads. Who would take care of Auri? Would she now become the mom? Will we all be here when she dies? What will that be like – will people scream and cry and clasp their hands under their chins in prayer? Will praying even help?

Maren's thoughts swirled uncontrollably around in her head. If her mother dies, the torch will be passed to her. She will have to take control of the family in the feminine sense – the cooking, the cleaning, groceries. Too soon for this she thought. I can't do this. She began to pray. The Roberts family never went to church or even discussed any type of belief system at all. Maren never believed in a Creator or spiritual Father figure. She only believed what she could feel, see and touch. All of her life she had answered to no one spiritually, but she prayed now. If you're really up there, please help me now. I need answers. She prayed desperately, not for her mother's health, but that it was not too late for her to get her prayers answered. If God truly existed, she prayed that she hadn't been shut out. Can she make up for all the years of disbelief and earn a place now in God's heart? It's funny that, in the most difficult times of life, we not only become believers, but hope that our tickets are still valid for a performance that hasn't had its curtains drawn.

11

Maren's dad was ragged from a lack of sleep. First responders had pulled Regan from the icy water and had resuscitated her at the scene, but she had yet to regain consciousness, and that was over sixteen hours ago. The doctors were unsure of the exact condition. It was just past 7:00 am and Victor had been awake the entire time. His eyes were bloodshot, and his head pounded from the stress. He could feel the blood pressure rising, and it created a sick, dizzy feeling within him. He and Maren had not had a chance to get away and speak about the situation, and it left Maren alone in her thoughts. Auri was asleep in a big, soft chair, wrapped in a blanket. They sat for the most part in silence, waiting for the doctors to tell them something; anything about what was happening. Regan was in a coma induced by the lack of oxygen, the doctors had told the family briefly. She had been under the water for quite some time. During the most basic neurological exams, there was general responsiveness in Regan to stimuli: slight eye opening, mid-scale motor response to pain. She would survive the near drowning and awaken from her coma, they explained, when her brain took some time to heal. The extent of her recovery could be the difficult part to assess.

"I'm Dr. Henney. I'll be taking care of your Mother through her recovery. Everyone should stay positive and have patience, it could be a long process until she gets better." The doctor's voice was soft and smooth, making Maren and Victor feel more calm. Maren felt that her mom was in good hands. Dr. Henney had no way of knowing just how much brain damage may have been caused by the accident.

The doctors knew it was a waiting game and suggested that the family go home and get some sleep, advice that Victor and the children took. The hospital would call if there were any change in her condition.

"I'm trying to find the positive in this, but there is none. I'm losing all the women I love, one-by-one." Victor said, driving slowly out of the hospital parking lot. "First Auri, and now this. What did I do to deserve this?"

Maren gently laid her hand on her father's shoulder. "You didn't do anything, Dad. It was an accident, you know? I'm sure Mom will be alright. She's a fighter. I can't imagine Mom being anything but the tough cookie that she is."

Victor glanced at his youngest daughter in the rear-view mirror. The sleep was overcoming Auri and her head bobbed up and down with each bump of the road. She had wrapped herself back up in her blanket. "The neighbor said Auri ran to her house and was screaming and pointing down to the lake. It looks like our little quiet one may have saved your mom's life." Victor placed his hand on Maren's head and gently rubbed her hair. "But why was your mom on the ice? Why would she walk out onto a lake? She knows better than that."

"I wish she could tell us. Maybe Mom will tell us what happened when she wakes up." Maren took her father's hand. "Hey, Dad?"

"Yea, baby?"

"You can count on me, you know. I mean, to take care of the family in case Mom can't. You know that right?"

"Mar, don't think like that. Your Mom will be fine, I know it. It just may take some time for things to get back to normal. I know I can count on you, baby. I've always known that. You're a special young woman, you have no idea how powerful you are." Victor squeezed her hand back. "I'm so lucky to have you on my team, baby. I couldn't imagine going through this without you. You're my hero."

The tears rolled down Maren's face, letting out a sudden, unexpected sobbing. She had been holding it in all night. "I love Mom, you know? I feel like I haven't told her that enough. I'm scared of growing up. I'm sacred of leaving home. I still want to be a baby and be taken care of. It's hard."

"You'll always be my baby, Mar. But I know that's not what you want to hear." Victor said softly, kissing her hand. "It's ok. Growing up takes time to get used to it, but it happens. You're at a tough age where you feel like it's happening too fast or you have to make a decision, but you don't. I know this thing with your Mom is making it worse. I'm scared too, you know?"

Maren sobbed lightly and quietly into her sleeve covered palm. Auri was asleep. They were going to be alright in time. It was a crisp, sunny day and people were just scrambling to get to work; an ordinary day for everyone on the Roberts' street. But for them, it was just the beginning of a long and arduous situation that they could never have foreseen coming. It was the mid-morning and the sun was sneaking in through the cracks in the blinds, but neither Victor or the girls had any trouble falling fast asleep. Victor laid awake for just a few minutes, staring at the ceiling fan above his head, with so many tiny, yet tumultuous thoughts swirling through his brain; unfocused on any one thought, like someone flipping a radio tuner quickly past dozens of stations. Would his wife really be ok? How would she be different? What happened on the ice? Victor rubbed his eyes and tossed in his bed trying to find a position where the voices would stop. Life was seriously throwing all she had at the family right now. With his eyes full of tears, Victor still couldn't help but think he had done something to deserve this and replayed trivial moments from his youth back in his head, finally overwhelming his brain to sleep.

12

"I heard what happened and I'm so sorry, Maren."

"It's ok. We're still waiting for the doctors to call us. We're not too sure what's happening next, but thanks for coming by to see me. That was kinda cool of you." Maren was polite, yet seriously didn't feel like having company. It was just after dinner time, and she was beaten down from the stress. Having slept all through the late morning and afternoon, she tried to rub the sparkles of exhaustion from her eyes. It felt as if someone had slammed her over the head with a shovel.

Perdita stood in the foyer of the Robert's house bundled up in a giant purple winter coat. "Well, I wanted to let you know you can talk to me. I know how it is, you know – to be where you're at."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Perdita sighed, "My Mom died when I was eight. I was at school, and the teacher asked me to come down to the office. My Dad was waiting there with a couple of guidance counselors. They sat me down and told me that my Mom had been in a car accident. They said she had been killed. I remember thinking... that was it. From that moment on, I would never see her again – ever. For someone to be in your life every day, every moment even; and then gone... forever. How can you prepare for that?"

Maren took a couple of deep breaths as Perdita stared down at her feet. "Do you want to hang out in my room for a bit?"

Perdita looked up, her beautiful dark eyes widened a bit and looked off to the side as if to think. "Can I read a couple of your songs?"

"Sure."

The girls sat on the edge of Maren's bed. Perdita looked around taking in all of the decor and nicknacks in her friend's room. "You do have a lot of stuff, huh?"

"This isn't everything." Maren shared. "I haven't even unpacked it all yet. My Mom says I have too much stuff. She threatened to throw it out if I couldn't find a place for it."

"You Mom sounds crazy. I can't wait to get to know her better. You know, it's kinda weird that we had just been down to the lake the day before."

"I know." Maren replied. "I'm the one who told her about it. Now I wish I hadn't. Maybe if I had kept my mouth shut this wouldn't have happened."

"You can't blame yourself, M. You had nothing to do with what happened."

"M? That's what my friends down in Florida called me. Speaking of which, my best friend Lisa never called me back. Bitch. What's up with that?" Maren rubbed her eyes and forehead to relax the tension.

"You can't blame her for that. People don't know what to say when things like this happen, you know? Maybe she's just scared and thinks she'll say the wrong thing and upset you. It's easier to pretend it never happened and avoid your calls. That's what happened to me when my Mom died. I was so afraid to go back to school and have everyone looking at me – wondering what it feels like to have a parent die. All that attention was on me, and I hated it. My friends didn't know what to say, so most didn't say anything at all. And some were even mean to me because it stressed them out. I was a reminder of something horrible, a nightmare they think about all the time. My situation forced them to think about it, so some were very cruel to me; saying it was my fault and that I wanted her to die so I could have all of the attention from the teacher." Perdita's eyes were welling up with tears.

"That's crazy. I can't believe that." Maren put her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Yes. The teacher even told the class to 'be nice to her during this hard time' which made it even worse. They were very cruel to me at the worst possible time. And you know what?" Perdita leaned a little towards Maren as if to share a secret: "My Dad couldn't talk to me about it either. In fact, we've never really brought it up. It was an accident, you know? What is there to talk about? It makes him very uncomfortable if I bring it up."

Perdita took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her mouth making a whoooshing sound as if she was blowing out a set of birthday candles. She quickly regained her composure, waiving her hand in front of her face to dry her tears. "So anyway, long story short, you can't blame your friends for not saying anything. The whole situation is probably scaring them to death, At least they are thinking about you – that's a positive." She smiled a lop-sided quirky grin at Maren.

"I guess that is a positive; sure. So many things have happened to our family over the last couple of years my Dad thinks he's done something wrong, and now he's paying for it. I know that's not really what's going on, but I worry about him. How does your Dad feel about what happened to you guys?"

Perdita looked up boldly and produced a genuine smile. "Both my Dad and I know that it was God's plan. There had to be a good reason for calling Mom home, but we aren't smart enough to know what the reason is – not yet anyway. You have to have faith that everything is just the way it's supposed to be."

"You believe in God?" Maren asked.

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Not really."

"Wow. I couldn't exist without Him. To worship Him is our only reason for being here. He created us for companionship with Him and to understand our power through Him. If we didn't have God, what would we be doing? Walking around, eating, getting fat like slugs? Roaming the earth with no purpose?"

Maren grew a bit uncomfortable with the way the conversation with Perdita had turned and tried to put an end to it: "If there were a God, the world wouldn't be as messed up as it is."

"You have to know pain before you can know happiness." Perdita explained. "Otherwise, how would you know what happiness really is? If everything were just perfect, we wouldn't know right from wrong. Without disease, we wouldn't know what being healthy is like. Without starvation, why would we share our food with others? Pain is our measuring stick to happiness." She was genuinely happy to be expounding her view.

Maren still held her conviction. "Why would some all-powerful being want to friends with a human? Who would need companionship with fat slugs like us?"

"How do you feel about slugs personally, M? Does your Dad poison them in your garden to keep them away? How many ants did you step on today and not even think about it? God's power has nothing to do with creating the universe and performing miracles. The real power lies in the fact that He can truly love something so tiny and insignificant as us."

Pedita didn't seem fifteen years old right now. Maren saw a wiser person locked away in her dark eyes. This intimidated her slightly. Was she going to have to endure these conversations with this girl every time she saw her? She wondered if the loss of Perdita's mother had made her grow up sooner than she ordinarily would have. And if her own mother didn't survive, would she be forced to grow up too? Perdita was probably just grasping at straws – she would believe in anything that would help ease her pain. Maren didn't let on to her friend that she was tossing around Perdita's words and logic in her head. Maybe it seemed to make more sense to her right now, during this period of duress and she was more open to looking at things differently. But she stayed defiant in her demeanor to Perdita. This was not the time to show her weakness. Maren needed to be the one in control. She really had just met the girl, after all.

13

"Here, I'll let you read one of my songs, well it's more a poem really." Maren said, digging through her oak nightstand drawer next to her bed. She sifted over a couple of loose-leaf notebook papers folded in half, then she found the one she had searched for.

"I like this one. I wrote this for my Mom. But, I never gave it to her." She handed it to her friend:

"From so far above the clouds, souls sparkle with tiny flame.

Each one so precious, breathlessly living out their dreams.

My from my perch I see the whole of them, burning lights.

I have traded places... I'm the Heavens and they, the stars.

So many souls... so beautiful.

But one stands out in the distance.

Invisible tethers so strong to her... so strong, yet so delicate.

For miles the pull of my soul reaches... through lives,

and dreams and struggles of those who can't see it.

It's not meant for them, but for one.

Pulling my soul's tether in as I go, getting nearer, as I go.

Like the pulling up of a great ship's anchor, that sets me free,

upon the seas. Drifting ever towards the beautiful light,

in the distance, towards the harbor where we wait, for peace.

Ever stretching, ever taller, ever higher above the clouds.

Gently flowing so softly, ever so softly towards my heart.

Souls like scattered diamonds upon the ground, so bright.

But one, in the far, to wear on my own soul... just right."

Perdita handed the paper back to Maren. She quickly folded it again and placed it back in the drawer. "Whatcha think?"

Perdita placed her hand on her friends shoulder and smiled. "It kinda sucked."

Five days had passed, and Regan's coma still persisted, although the doctors had told Victor she had periodically demonstrated improved motor response when exposed to pain stimuli. This was a good sign they said: that she could come around at any moment. The house was a mess. Maren and Victor struggled to keep dinner planned out, forget doing laundry or the dishes. Maren knew they would have to break down and get chores done soon. She wouldn't want her mom coming home to a horrible mess such as what was building day-by-day in the kitchen. Perdita came by to help out, it was the least she could do she said. Maren found a growing and gentle solace in the company of her new friend. Perdita had gone above and beyond the normal expectations of a blossoming companionship. Her beautiful dark-haired friend took her mind far away from her troubles, to places Maren had never been before, feelings that she had never felt. Perdita's touch was electric and Maren secretly ached every moment to be with her.

Together, the two girls washed the dishes and put the groceries away, vacuumed floors and kept up with the food prep: mixed pitchers of juice, made sandwiches for Auri and thawed out dinners. The camaraderie of the two girls erased Maren's fears about her mom's difficult recovery and how hard life would become for herself. Most of that Saturday afternoon, while the other teenagers in the neighborhood were at the movies or the mall, they cleaned the house and made themselves useful. Life had been put on hold for Maren, She hadn't made any other friends beyond Perdita, hadn't been to the mall or even out for a pizza. Maren had no idea where the mall even was. Victor had been locked away in his office for days, working to take his mind away from the accident. He had his cell phone laid out next to him wherever he was to keep from fumbling it out of his pocket if someone called. He wasn't taking many calls; just waiting for the one from the hospital. In trying to escape his fear of the unknown, he buried himself in his writing and realized that in doing so, had inadvertently ignored Maren almost completely.

"Mar, let's go out and get a bite to eat tonight. Don't bother cooking. You can bring your friend along too. I have to get out of here for a while – I think we all do."

"Pizza?" Maren said excitedly.

Victor looked at Perdita with a smile and nodded at her. "I don't know. Let's leave it up to your friend here. Whatcha' think?"

"Pizza would be awesome, thank you!"

Maren looked at Auri sitting at the table. She had been watching the older girls sweep the kitchen floor, staring ahead at the wall in her usual fashion. "You want some pizza too, Auri?" Maren asked. Auri stared blankly and unfocused.

"She may not say so," Maren turned to Perdita with a smile. "But it's one of her favorites."

"You really do her love your baby sister, don't you?"

Maren bent down to place her face in the line of sight of Auri and looked her sister in the eyes. "You have no idea how much I love her. She's my world."

14

Amazingly, dinner at the pizza shop was similar to old times. Perdita's laughs broke the mood and provided some well-needed laughs for the family. Maren felt a breath of ease for the first time in nearly a week. Perdita brought out the teenage girl in Maren, a usually reserved, quiet and introspective young lady. But this evening she talked, she giggled, she banged on the table with excitement. Victor rubbed his eyes trying to knead his headache from its seemingly permanent locale. He didn't say much right now, he let the girls have their moment. Tonight, even he took a few rare deep breaths; ones that had eluded him for days. Victor was relaxing in the moment, and he gently groomed Auri's blonde hair with his fingers.

What does she think about?

Victor lost himself looking into Auri's deep blue eyes. How could there be such a disconnect with his own flesh and blood? After Auri's trauma, he would read stories from other parents on the web, ones who had lost their children psychologically. How high a wall has to exist that could sever that special psychic bond between parent and child? If a loving father couldn't break through, then who? What goes through her mind: simple darkness or a swirling cacophony of unremitting thoughts? His cell on the restaurant table vibrated like a Mexican jumping bean, scaring everyone nearly to death.

"Hello? Yes. This is he. Ok....ok. On our way."

The girls stopped in mid-speech to look at him. Maren was unknowingly holding her breath.

Victor grabbed his keys. "We have to go. I'll drop you off at your house, Peridta. Maren, get your sister. Your mom is snapping out of her coma."

The longest ride in the world is sometimes the one with the shortest distance. Your brain moves faster than any car can go, placing yourself in the future, already at the scene. Victor and his daughters rode in silence to the hospital, he feared for his wife's health, Maren feared how she may have changed. They arrived after an excruciatingly long ten minute ride to Sibley Memorial and rushed to their mother's room. Regan was sitting up slightly, eyes open, and Dr. Henney and a nurse surrounding her bed. Maren held her hand over her mouth wanting to cry, but remained silent. None of the family knew just what to say. Her mom looked her straight in the eyes with a stern demeanor, then a sense of concern washed over her face.

"Where's Auri?"

"She's right here Mom." Maren lifted her sister's arm up to show her mother.

"Oh baby! Thank God you're ok." Regan put her hand on her face as if to feel that it was still there. "Why am I in this bank? I don't need any money right now."

Dr. Henney examined her pupils with a small flashlight. "You're in a hospital, Mrs. Roberts. Do you know how you got here?"

"My head is splitting. I need an aspirin. Do you have any aspirin?" Regan seemed to look around at the room a bit confused.

"Do you know how you got here, Mrs. Roberts?" The doctor asked once more.

"Ice. My baby is on the ice. Someone stop her."

The doctor directed his attention at the family, huddled together, looking for answers. "She'll be confused for a while, until she fully awakens. We had run a few initial tests on her before you arrived, it looks as if she'll make a full recovery. She's very lucky. But some memory loss could be a problem, we will have to wait and see."

Victor let out a deep and audible sigh of relief. "Thank you, Doctor." He walked up next to his wife's bed and took her hand. "Regan. Lover. How do you feel?"

"Get our baby – she's on the ice. Vic, get her!" Regan's eyes were rolling slightly around the at the room. She grasped Victor's hand firmly.

"She's fine. Auri is fine, Bebe. Everything's going to be ok."

Victor pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it. Maren held Auri up against her chest so her mother could see the girl, but Regan couldn't seem to focus.

"My head is splitting. My head hurts." The patient seemed to be floating in and out of conscientiousness.

"We need to let her rest and get her bearings." The doctor said to Victor. "We will let you know everything that is happening."

"I think we are going to stay here and wait. My daughters and I will stay with her."

Regan fell back asleep quickly. The family pulled in some chairs from another room and made camp around her bed. Maren's sense of relief was more than she could comprehend. She wouldn't have to take care of the family after all. She looked at her once strong mother lay in a frail state of helplessness, dark circles surrounding her eyes, lips dry and cracked. Her mother looked like a torn and tired rag doll, but Maren had a sense of security. She felt her mother would be there once again taking her place as the family leader – the backbone. The torch of matriarchal responsibility had yet to be passed to the daughter, not this time at least.

15

Maren's dad entered the room from having talked with the nurses. It was getting late, the lights were dimmed, and Auri was curled up fast asleep. "Will you guys be ok if I run home to get Auri's blanket and bear? I'll only be about half an hour or so. I've already let the head nurse know you both are staying here, unless you want to go with me."

"No, I want to stay." Maren said softly. "We'll be fine. Can you grab a blanket for me too, Dad? I'm freezing in here. I'll watch over Auri."

"Ok, Mar. I'll only be a few minutes. Stay here and keep an eye on your sister."

Maren got up and tucked a sheet up over her sister's body, and lifted her head up to re-arrange the pillow. Auri rustled a bit but did not wake up. Maren sat in her chair and looked at her sister laying there. She could be a loving mother, she thought to herself. It didn't seem that hard to love and care for another, even a child with problems like Auri's. The love gives you strength – it's a powerful and fantastical force that helps you reach the parts of your soul that lay dormant during your childless years, where passion builds yourself into the person that's ready for that kind of sacrifice. At least this is what she thought.

Maren stood up and opened the door just a crack to peek down to the nurse's station. There were two hospital staff chatting with the head nurse. Maren was hungry and slipped quietly out of her mom's room to get a snack from the machine down the hall. She tiptoed through the large wooden automatic doors to the lobby where the vending machines were located. She pulled a bill from her jeans, shoved it into a feeder and selected a two-pack of cupcakes, one for her and one for Auri. They were the Hostess kind, the ones you see in every hospital vending machine, with the yellow frosting and swirly white line going across the top. She always wondered why in a place full of patients recovering from bypass surgeries and diabetes related diseases, they would have these horrible tasting cupcakes in the vending machines.

Then she heard the screaming.

Bloodcurdling screaming – coming from down the hall in the direction of her mother's room. It was relentless and growing louder. A panic shot through every nerve of Maren's body almost doubling her over in pain. She ran as fast as she could, slipping on the floor in her socks, trying to stay balanced. As Maren bolted through the large wooden doors, the screaming intensified even more. She knew instantly it was coming from her mother's room. Oh my God.... Auri! In almost a slow motion, she glanced for help at the nurse's station, but no one was there. Other patients had wandered from their rooms and stood to watch. Maren nearly slid past her mother's room, caught herself and rushed inside. A nurse and two staff members were holding her mother down trying to calm her. Auri had her legs pulled up under her chin, terrified, her eyes as round as saucers. Maren put her hand over her mouth to muffle a scream of her own. A male nurse reached past Maren to flip the light switch on, and Maren looked at her mother in horror as she saw blood pouring from her bed onto the floor.

Maren screamed. "Momma!" The male nurse turned and grabbed Maren and pushed her outside of the door. "No! What's going on?!"

"Stay here!" He picked Auri up from her chair, carried her into the adjoining room and laid her on the bed. "Watch your sister... stay out of here! Let us help your mom!" He ran back into Regan's room to help.

"No! Don't leave us!" Maren sobbed. "Come back!" Auri started to cry as well.

Regan was thrashing around as if possessed. She was screaming and fighting with the nurses. Blood was pouring from her hands. An enormous round stain was forming at the foot of her bed. Her feet were bleeding profusely from under the sheets. The nurse ripped the sheet from Regan's bed and a pool of blood overflowed, pouring over the edge of the mattress.

"We need more bandages! I can't stop this bleeding!" cried the head nurse.

"Where is it coming from?!"

Regan went into convulsions. The staff could barely hold her down. She continued to scream herself into a rasp, her voice started giving out, panting hard – barely able to catch her breath. "Let me go!"

"Hold still! Stop panicking! We have to stop your bleeding!"

"Help me! What in the fuck's happening!?"

Doctors from other parts of the hospital quickly showed up to help. A crowd of patients from the wing gathered to look in on Regan. "Everybody back away! Go back to your rooms!"

Regan broke loose from the grip of the nurses and waived her arms around frantically trying to escape, spraying the walls with red, warm blood. "Hold her down!" A doctor took out a needle, and when they had gained control of the screaming woman, shoved it into her shoulder. Regan stopped her wild thrashing, and within a few seconds began to slip into unconsciousness. Her body slumped lifelessly into slumber. The doctors held her hands and feet tightly with bandages to stop the bleeding.

"Did she cut herself? What happened in here?!"

"I don't know. She was sleeping and then started screaming bloody murder. We ran in here, and she was bleeding everywhere!"

"It looks like it's slowing down. Let's get her to an OR now."

They wheeled Regan to a trauma unit where an emergency surgeon was waiting to respond. The male nurse entered the room where he had left the two girls. They were both curled up into balls, whimpering with fear. "Your dad is coming. He'll be here in just a minute. Your mom's all right, we're taking her down to trauma where we can get a better look at her." The nurse bent down looking Maren in the eyes: "Did you see your mom cut herself? Did you see what happened?"

"I... I didn't see anything." Maren whispered, out of breath from crying. "I went to the candy machine. I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have left!" Maren's face broke into a painful grimace, and she began to sob heavily again.

"It's ok, sweetie. She'll be fine. What about your sister? Did she see anything?" The nurse gestured towards Auri, who was sitting quietly and staring blankly at the wall ahead of her.

"She can't speak..." Maren gasped between sobs. "She was asleep. She can't speak."

"Your dad is on his way." He put his hand on Maren's shoulder. "I'll stay with you until he gets here."

Regan lay lifelessly on the operating table in the trauma unit. A surgeon and two assistants carefully checked her arms and legs for injuries. After a few minutes of looking her over, they were baffled as to where the injuries were.

"Vitals?" The surgeon asked the nurse.

"Everything's normal. Blood pressure 130 over 85, heart rate 80. The bleeding has stopped."

"Why was she bleeding?"

The nurse stared at the doctor blankly – she had no answer.

The surgeon walked out of the operating room to speak with Dr. Henney, who had been called in from his home. "Are you her doctor?"

"Yes. I'm in charge of Mrs. Roberts recovery. What happened?"

"We're not sure yet. We're still looking her over. But she has no apparent injuries, no cuts, no scrapes – not even a bruise. We can't find where the bleeding was coming from, so I've ordered some additional tests."

Dr. Henney was caught off guard. "Did you see her room? There had to be at least a gallon of blood in there! It will take them all night to clean it up. You couldn't find where the blood was coming from? How's that possible?"

"I don't know. There are no injuries on your patient. She was bleeding profusely from her hands and feet, but there's nothing there. We'll have to run more tests."

Dr. Henney walked the long hallway back to the room where Victor and his daughters were waiting. "It's going to be a long night, Mr. Roberts. We are holding your wife under close observation, but for the moment, everything's fine with her."

"Fine?" Maren snapped. "You didn't see her in there bleeding to death."

"Maren... ssshhhh." her dad whispered. "They're doing the best they can."

"Bullshit. I'm not leaving her again."

"Well, that's not realistic, young lady. This may be a long process." Dr. Henney scolded. "We have an eye on her. You need to get some sleep. We'll bring her back here after we run some tests. That may take a while. You'll be no good to her stressed out."

I'm staying.

16

Startled, Maren awoke and took a quick look around, temporarily forgetting her surroundings. It was daylight, and the sun coming through the hospital room blinds was so bright, she squinted and tried desperately to re-focus. She rubbed her eyes with her palms, her body stiff from laying in a chair all night.

"Hey goofball."

Maren almost jumped out of her skin. "Mom?"

"Who else would it be?" Regan replied sarcastically. Maren looked around for her Dad and Auri, but they were not in the room. "They went to get Auri something to eat at the cafeteria. They'll be back in a minute."

"Mom? How are you feeling? Are you ok?"

"Of course I am. I feel great. I need to get out of here and go home." Regan was chowing down a bowl of cereal. "And I'm starvin Marvin. This food sucks, I need to get home and eat something real."

"You can't go home, mom. You're still sick. I mean after last night..."

"What happened last night?"

"You don't remember?" Maren was puzzled. How could she not know what happened. "You were bleeding terribly! I thought you were going to die."

"Bleeding? From what?"

"I don't know. They ran tests, and they said they couldn't find anything wrong."

"I can't believe that!" Regan exclaimed. "And you just sat there and watched me bleed to death?"  
Shocked, Maren stuttered out her plead. "Mom?"

"Relax." Regan laughed. "I remember it, I was just fucking with you."

"You... you do?"

"Yea, but I'm all better today. That's why I need to go home."

She then yelled loudly towards the door, so the nurses could hear. "That's why I need to go home! Just lying around here in this stinking hospital will make me sicker. I'll tell you what..." Regan looked around as if the room were bugged and put her finger up to her lip in a gesture of hush. "You have to sneak me outta here, Maren."

"What?"

"You heard me." Regan said with a wink. "Grab my shit and wheel me outta here."

Maren was taken completely aback by this display of weirdness by her mother. Who is this woman? Were the hell is my dad?

"We can't sneak out of here, Mom. We'll get in trouble. And what if you start bleeding again?"

"You worry too much, Maren. Get my stuff – help me up."

"Mom, let's wait for Dad." Hurry up Dad....

"Nah, if we don't leave now, they'll kill me."

"We can't leave without Auri." Maren said, hoping to use her sister as a crutch.

"Auri....right. We can't leave without my baby."

A chill ran painfully up Maren's back. Why was her mom acting so strangely? Her mother had never talked like this before. Could her mother have suffered brain damage and not know who she was? It was as if her mother were drunk, her inhibitions lowered. Where was Dr. Henney?

"Hey kiddo!" Victor walked in the room holding Auri's hand.

"Dad!" Maren jumped from her chair and ran to hug her dad. "Look, Mom's awake!"

"I know, I know. She woke up before any of us, and we've been talking a bit. I let you sleep, you looked so tired. I know how upset last night must have been for you. I had to get Auri some breakfast, I hope you didn't mind."

"No, that's cool. Mom says she wants to go home."

"Well, good news, kiddo. Mom is coming home today. She got a clean bill of health from Dr. Henney. She can just rest up at home."

Maren looked at her mother intently finishing her bowl of cereal. "You knew you were going home today, Mom?"

"Yep."

"So, about the 'sneaking you out of here' – you were just...."

"Effing with you? Yep."

Maren stared at her mother. Inside, she kind of wished they would keep her mom here a while longer.

"As soon as the doctor signs the release papers, we can pack your Mom's stuff and head out." Victor beamed the first real smile in a week. "Hopefully, that will be any minute. I'm taking Auri with me to the pharmacy to get your Mom's prescriptions filled. I'll only be gone a few minutes, wait here for Dr. Henney."

Maren sat on the chair and gave her mom a coy smile. Regan stared at her with a hidden smirk, which made Maren feel uncomfortable, so much so that she kicked her feet nervously and looked down at the floor, avoiding her mother's gaze. "I am glad you're better, Mom. I was really worried."

"Thanks Maren. I feel really good right now, like everything's perfect. I remember things from when I was out – strange things. I felt as if I were watching a movie; a long movie that never seemed to end. I saw things from my past, and ours too, that played over and over in my head. There was this strange old man. He kept showing me this open book, telling me that everything I needed to know was in the book. I kept saying I didn't understand what he was trying to show me." Regan began to rub her hands with a bit of anxiety. "When I first came to, I felt like I was someone else – or me, but in someone else's body. Remember the old movie about the body snatchers? Where the aliens invaded your body? Kind of like that."

Regan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A small smile built across her face. "You know, I saw that time you and I went to the Keys and went fishing on that charter boat. Remember? It played over and over on the big screen in my head. I saw hundreds of different scenes playing out with people I don't know. I remember thinking: shit...isn't anyone going to wake me up?"

Maren prayed her father would be back soon. A sense of fear entered her body, replacing any joy of her mother's sudden recovery. There was something different about her mother – a painful chill spiraled up and down Maren's arms and legs. Something wasn't right – she knew her mother was lying. The sense of panic became more than she could bear.

17

"I hope your mom likes them. Is she feeling better?" Perdita handed Maren the plate of soft, warm brownies that she had made. Maren grabbed the plate and threw it upon the dining room table. "Come to my room. I have to tell you something."

She and Perdita crept silently to the bedroom. Maren looked over her shoulder as if she were being followed and gently closed the door behind them. Perdita could feel the tension oozing from Maren's pores. "What's up?" Perdita whispered.

"My Mom isn't who she was before the accident. Something's different about her. I don't know what it is, but I'm scared. Something's not right."

"Maybe she's just messed up from the coma. She need's time to recover. You know M, you've never been through anything like this before. I can understand how..."

"That's not it." Maren interrupted. "I can feel something's not right. I can't put my finger on it, but it's creeping me out, you know?"

Perdita sat silently on the bed with her hands between her knees. She didn't want to offend her friend, and carefully searched for the right thing to say. "M, tell me what's going on. Why do you feel this way? Did she do something weird?"

"It's not that. She just seems different, like someone else, or not real. I know this sounds weird, but how do you tell the difference between a real person and a mannequin?"

Perdita thought for a second. "I don't know. There's like warmth or something, right? You can just feel it."

"That's what I'm talking about. She seems different somehow, like she's not real."

"Like a robot? Or an alien?" Perdita smirked.

"It's not funny." Maren began to wring her hands. "Listen. She said she remembered a trip we took together, when we went charter fishing in the Keys."

"So?"

"So," Maren grabbed her friend by the arm. "It never happened. We never went on a trip like that. That's a fantasy I made up in my head. I used to daydream about that while I was sitting in class. I've always wanted her to take me, but I never told her."

"Are you sure you never mentioned it?"

"Never."

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know." Maren began to rub the goosebumps from her arms. "But I need to try and tell my Dad. I need to talk to him."

Perdita shook her head. "No. He might think you're crazy."

"I have to talk to him. He needs to know what's going on."

"Not a good idea." Perdita said sternly. "You can't say anything like that right now. He almost lost his wife, and he just got her back. Something like that will freak him out. He'll take it the wrong way, he'll think that you're having some kind of post-traumatic stress, and he'll make you see a shrink. Trust me, I know."

Maren cocked an eye. "You know because?"

"'Cuz, I know. Let's leave it at that." Perdita embarrassingly looked down, fidgeting with one of Maren's stuffed animals.

"But I have no one to talk to. I have to tell someone."

"You have me." Perdita took Maren's hand. "Besides, M, let's just wait and see how it goes, you know? Maybe all this will just disappear – it'll go away and things will be back to normal. Give it some time."

Maren gently pulled her hand from Perdita's warm grip and looked at her friend from the corner of her eye. "You don't think I'm crazy, do you?"

"Absolutely not." Perdita lied. "Everything will be fine."

Maren gently plunked on the keys of her piano, not playing anything, just tooling away, lost in thought. Victor was cleaning up from the dinner that he and Maren had made, a special welcome home meal for Regan. Her favorite: ricotta stuffed manicotti. Auri sat in a chair near Maren patiently waiting for her to play a song. The tension of her situation pierced her brain to the point of exhaustion. Her head was a cloud, her thoughts were like cobwebs – spiraling in every direction with numerous bits of dead stuff clinging to them. She had no idea what to do next, so she decided to wait it out. She took her friend's advice and told her father nothing of the situation.

"Maren." She heard her mom's voice faintly cry from the bedroom. "Baby, come here."

Maren crept slowly to her mother's bedside. Regan was sitting up in her nightgown with the covers pulled down towards her feet. Her arms were held out to her sides with her palms facing down to the bedroom floor. Every two seconds Maren heard a slight thunk sound as if something were dropping on the floor. The room stank to high hell.

"Mom, are you ok? Are you bleeding again?" Maren's voice held a slight panic.

"Not exactly." Regan replied. "Turn on the light."

Maren reached over to the small table lamp on her parent's nightstand and pulled the switch. Her mom's eyes were bloodshot with heavy bags under them, her arms still outstretched to the sides.

Thunk... thunk... thunk...

Frightened that it may again be blood from her mother's hands, Maren peered down to see what the noise was, holding her breath. What the...?

On the floor were a scattering of grayish, marble-like orbs, collecting on the carpet. Horrified, Maren stood there frozen and watched as a small orb fell gently from her mother's palm, hitting one of the others and launching it a few inches away like a game of marbles. There were perhaps twenty-five or so small round, glassy objects staring to pile up around the feet of the nightstand. Another thunk from the other side of the bed – another pile of orbs.

"I think I should go back to the hospital." Regan said softly. Maren ran from the room screaming for her father.

18

Regan's depression was quickly fading. Something was awakening within her; a feeling of power and naturalness began flowing through her veins. She could feel the overwhelming calm setting in. A sense of purpose? Perhaps, or that rare feeling you get when you know that everything's going to be right as rain; that warm shroud of confidence that most of us blatantly rip asunder with our artificial fears.

"I'm getting sick of being poked and prodded. I feel like a damn pin cushion. Every fifteen minutes you want more blood, more stools."

Dr. Henney's peculiar patient imitated the staff in a redneck accent, not far from the one she had as a child: "Bend over Regan; this will only sting for a second, Regan. Are you assholes done yet?"

"I'm concerned, Mrs. Roberts." The doctor flipped through Regan's chart, not making eye contact. "I'd like to call-in a specialist to go over your test results. I have to say, I'm not sure I've seen anything like this before." His voice was muffled from the face mask he and the nurses were wearing. Regan had been admitted into protective isolation under quarantine. Her family waited in a sleeping area down the hall.

"You know, doc? I can't take this much longer. This is seriously pissing me off. I don't want to hear that you've never seen anything like this. That's bullshit. Call your specialist, I want to know what's going on – I'm running out of patience."

Internal medicine physician, Dr. William Clark, called Dr. Henney into a conference room. "Coffee?"

"No thanks." Dr. Henney rubbed his eyes. "Look, Bill, this is the second time my patient has shown a mystery symptom. I owe the family an explanation. I'm going to need your help to do that. What have you found?"

"Nothing." A look of disgust crossed the Dr. Clark's face. "No wounds, no scars, no abnormal test results – everything's normal."

"Bill, I saw enormous amounts of blood pouring from the woman's hands and feet. It took my nurses an hour to clean it up. How can you say there's nothing wrong with her."

"Can I make a suggestion? Is it possible that she's faking it? This could be a trick of some kind. I believe this case may be wasting our time."

Dr. Henney shook his head. "I saw it, Bill. Her family is losing their minds over this. She has two young daughters – they're terrified. What am I supposed to say to them?"

"The family has to be in on it." Dr. Clark replied sternly. "This is far too elaborate of a hoax to pull off by herself."

"We pulled her from a frozen lake over a week ago – that was no hoax. She was in a coma for nearly..."

"Stop!" Dr. Clark interrupted, slamming his hand on the top of the table. "The world is full of weirdos looking for attention. You'll have to let this go. There's nothing wrong with her that a psychiatrist couldn't fix."

"Nothing wrong, huh? Then what the hell's this?" Dr. Henney held up one of the bluish round orbs that had fallen from Regan's hand. It was small – no larger than a marble. It was actually quite beautiful with blue and white swirls mixed with flecks of gold. It was smooth and cold to the touch.

"It's glass, Todd. It's fucking glass – that's all. She could have had those made anywhere. Discharge her."

Henney held the orb up to his eye. He knew there was more to this situation than trickery, he also knew he had to let Regan go.

Maren tiptoed out of the waiting room and into the hallway, not wanting to awaken her father and sister who had dozed off. She walked in her dark socks on the cold floor of the hospital hallway, through the isolation wing doors and to her mother's room. She gently opened the door expecting to see her mother sleeping.

"Shhhh." Regan gestured to her eldest daughter to keep quiet, putting her slender finger to her lips. "Look. Come here. Check this out."

Maren cautiously inched closer to her mother. "What is it?"

"Take off that stupid mask, I'm not contagious for God's sake."

Maren pulled the hospital mask from her face and ran it up over her head and tossed it in the chair. She pulled her long, dark hair and tucked it behind her ears,

"Think of something." Regan demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"Think of something in your head, like a picture: a dog, a cat – anything."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Maren rolled her eyes around in her head a bit. "Ok."

Regan held her hand to her forehead. "Your dad."

"What?"

"Your dad. You were thinking of your dad. Try it again."

Shocked, Maren couldn't focus on anything. What was wrong with her mom?

Should I tell Dr. Henney what's going on?

"Don't tell anyone."

Maren heard the voice as clear as day, but her mother had said nothing. The voice came from a different place, not a tickling of the eardrums such as we're used to; somewhere else – somewhere in the middle of her head. Did my mom just say...

"I hear you."

Maren shook her head. There it was again: an audible hallucination – her mom's voice.

Regan looked at her daughter and put her finger to her lips. Shhhhh... A wicked grin graced her face. "No one needs to know."

19

A sheer panic washed over Maren that nearly buckled her knees. She ran from the hospital room, her fear on automatic.

She held her hand over mouth to keep from screaming, sliding down the hallway in her socks desperately looking for the way back to her father. Her shock created a tunnel vision of lights and strange sounds, lost – unable to find her way. Tears rolled down her cheeks, a sickening feeling gurgled in the deep of her gut, making her want to puke. The hallways narrowed, she bumped into carts as she stumbled her way to nowhere. Her fear was rising to a fever pitch, holding her hands over her head, running blind into a kaleidoscope of noise and flashing glare, then slamming hard into someone at a corner's turn.

It was Victor.

"There you are! We woke up, and you were gone." Maren fell sobbing into his arms. "What's wrong, baby? Are you ok? Did you go see Mom?"

She hugged her dad around the chest, holding him for a moment and sniffing up the remainder of her tears. "Yea... yea, I'm ok." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"I know, baby." Victor wrapped his arm around Maren's shoulder and pulled her in tight to him. "Let's go see Mom." He looked down at little Auri. "Want to see mommy?" Auri took his hand.

Dr. Henney was standing next to Regan's bed looking over her chart. "Come in, Mr. Roberts."

"Anything yet? It's been hours." Victor asked the doctor, giving a sweet smile to his wife.

"Nope. Nothing yet." Regan replied, speaking for the doctor. "Hopefully, we can get out of here."

Dr. Clark entered the room. "This is Dr. Clark." Dr. Henney said, introducing him to the family. "You can take your masks off, they're no longer necessary. We've found no contagious diseases associated with your wife's condition. Dr. Clark is the specialist in this case."

"Hello, doctor." Victor said quietly, pulling off his mask. Dr. Clark gave a silent nod to Regan – she said nothing. Maren and Regan met eyes for just a moment. She gave Maren a knowing wink as if telling her not to mention what had happened.

"We're discharging you, Mrs. Roberts. The nurse will be along shortly with your papers." Dr. Henney said with a bit of reservation in his voice.

"Release her?" Victor was surprised. "You haven't found out what's wrong with her yet."

"The tests were inconclusive." Dr. Clark said. "It would be more productive if she were to go home and get some rest until we find out more about her condition. Rest assured, we have some of our top doctors looking over her results. Our recommendation is bed rest until further notice."

"I want to go home, Vic." Regan looked at him with her big, puppy-dog eyes. "I'm tired of being here." Maren hands were shaking. She feared being at home with her mom alone.

"Can I have a word with Mrs. Roberts?" Dr. Clark said sternly to Victor. "In private?"

"Uh, sure. We'll be right outside, bebe."

Dr. Clark shut the door behind them and turned to Regan. He contemplated for a second on what to say. "The tests show there's nothing wrong with you. You're completely normal."

"I don't believe normal is the right word for what's been happening to me." Regan replied. "There has to be a reason for it."

"We can't find anything wrong with you, Mrs. Roberts. Perhaps there's another explanation – one a bit more deliberate."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'm suggesting that you may be pulling a fast one on our staff. Possibly your family, for whatever reason, may be a part of it?"

"How dare you!" Regan said sharply. "You're supposed to be helping me, and this is how I get treated? I fell into a fucking lake trying to rescue my..."

"I don't appreciate your wasting of the staff's time." Dr. Clark angrily interrupted. "We are an extremely busy facility..."

"...that is overwhelmed and under-staffed." Regan finished his statement.

"Yes." The doctor continued. "We've had too many cases lately of..."

"...people doctor shopping, trying to obtain illegal substances." Regan again finished his statement.

He paused for a moment. "I'm afraid the serious lack of evidence in this matter..."

"...concludes that you are lying to the hospital staff." Regan and the doctor said in unison.

"What are you doing?" the doctor asked.

"What?"

"Why are you finishing my sentences? How are you doing that?" The doctor was not at all impressed. "What kind of trickery is this?"

"No trickery. I can hear you.."

"Mrs. Roberts, this is not a game. It's not a stage show. I could involve the authorities..."

"William Eugene Clark." Regan suddenly interrupted. "Born Dec. 2, 1963. Wife: Alice Lynn. Children: Gracie and William Jr. You were gravely ill with pneumonia at six years old that left a scar on your lung that still aggravates you to this day in the form of a persistent cough during the winter."

Regan spouted off facts quickly, without even thinking. The doctor stood there expressionless, making no sound.

"You met Alice at a college dance. You arrived with another date, but left her at the dance to pursue your new interest. During the first years of your marriage, poor Alice suffered daily at a foam insulation manufacturer, being tormented by a boss from hell while putting you through medical school."

"Stop." Dr. Clark glared at Regan.

"She would try and tell you how unhappy she was during the dinners she slaved over at your little one-room apartment."

"Stop it."

"But you wouldn't listen, being so self-absorbed in your work..."

"That's enough!" he screamed. "This has gone far enough, Mrs. Roberts."

"I told you." she smirked. "I can read your mind."

"You could have read that information anywhere – I'm published. My records are public knowledge, it doesn't prove anything."

Regan sat up on the edge of the bed and leaned closer to the doctor. "I'm not finished. The night of the dance, the one where you met Alice, she told you something only the two of you would know."

The doctor leaned in towards Regan, his fingers tapping nervously against each other.

"And what's that?"

Regan smiled as she reminisced. "Alice said she always fantasized about you at school, and that her fantasy was to have sex with you in her car, which you both decided to do that night – an act that ultimately resulted in the birth of your eldest daughter Gracie."

Dr. Clark stood in silence. He pushed his glasses back up onto his nose, his hands visibly shaking. A sick chill coursed through his body.

"Here's what you don't know." Regan continued; her voice just above a whisper. "Your date that you abandoned there at the dance that night, went looking for you and found you, for sure. She crept up towards Alice's car just enough to see your tool stuffed warmly into the pussy of another woman. The windows were fogging up from the sweat of two bodies reduced to animal tendencies, the car's suspension was creaking from the rocking back and forth, back and forth. Poor Cecelia... Cecilia was it? Of course, it was. She was in love with you. The poor girl ran crying into the woods – so betrayed. Did you know she took her own life a year later? Of course not – you were busy. The poor thing was mentally unstable after the sudden death of her mother a few months earlier. You should be ashamed of yourself – asshole."

Regan leaned back slowly on her hospital bed, clasping her hands behind her head and smiled. "You know, I would've done the same thing. Gotta get it when you can."

His lips were quivering. He held his hand up to his face to hide a tear that streaked down his cheek. Regan handed him a tissue and faked a sniff to make fun of him. "Sad, I know."

20

I have to tell someone. Maren could barely contain herself. She couldn't concentrate at school, staring blankly out of the window at the traffic and pedestrians going by. These people have no idea how lucky they are. They have lives where nothing weird is happening to them; simplicity in their ignorance. Why me?

She was able to walk home from school, being that the building was only about a mile from her neighborhood. She pulled her backpack onto her shoulder and slowly walked home, oblivious of anything around her. It wasn't long before Perdita was able to catch up.

"So, your Mom's out of the hospital. How's she doing?"

"Good... good." Maren lied. "I can't go walking this afternoon, I have to see if my Mom needs any help. You could stop by later if you want."

Maren stood at the door, it took all of her courage just to turn the knob. There was no place she felt at ease; robbed of her safe harbors by the one person who should be providing them. She placed her palm on the door attempting to decipher any angst behind it, issuing a silent prayer for normalcy at the same time. The foyer was dark and cold. She flipped the light switch – nothing. Maren put down her bag and cat-walked slowly through the house, peering around the corners of each room before entering. Her throat was tight, unable to call for her parents. The power was out in each section of the house. She cased each room carefully before braving the other end of the house, leaving her parent's bedroom for last.

She stalked the darkened hallway, each step brought her closer to a soft crying coming from beyond her sister's bedroom door. A tingle ran down her spine that hollowed out her insides, standing her hairs on end. She knew the timbre of the cries to be her mother's.

Regan was curled up fetus-like in the corner of the room on the far side of Auri's bed, just beyond Maren's sight. The blinds were tight, sunlight beamed through the tiniest crack it could find. Maren peered cautiously around the bed; from what she could make out in the darkness her mom's arms were wrapped tight around her head as if in pain.

Mom?

"Too many..." Regan cried through her clenched teeth. "All of them. It hurts so bad..."

Maren leaned down to touch her mom on the shoulder.

"Leave the lights off!" Regan's hand snapped her up by the wrist, making Maren jump.

"Ok, Mom. Let go. You're hurting me!"

Regan held her hands to her temples and whimpered. "Please make it stop..." She gasped for air in between sobs. Each hour that passed built a stronger connection to more and more people around her. A cacophony of noise ripped through Regan's mind as the thoughts and emotions of everyone in a rapidly growing radius pounded her like a wave. The noise grew louder every second, taking her breath away, as if being inside a massive kettle drum. The vibration felt as if it would rip the flesh from her bones. She let out a scream, stood up and pushed Maren to the floor, and ran down the hall towards the living room.

"Wait!" Maren jumped back onto her feet and chased her mother, tripping over Auri's toys. Regan, completely off balance and holding her head in her hands, bounced violently from one wall to the next. She staggered, falling to her knees in front of the oak bureau. She fumbled with the lock before reaching into the back, pulling out a flask of whiskey and chugging it without taking a breath.

Regan sat sobbing, cross-legged on the carpet of the darkened room. "Stop... make it stop. I can hear everyone."

"Should I call the doctor?" Tears ran down Maren's face.

"No!" Regan shouted violently. "No more doctors!" Her voice deepened as if possessed by someone else. "I'll figure this out for myself!"

Maren somehow managed to get her inebriated mother to stumble down the hallway and back into her bed. Regan's weight took its toll on the frail girl, and Maren sat down to catch her breath. Her cell phone rang; it was her dad. He'd be home any minute from shopping with Auri. I have to tell him what happened. I can't keep this a secret.

Regan rolled over and grabbed her daughter by the arm, scaring Maren half to death. "Please don't tell him." She begged. Her voice was torn and raspy from screaming.

"I don't know what to do, Mom. Something's wrong. You're sick."

"I'll deal with it. Keep this our secret for now. He's worried enough already, this will kill him.... please don't."

Maren reluctantly agreed against her better judgment, frightened that her mother would do something horrible to her. Maybe this would all pass, maybe she could run away. Better yet, maybe her mom would die.

21

"Are you ok?" Victor asked his wife through the bathroom door. It was just after 4:00 am and she had been up for two hours now bent over the toilet.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed."

The intensity of her puking threw a vertebra out in the middle of her back; horrible pain shot through her body with every move, but she strained not to make a sound. She took short gasps of air to keep from crying out. Victor couldn't know what was happening to her – he'd never understand. He would drag her back to the hospital, and she would never get out alive. The specialists would dissect her, piece by bloody piece, to discover that which they would never find. She would be institutionalized or worse.

Regan sat on the cold tile floor and ran her hands through her ragged hair. On the floor next to her, scattered about the toilet bowl, were various objects: paperclips, coins, pins, rubber balls, that she had spewed up from her guts. Objects from nowhere. This was the second night in a row that she puked common household items, mixed in with bits of flesh, blood and fuzzy, lint type items, right into her toilet. She carefully scooped up the objects from the bottom of the bowl to examine them – they were becoming much larger with each abdominal spasm. She reached into the cabinet beneath the sink for a plastic trash bag, and quietly put the objects away to hide them from her husband.

The pain was intense. Her guts burned from the inside out, her head pounded from a building pressure, her entire arms were shaking as the next round of sick built slowly in her stomach. She just wanted it to stop and bit her lip hard to keep from crying and waking Victor. The puke feeling started commonly enough, but with a quickness, intensified into a chest bursting, esophagus shredding painfest. As the objects grew larger, she nearly choked to death as they passed her tonsils, getting stuck for a moment right at her throat. There has to be a quicker way to die, she thought.

One of the most difficult items to pass was a long brass chain. She hacked up the end ring, and as she pulled, it kept going and going, each link gagging her to tears. Regan held her breath for the entire two minutes it took to extract the bile-covered fetter – it was nearly twenty inches in length.

She violently heaved, her diaphragm muscles locked in spasm. Numerous objects emerged this time bouncing hard off of the porcelain of the bowl, splashing water into her face.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Victor was concerned.

Damn it. "Yes." she cried. "Go back to bed. I'll be there in a minute."

Please make it stop. She would give anything for it to stop. She was so tired, her eyes drooped closed, and her head bobbed up and down as she waited for the next round of agony. Her hands burned as if acid had been poured on them. Regan immersed them into the toilet water and rubbed them hard with a wash cloth. Sharp cramps set in directly in the center of her palms. She grabbed the wrist of her right arm and clenched her teeth as waves of intense pain shot out of her hand like a stake being driven through it. She held her breath to keep from screaming.

In the center of her palm, the skin swelled up as if it had been crushed by a hammer. The pustule grew larger, and Regan started to panic – yet she said nothing to Victor. The bulge turned purple, and tiny cracks erupted along its top. Sweat poured from her forehead, and her skin was flushed bright red. A primal scream was about to pass her lips when the swelling popped like a giant boil, releasing the tremendous pressure, to her relief.

Tink.

Amid blood, bits of skin tissue and a puss-white ooze, a small metal token hit the cream-colored tile of her bathroom floor, bounced once and came to rest behind the trashcan. She picked it up and held it to the light: it was an arcade token from Disney World.

What the hell?

More swelling, more unusual objects: tacks, buttons, microchip looking things, stones; even a condom. After about an hour, both of her hands were manifesting items from thin air. Each item came easier and faster than the one before it, with each passing moment. By 7:30 in the morning, she had collected three plastic bags of the sinister objects. Her puking had entirely stopped by this point. Feeling much better and amazingly not even tired, she tiptoed past Victor as he started to rustle himself awake and hid the bags in the garage. Regan put the bath towels she had used to wipe up over two cups of blood and goop into the washing machine and turned it on. The items had no particular connection with her; no rhyme or reason for their existence. They were not antiques, they were not personalized, just random acts of manifestation. She went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, not feeling the need for sleep. Her hands, after three hours of abuse, showed no sign of scaring, swelling or discoloration.

22

"Sissy's home!" Regan said as Maren came home from school. As she entered the room, Maren's jaw dropped in fascination. A yellowish glowing object emanated from her mother's hand. Regan held it carefully in front of her as if it were a precious gemstone. It burned with intensity, and a slight hissing sound could be heard coming from the object. Auri was sitting on the couch fixated upon the object. Maren ran to her sister and held her in her arms.

"It's ok." Regan said. "I think she likes it. She's been clapping and waiving her arms at it."

"What is it?" Maren was terrified. As the sphere glowed brighter, Maren squinted to shield her eyes. She covered Auri's eyes with her hand, but the child pushed them away.

"I don't know exactly." Regan proclaimed. "I think it's a sun or star of some kind – just in miniature. Pretty cool, huh?"

Maren held her sister tighter. "I thought we weren't going to tell anyone about this."

"Oh, Auri? She won't say anything. Besides, we were bored. You know – cooped up. This is fun, right Auri?"

The child waived her arms around beckoning the sphere to rotate. Maren's back was arched up with anxiety. "If you don't what it is, how do you know it's safe?"

"Ok, Maren." Her mom looked annoyingly at her eldest daughter and gently closed her hand into a ball, extinguishing the glowing orb. The room became suddenly dark with a cold chill settling in fast. "Is that better?"

"Mom, this is scaring me. How are you doing this?"

"Something's happened. I was up all night. Things are manifesting from my hands; things I think of in my mind."

"What is wrong with you?" Maren started to cry. "Are you sick?"

"There's nothing wrong. I feel great! I've never felt better."

Within, Regan felt compelled to embrace her unique affliction – she no longer feared it. The power was as natural as breathing. It needed to be satiated like a hunger pain, calling for her attention, a true symbiosis with her own body – inseparable. She was curious to see how far she could take it.

Regan jumped with excitement, wanting Maren to share in her elation. "It's starting to get kind of fun. Here, check this out. What do you want me to make?"

"Mom, no. I don't want to."

"Come on! Think of anything!" Regan's eyes became bigger with a crazed, fanatical look.

Maren's hands were shaking as she wiped her tears.

"Don't think about it, Maren. Just have fun with it – everything's cool."

"No. Please don't make me..."

"I know..." Regan smiled. "You want money. Teenage girls always want money."

Regan shook her hand with a short, violent snap, and within a split second, a green bill floated to the floor. Maren was frozen with terror. Regan nudged the bill with her foot, as one would do with a dead mouse.

"It's safe." She reached down, took the note from the floor and brought it to her face. It was a crisp, new one hundred dollar bill.

"Holy shit, we're rich." Regan exclaimed. "Here, take it."

"No."

"Come on, Maren. Free money."

"No, I don't want it."

Regan smirked as she tucked the bill into her own pocket. "Suit yourself."

"You can't spend that, it's counterfeit. You'll have to take it to the bank and see where the serial number says it's from."

"I don't think so. They won't be able to tell it apart from any other." Regan paused and rolled her eyes around in her head, deep in thought.

"You can't do this, Mom. Please call Dr. Henney."

Her mother was in a world of her own, ignoring Maren's pleas. She was talking to herself, Maren couldn't make out what she was mumbling. Suddenly, Regan's eyes flew open wide. "That's it!"

"What are you doing, Mom?"

Regan concentrated deeply on something in her mind. She shook her hand violently again and again – nothing was happening.

"Shit. Why isn't this working?" Regan closed her eyes with a deeper look of concentration. She shook her hand again; still nothing.

"Mom, stop it – just stop."

Regan took a few deep breaths, blowing each one out through her mouth with a sharp sound. Maren took her sister by the arm. "Come on, Auri. Let's go to my room."

"Leave her here."

"It's not safe. She may get hurt."

"I'm not going to hurt my own kid. Leave her here."

Regan let out a loud grunt as if she were lifting a weight. She snapped her hand hard one more time.

Tink. A large blue stone fell from Regan's hand, hitting the glass top of the coffee table and bouncing onto the carpet. Mother and daughter looked at each other in silence and back down to the stone. Neither one knew what to make of it.

"What is it?" Maren asked.

Auri reached down, picked up the stone and handed it to Maren. It was a deep blue, faceted cut gemstone – strikingly beautiful. "Mom, what is this?"

Regan couldn't contain her devilish grin. "I think we're going to be rich."

23

The two girls were huddled together behind a bush around the side of the Roberts' house. The snow gently covered the tiny leaves that made a small snowstorm to the ground when Maren shook it. Perdita reached into her coat pocket.

"You want one?"

"You smoke cigarettes? Gross." Maren winced her face at the suggestion.

"I'm a recreational smoker. I only smoke when I'm drunk."

"You drink, too?"

"Only when I'm stressed out...or high – Ok, I guess I smoke all of the time. I figured that all the stress you're under, you might..."

"You thought wrong."

Perdita fired up and blew the hit gracefully from her nose. Maren swatted the air to get the smoke away from her face. There was a soft crunching of footsteps in the snow just on the other side of the bush. "Put that away! Someone's coming." Perdita threw the stoke on the ground and mashed it with her foot. "Crap. It's just your sister. That was a waste."

Auri stood silently staring at the two girls huddled together from the cold. She glanced back over her shoulder for just a second, reached into her pocket and held her closed fist out towards her sister. Maren held her hand out to accept the gift.

Auri plopped the big, beautiful blue stone into her sister's hand. "Oh shit!" Perdita squealed. "Where did she get that?"

"It's my Mom's. Auri must have stolen it from her. She doesn't know what she's doing."

"Where did your Mom get that from?"

"You'd never believe it if I told you, which I can't."

"How much is it worth?" Perdita's eyes lit up.

"It may not be worth anything. I'm not sure what it is." Maren thought for a moment, tossing the stone up and down in her hand. "I kinda need to know where this came from – what it might be."

"Tell you what," Perdita rubbed her chin in a devious gesture. "Let's just go to the jewelry store and see what it's worth. It's Saturday; maybe there's someone there who can tell us what it is."

Maren's curiosity got the better of her. What were these things her mom created? Were they real? Flesh and blood? Something imaginary or other worldly? If she were forced to keep her mother's secret, at least she had the right to know what these objects actually were.

"Ok." Maren agreed. "Let's walk to the jewelry store on the Pike, it's not too far. We'll take Auri with us. I'll leave a note on my bedroom door."

Perdita could hardly contain herself.

A mile or so up the boulevard was a strip mall in a run-down area where the stores were closing their doors one-by-one. Eventually, there would be nothing left but the Mini-Mart selling their cheap beer and smokes. The jewelry store was more of a pawn shop complete with bars over the windows.

"Morning, ladies." An elderly gentleman eyed the girls up and down with a slightly perverse smile.

"We have a stone we need to know the value of." Perdita said. "Can you do that?"

"A stone, eh? Let's see what you have there."

Maren reached into her pock and produced the gem for the man. He pulled out his loupe, still checking out the girls from the corner of his eye, and held the gem in his hand, bouncing it in his palm, feeling out the weight.

"My, that's an awful big one." The man said sarcastically.

He held the stone up to the light. He turned it around, looking at it from different angles. He cleared his throat, rubbed his eyes and took another long look at the gem. "Hold on just a second."

Walking to a small table at the back of the store, he placed a diamond tester to the gem, touching a needle to the different facets. He placed the stone under a microscope and peered through the lenses, adjusting the focus.

"Where did you girls get this from?" The man asked, still looking through the lens.

"We found it, uh, on the ground – in the woods." Perdita said. She gave Maren a quick glance from the corner of her eye as if to say, we're going to be rich!

"You found it in the woods, eh? You girls sure about that?"

"Yea. Do you know how much it's worth?"

"Let me call my friend. He knows more about gems than I do. Can you ladies hang for ten minutes until he gets here?"

Maren had a bad feeling. She knew her mother would find the stone missing and kill her, but she had to know what the stone was. Against her better sense, she gave in to Perdita's pleas to stay.

"Wait here." The man walked to his office, dialed the phone and glanced out of the doorway.

"Yes. This is William over at Gateway Pawn. I need a detective out here asap."

24

Maren was shaking when the detective sat her down on a chair in the back office of the pawn shop. "Calm down, miss. You're not in any trouble, but I need to know where the stone came from. Did your friend steal it?"

"No, sir. We found it in the woods – on the ground." She couldn't tell him the truth. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she began to shake harder.

"If you found it on the ground, then why are you so upset? I'm not sure you're telling me the entire truth."

"I'm just scared. I've never been in trouble with the law before. We found it, we came here to see what it was worth, and now I'm talking to you."

The detective knew he wouldn't be able to hold the girls without evidence that they had stolen the gem. "I'm going to take you and your friend home, but I'll have to keep the stone. I'm sure someone is looking for it."

Maren panicked. "Ok. It's my Mom's gem. I stole it from her room. I'll take it back to her."

"I still have to keep the stone until our investigation is finished. Let's have a talk with your mother."

Regan was fever red when she answered the door and saw a detective standing with her daughter on the front porch. Victor came up behind his wife and confronted the authority. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Morning, Sir. Montgomery County PD. Can we come in?"

The parents sent their eldest daughter to her room and had a seat on the couch. "Ma'am, your daughter was caught trying to get a gem appraised at Gateway Pawn with a friend of hers." The detective walked slowly around the Roberts' living room suspiciously picking up nicknacks, eying them and putting them back on the shelf. "That's not a crime on its own, but anytime a pawn dealer alerts us to something suspicious, we have to check it out."

"The gem is mine." Regan glanced at Victor with a hush-hush that, after seventeen years of marriage, she hoped he would understand.

"She took it without asking. You know kids." Regan shrugged her shoulders, hoping the situation would blow over. Victor looked at her sternly but said nothing.

"I know kids." the detective stated. "But it's not the fact she took it without asking, it's the gem itself."

Regan looked puzzled. "Ok...?"

"From what the pawn shop owner has explained to me. It's a diamond."

"And?"

"It's blue. That's a rare color. It also weighs nearly fifty carats."

Regan rubbed her eyes to ease the growing stress.

"That's the size of the Hope diamond – it's virtually priceless. You couldn't possibly own something like that."

Regan stared down at her feet. Victor's mouth dropped wide. "What's going on?" he whispered to her. She said nothing.

"I've called the FBI, ma'am." The detective said sternly. "There's something strange going on here. Tell me right now where the diamond came from, or the FBI will run their own investigation. You could be in serious trouble."

"You have no idea."

25

Victor answered the knock at the door. Two FBI agents flashed their identification, and he let them in. Regan was waiting for them on the couch in the living room. She had said little to Victor in the two days since the pawn shop incident. Regan told her husband to be patient, she would explain everything to him soon. Victor had been racked with anguish over the incident, he couldn't work, couldn't sleep. He had no idea why his wife would keep secrets from him. Was she a thief? Living a double life? How could she have hidden a diamond worth 100 million dollars or more in their home? His biggest fear had come true: the trust he had instilled in her; the trust that gave him his identity, had all but vanished.

"Ma'am. I'm Agent Browning, and this is Agent Michaels." He offered his hand in greeting. Regan said nothing, keeping her eyes towards the floor.

"Ma'am. We had the gem investigated thoroughly by gemologists at the Smithsonian. Frankly, they told us some something, well, kind of crazy."

"What's that?"

"The diamond you claim is yours is not only similar to the Hope diamond, it is the Hope. In every way they could measure: cut, color, inclusions, it's an identical stone. The entire wing was shut down, and the genuine Hope was secured under the tightest security."

"Mrs. Roberts, the Hope is a national treasure. The Secret Service was called in, and a call was made to the President."

"Really? The President?" Regan couldn't conceal a grin.

Agent Browning sat next to Regan on the couch. "Ma'am, where did you get that stone?"

Regan was silent. Victor wiped the sweat from his brow and grabbed her by the arm. "Bebe, what the hell's going on?"

Browning flipped through a small notepad. "Ma'am, we're on lock down at the museum. The Hope has been secured until we figure this out. We can't keep this from being leaked forever, the press will sniff something out, and they'll have a field day with this." Browning put his hand on her shoulder. "They'll have a field day with you."

"Do not touch me." Regan shivered from the agent's hand.

"This isn't a game, Mrs. Roberts. If you don't tell me how this happened and where you got the stone, we're going to have to take you into custody."

Regan perked up from her trance. "Custody? No. I can't do that. I have to take care of my little girls."

"I'm afraid you have no choice, ma'am."

Regan looked at Victor and took his hand, the tears streamed down her cheeks. "I guess I have to show you something." Regan held her hand out over the coffee table, palm down. Failing to hold back her tears, she let out a gasping sob, trying to catch her breath.

"Ma'am, what are you doing?" The agents could feel the tension in the air. "Ma'am, put your hands on the table." A burst of dry heat emanated from her body, she let out a cry of exertion. The tears flowed heavily, and she gasped again for a breath. Agent Browning stood up and reached into his jacket for his firearm. "Ma'am! Put your hands on the..."

Tink.

A blue, gem-like object fell from Regan's hand, bounced across the glass top of the coffee table, tink, tink, and landed gently on the carpet. It shimmered with beautiful rainbow flashes.

There was complete silence. No one could say anything. Victor sat looking at the gem, mouth open wide. Regan held her face in her hands.

"What is that?" Agent Michaels asked. "Where did that come from?"

Browning bent down slowly and picked the gem up from the floor. "Is this a trick? What's going on? I need an explanation right now."

Regan began to panic. "I... I don't have one."

26

Victor sat the bar with his fifth vodka and cranberry in hand. He rarely ever drinks – mainly holidays and his anniversary. These drinks, however, were unusually strong. Victor happily stuffed the tip jar for the extra effort. If you're going to catch a buzz, you better not pussy-foot around with your alcohol.

The taproom was just across the street from the hospital where they were meticulously experimenting on his wife. It was Regan's third day in isolation, once again poked, prodded and scanned. He couldn't understand why she didn't tell him of her strange predicament – did she not trust his reactions? The secrets were sick and unsettling; nearly as much as the freakish happenings from her hands. Taking another sip of relaxation, he closed his eyes – so much ran through his head.

How could she not trust me after all this time? Why did my own daughter keep this from me? How much was that diamond worth?

No answers were found. He cut himself off from the bar, and stumbled back to the hospital to be by his wife's side.

"This is worse than last time." Regan was thin, feeling sick to her stomach from too many IV's, blood dyes and needle pricks.

"You have to be here." Victor said. "We have to find out what's wrong with you."

Regan sat up. "Vic, this is why I didn't tell you sooner. Maybe there isn't something wrong with me. The accident changed me somehow. Strange things have been happening ever since then."

"This isn't normal, Bebe. This is tearing our family apart. Look at how much trouble Maren got into because of this."

"Maren should never have taken that stone. It was supposed to be a secret."

"From who? Me?!" The alcohol was loosening Victor's attitude.

"I'm the only one who didn't know about it. Why, Regan? What the hell is wrong with me?"  
"That's enough!" Regan scowled. "That's why I didn't tell you. Sometimes I can't trust what you're going to say or do. I didn't want you to think something's wrong with me. I'm not some kind of freak. You would've sent me back here to get cured. Well, fuck it, here I am. They're not doing shit. Maybe I don't want to be cured – maybe they can't fix it. What if I'm supposed to be like this?"

"Like what?" He asked. "You can't be like this, Regan. It's dangerous. You don't know what's happening to you."

She felt a calm in her isolation. It didn't matter what anyone thought. At the time, she had settled on the fact that she was never coming out of that lake. It was ok. The solace of death was peaceful, alone in her thoughts – the last vestige of honest quiescence. She had made love to her ego: no eyes upon her, no judgments. We're surrounded by people, crawling over us; tethered unrelenting to parents, teachers, lovers – to constant scrutiny. When is it our time?

Regan looked away from him. "I've been scared to death the last couple of weeks. I can't stand the sick feeling that something may be wrong with me. It's tearing me apart inside. I'm letting that go – I've come to accept this. I have no choice but to accept it."

Victor felt that soul-crushing moment when you suddenly lose trust in that one person you believed you could count on. It's happened to most of us at one time or another, we just forget how horrible it feels.

"I don't think I can forgive you for this; for being selfish. You're only thinking about you."

But what is really wrong with that?

Regan burst into tears but couldn't look him in the eye. "It's not my fault. I didn't do anything." She sobbed quietly. Until now, her marriage was all she had. It defined who she was, filling in the missing pieces. Now, things were changing fast – she yielded to another power to satiate her emptiness.

The scientists were utterly baffled. There was no evidence whatsoever of Regan's malfunction: tricks or no tricks. All tests were normal – it was an illusion of the highest order. She was obviously playing everyone for a fool: the feds, the scientists, even her family. There were no reasons for the manifestations, no logical explanation for her illusions, no evidence of a higher power at work, other than Regan's. The diamonds were held in evidence, but the investigators couldn't prove that the woman had broken any laws. No malice was evident. The feds released her from quarantine, and Regan happily went home later that evening. As Victor helped her into the car to drive her home, a dark sedan followed behind them taking note of where the couple's trip came to rest: the ordinary ranch style house, their suburban clone, in Avalon Hills where they would attempt to piece their lives back together. Was it was possible that the security at the Smithsonian, where the Secret Service was to keep Regan's transgression so hush-hush, not as tight as it seemed?

27

In an effort to keep the peace around the household, Regan refrained from making any further manifestations. Victor and her girls meant the world to her, truly, and her powers, while extremely tempting to experiment with, were making her family uncomfortable. Regan did, however, have the need to call a family meeting after dinner on Monday night. Victor held Auri on his lap, Maren sat next to her father. Regan stood before them on the living room floor as if it were a stage and she, a motivational speaker.

"I want to apologize for what happened last week. This affliction got out of control. I didn't mean to cause anyone stress, or keep secrets from you. I'm just not used to this – it's rather embarrassing. Can you forgive me?"

The family sat in silence. They looked around to see who would be the first to say anything. "Mom, it's not about forgiving you." Maren began, her eyes filling with tears, hands gently trembling. "It's about understanding what is going on. We're scared. None of this makes any sense to me, it's like something from a horror movie."

"It makes no sense to me either." Regan said. "If the doctors can't figure it out, what am I supposed to do?"

"I'm at a loss, too." Victor said. "My faith in doctors has been crushed. I don't know what to think."

"Here's what we can do. Let's just ignore it and maybe it will go away – if it doesn't kill me first." Regan offered a small, nervous laugh, but no one returned the gesture. "Let's just pretend it never happened."

"How can we forget about it?!" Maren screamed. "What the hell! Look at you – you're some kind of, of...."

"Of what?" Regan asked. "What, Maren? A freak?"  
Maren jumped to her feet and ran from the room. Regan's voice cracked as she screamed in the direction of Maren's bedroom. "I didn't ask for this!" She turned to Victor and Auri with a whimper. "I didn't ask for this, Vic."

Victor stood up, Auri clinging to him and put his arm around his wife's shoulder. "I know, Bebe. She's just scared – we all are. I'm so sick about this I can't even think straight anymore."

Regan sobbed into her hands. "I don't know what's happening."

"I love you, honey. I don't want to lose you. I feel sick to my stomach that no one can help us, and I don't understand how that's possible. I'm praying so hard that this will stop."

Regan didn't want to see her daughter. What would she say? She took to her own bed, lying in the dark, trying to think things through. Maren's words etched painfully into her brain as she lay there getting angrier and angrier. She was not a freak. What if everyone were wrong? What if her powers were a miracle – a gift from God himself? How could her manifestations be used to help people? She could create endless amounts of money to give to the poor.

Regan ran her daughter's thoughtless words through her head.

Ungrateful bitch. What does she know? Why listen to a fifteen year old?

Should the future of her powers be dictated by her family? That could be detrimental to society, even the world. Regan had been given this power for a reason, a reason no one could ever understand. Finally, her prayers had been answered.

What if you could manifest anything from your thoughts – anything? You would be the most powerful person in the world, with unlimited riches to offer. How can power like that be stifled?

It won't. Her family's jealousy had to be kept in check. Regan would practice her new craft in private, away from the eyes and fears of her family.

28

The next morning, Regan was interrupted from her coffee meditation by her cell.

"Mrs. Roberts? This is Phil Anderson from Good Morning Washington. Do you have a minute to talk?"

"What's this about?"

"Mrs. Roberts. We would love to have you on our show next week. Are you free for an interview?"

"I don't understand. Interview me about what?"

"Your illusions. Your magic. Seems that you played quite a nasty trick on the Smithsonian last week. A hoax, I'm sure. But, heh heh, I have to say I'm intrigued with the story and, well, I think our viewers would be too. Sounds like great television."

"You're mistaken, Mr. Anderson. You must have me mixed up with someone else."

"Do I? Well then, my mistake. If you have any information you can share with me about this incident, give me a call. That's Phil, at Good Morning Washington. 443-2131."

Regan shut her cell closed without saying a goodbye. How did they find out about the diamonds? A scientist at the museum had to have leaked the info to the press. An uncomfortable chill ran down Regan's spine. People would find out about her unique powers now, it was only a matter of time. Then what would happen?

Maren waltzed past her mother sitting at the dining room table, grabbed her lunch, and left for school without a word. She couldn't think about her mother any longer, she needed time for quietly repairing her emotions. Her life had been turned upside-down by her mom's selfishness. Her relationship with her mom was irreparably damaged, and it was too painful to think about. How could this rift possibly close itself?

She joined Perdita on the way to school. "You know, I'm feeling pretty good today."

"Really?" Perdita chimed. "I'll feel better when I'm off restriction." She glared at Maren who either didn't notice or didn't care. "I'm going to miss a heap of my favorite shows for the next couple of weeks because of you."

"Me? It was your stupid idea to take the stone to the pawn shop."

"The whole neighborhood is trying to figure out the story. Mrs. Parker saw the cops bringing us home. I'll bet she thinks we got caught smoking weed or something. Actually, being grounded isn't that bad. I'm getting a lot of reading done. You know, M, I think it was kind of cool being arrested by the cops. Makes us seem like outlaws dont'cha think?"

"We didn't get arrested."

"Well, it looked that way. What happened with your mom? Where did she get..."  
Maren spun around and grabbed Perdita by the arm. "Stop talking. Please stop, talking. I don't want to hear about it anymore today."

"Ok." Perdita yanked her shoulder from Maren's grasp. "Chill the fuck out. I was just asking a question."

Victor left early for a meeting with clients downtown. He did and didn't want to go, but getting away from his wife for a bit would be good for him. Regan sat with Auri at the dining room table in silence like so many mornings before. Auri began to gesture to her mother with her hand, opening and closing it, over and over.

"What's that, baby?" Regan said in a childlike voice. "What do you want, honey?"

The child continued to open and close her palm, repeatedly. "Oh, that? You like that, honey?" Auri clapped her hands in approval.

Regan closed her hand into a ball. A light slowly grew inside of her fist. Rays of yellow auras, unable to be held back by her flesh, leaked from between her fingers, her hand glowing red from the intensity. She dramatically unfolded her fist very slowly, exposing the tiny star in the palm of her hand, filling the room with a beautiful, yet eerie glow. It glowed with the radiance of a real sun, just like our own. It was maybe four inches in diameter, filling Regan's palm. She used her other hand to push towards and away from the star, growing and reducing its intensity. When dim, you could see the masses of fission burning as the tiniest flares, thousands upon thousands of swirling flames swimming together in an eclectic beauty. As she grew the orb in its light, it became unbearable to look at, leaving painful after-burns in the eyes, causing her and Auri to look away. It radiated with the slightest warmth but would not burn her hand. Auri looked on in awe, waiving her hands around slowly, beckoning the orb to rotate, which it did at her command. The smile on Regan's face told the story of the power she held inside, a power no one else on earth had ever exhibited. She fixated upon the orb and its life giving warmth, the fire's reflection in her eyes created a demonic look about her. This was only the tip of the iceberg of her true abilities. A comfort settled over her – it was as natural as breathing and needed to be expressed. An energy built up inside straining to be released, like an orgasm long suppressed – the power was sexual, to be sure. Her exhibitions awakened the deepest recesses of her womanhood; she would not be stopped, no matter the consequence.

Regan closed her hand to snuff out the tiny solar presence and shook off the rush. The room darkened, a slight chill filled the air.

"Mommy needs to stop. Let's watch some tv."

She surfed channels to find morning cartoons, hoping to appease her daughter. She made her Auri comfortable with a pillow on the floor and some soda pop, then sat back at the dining room table with her coffee. She nervously flipped her cell phone around in her hand until she got the courage to open it. She dialed the number written on the small post-it.

"Hello? Can I please speak with Phil Anderson?"

29

The room was smaller than she thought, cheap dime store paintings lifted from a motel lined the wall, a bad smell of musk from the carpet. Regan always imagined the green room of a television studio would be more glamorous, but perhaps not a local station. Surprisingly, she wasn't nervous about the interview. In her discussions with Phil, she insisted they not bring up the incident at the Smithsonian, but she would be happy to perform some 'illusions' as she called them. She wasn't sure why she had agreed to this. Regan rubbed her hands over and over, her typical tell of anxiety. Had she been harboring a desire for attention all along? She hadn't thought this all the way through.

"Two minutes."

A woman with headphones popped her head in the doorway, glasses pushed on top of her head. Two minutes. Then what?

There was a small audience in attendance in the studio, maybe a dozen people at the most, just enough, however, pushing Regan's nerves close to the edge and hauling ass from the studio.

"One minute."

I wish she would stop that. That's irritating.

Regan rubbed her hands harder, inadvertently cracking her knuckles. She had no idea what to expect. Victor was watching at home along with Maren, who stayed home from school to see her mother on television. They were not happy about the situation, what would they say to their friends and neighbors about the appearance?

"You're on, Regan. Let's go."

She took a deep breath, flattened the wrinkles from her blouse and played with the imaginary fly-away in her hair. "You look fine." Producer-lady said. "This way, watch your step."  
Regan stepped over cardboard boxes of bottled water and cables leading to nowhere and made her way to the set. This certainly wasn't the Tonight Show. Producer-lady led Regan by the hand and settled her down into a soft chair. It was a commercial break, and the staff hurriedly mic'd her up to get a sound check. Phil, looking over his notes, didn't even glance up at her.

"Ok, Regan, say something." A man with a clipboard said.

"Check, one, two, three...."

"Say something real. Like what you're going to talk about."

Regan didn't know what she was going to say. She had hoped Phil would just ask her questions that she could answer.

"Speak up." Clipboard guy prompted.

"Hi. I'm Regan Roberts, and I'm glad to be here. I have two daughters who are watching their mom on..."

"Ok – that's good. Just hold tight, going live in thirty seconds."

Oh my God, what am I doing here?

Regan noticed the audience sitting quietly, staring at her. They seemed contrived, uninterested, as if they had been taken off of the street at gunpoint to sit in this tiny, smelly studio. No smiles, no clapping, no fun.

Three, two, one.

Suddenly, activity. Lights, music – the studio came to life. The audience applauded with a gentle manner, Phil looked up from his notes and into the camera.

"We're back with a surprise guest today and what a treat! Regan Roberts, an artist and housewife, is joining us here on Good Morning Washington to show us some intriguing magic. She's not a professional magician; however she possesses a unique talent for illusion that's sure to blow your mind. How are you today, Regan?"

The spotlight was on her. She collected herself quickly.

"Great, Phil. I'm glad to be here." She lied through her teeth.

"Regan, you mentioned that you're a stay-at-home mom with two daughters, correct?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been practicing magic?"

"A couple of years now, I guess?"

"And do your daughters play around with magic as well, Regan?"

"They've shown no interest, no."

"So this is just a hobby for you, correct? You've never performed on a stage. Is it safe to say that this is your big debut here on Good Morning Washington?"

"Yes. That's safe to say."

What the hell am I saying? Regan started to fumble around in her chair nervously. Clipboard guy, watching her fidget, waved slightly to get her attention, and gave her a thumbs up to settle her down.

Great job. He lipped silently.

She sighed and re-focused her attention on the questions. Amazingly, her stage fright was quickly fading, and she felt a calm washing over her. It was kind of fun.

Phil took off his glasses creating a serious stance. "Before we get started, let's address a rumor that's been circulating around town for a few weeks. We intercepted a report from the Smithsonian that a replica of the Hope diamond had surfaced at a local pawn shop. So exact a replica, the FBI was called in, and a lock-down went into effect at the museum. Rumor has it, that the museum staff went into a panic over the incident."

He leaned a bit closer to her. "Our sources tell us that you were the one responsible for the forgery. What say you?"

Regan was furious but held her calm demeanor. In fact, a part of her knew this would happen, and she was prepared for the question.

"Yes." Regan smiled. "That was me. I played a trick on my friends, and it got a bit out of control. I manifested a piece of glass from my hand that was mistaken for a diamond when a friend took it to a pawnshop for an appraisal. It turned out to be a very convincing replica."

"Hold on, Regan. Explain what you mean by manifestation? Phil was chewing on the end of his glasses looking so much like a real reporter.

"I have an illusion where I can seemingly pull objects from thin air. It's like pulling a rabbit from a hat."

"Why did the FBI get involved? Why would the shop owner call the police?"

"He must have been a terrible appraiser. I wouldn't be taking my jewelry there." Regan laughed, and the audience laughed with her.

Phil smiled, too. "Has the incident been taken care of? Case closed, right?"

"Yes. All that's behind me now."

"Great! When we come back, we'll get Regan to show us one of her fantastic illusions. Don't go away."

The lights dimmed, and clipboard guy flattened out some wrinkles on her sleeves.

Phil whispered to Regan. "Good job – you're like an old pro at this. Do you need time to prepare your trick?"

"You promised you wouldn't bring up the museum incident."

"It was a great intro into your story. It's interesting news – captivating."

"You're going to get me into trouble." Regan said. "The case is still under investigation."

Phil sat up in his chair. "That makes it even better. We really need the ratings boost. Strange topics sell. You'll be fine, unless this trick sucks – then you're in trouble."

Maren held her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth on the living room carpet. The situation was unsettling. What would she tell her friends?

"She looks good." Victor said.

"She's making a laughing stock of our family on national TV. She promised she wouldn't do this."

"This isn't a national show, it's local." Victor wasn't happy about it either, but there was nothing he could say to change his wife's mind.

"Local, national – who cares? This can't be good. We're screwed."

"We'll just have to see what happens." Victor replied. "It can't hurt anything, could it?"

It was exciting seeing her mother on television, but Maren knew deep down it was only the beginning of more problems. She had no idea why – just a feeling. Her mother had broken her promise. It was wrong on so many levels, why couldn't anyone else see it? People would only want more, and her mother's tricks would only become more disturbing.

30

Clipboard guy resumed countdown. He pointed at Phil as a silent cue: action!

"We're back with our special guest, Regan Roberts, and you do not want to miss this segment. Regan recently fooled the scientists at the Smithsonian with a replica of the Hope diamond and caused a stir in our nation's capital. She's here with us today to show us some fantastic illusions. What are we going to see today, Regan?"

Regan didn't reply, she simply held out her left hand and scratched her palm gently with her finger.

"This is creeping me out." Maren said, barely able to watch. "She needs to stop."

Victor sat silently with an uncomfortable look about him.

A small, white pearl-like object appeared in Regan's hand. She grabbed the greasy orb between her thumb and index finger and started to pull in an upward direction. The cameraman moved in for a closer shot. He was blocking the audience's view, and they bobbed their heads up and down in an attempt see over him. A strand of pearls emerged, strung together in the traditional fashion, each one emerging from what looked like a hole in her palm. As she tugged, the hole opened and closed in a pulsating fashion like an insect laying a strand of eggs.

"Cool." Victor said.

"Gross." Maren added.

Regan kept pulling until the entire strand was nearly a foot long. It was gross – covered in an ectoplasmic residue of some sort. When the last pearl emerged, the strand swung free in the air, and Regan held it up for the audience to see. They let out a collective gasp.

"Oh my God!" Phil was beside himself. "This is amazing! I'm speechless, Regan. How did you do that?"

Regan looked around the set. The audience was staring at her with deer-in-the-headlight looks on their faces. She was holding them captive. Regan spotted a young woman in her early twenties, sitting in the front row and beckoned her to come up. The cameras swung around to catch the girl walking up to the set, and as she approached, Regan handed her the strand as a gift. The girl snatched it up. "Thank you!"

"We're those real pearls, Regan?" Phil asked.

"Maybe, maybe not – that's my little secret."

"Hey, my anniversary is coming up, and my wife would love a set of those." The audience laughed.

Regan felt something stirring in her soul, deep in the core of her being. Manifesting these objects created a euphoric feeling in her, peace like she had never known before. There are two times when most people feel as if they are on top of the world: when they have sex, and when they win the lottery. Regan felt that sense of peace right now.

"I'll give you an anniversary gift, Phil."

Regan reached out and took Phil's hand. "Think of one thing that you and your wife would love to have."

Phil looked understandably shocked. "I don't understand."

"I'll give you a gift that you'll never forget."

Maren had a dreadful feeling about this. "This can't be good."

"What's going on, Mar?" Victor asked. "What's she doing?"

Maren closed her eyes and covered her face. She rocked nervously, harder, back and forth on the carpet.

"Ok." Phil said. "I'm done."

Regan closed her eyes. She snapped her fingers. Suddenly, an ordinary playing card appeared in her hand from thin air. The entire studio was silent. They held their breath to see what was happening. She turned the playing card over and handed it to Phil.

He turned white as a ghost. He held the playing card in his hand, his eyes widened, and he brought his other hand up to cover his mouth. Regan tilted her head back and let out a deep sigh as if she'd just had an orgasm. She was as high as a kite – totally speechless.

"Phil..." Clipboard guy could not get his host's attention. "Phil!"

The host sat in a daze, staring at the simple playing card. On the face side of the card was a picture of Phil's daughter.

"Hi, Daddy. I can see you. Can you see me?"

The image on the card spoke, but only Phil could hear it.

Phil cried out and ran from the set back to his dressing room.

"Cut! Commercial... commercial." Clipboard guy yelled.

"What the hell just happened?" Victor asked.

"Is it over yet?" Maren continued to cover her face.

Chaos ensued on the set, staff were funneling the audience out of the studio in a hurry, lights were shutting down. Regan was in her own universe, eyes closed; oblivious to everything around her.

The producer ran to Phil's dressing room. "What happened? Are you ok?" Phil laid his head down on his arm and quietly sobbed into his sleeve, still holding the picture.

"What's on that card, Phil? What did she do?"

Phil sobbed harder and handed the playing card to his producer. There was nothing on the card – it was totally blank. He tossed it on the table and patted his boss on the shoulder.

Crazy bastard.

"We're shutting down production, Mrs. Roberts. Thanks for coming by. Sorry about Phil, he's having some... issues."

Clipboard guy handed Regan her coat. "I'm sure we'll be in touch, Phil and the rest of the staff want to thank you for coming. Great tricks, Mrs. Roberts. I was blown away."

"Yep." That's all she had to say. She put her coat on and headed home.

31

Phil had sat at the local watering hole for last three days. The show was on temporary hiatus. He slowly walked home, buzzed from the drinks, staggering to stay on the sidewalk and not fall into the busy street he lived on in Georgetown. He fumbled with the keys a bit and finally managed to get into his flat.

"Phil? Is that you?" His wife Brenda was exhausted, eyes bloodshot from crying. "Phil. I... I can't take it anymore. I just can't." Brenda burst out into tears again. Phil didn't say a word – he just held her as she sobbed. It had been days since they'd slept.

"Is it still there?"

He listened closely to see if he could still hear his daughter's tiny voice. At first, nothing.

Thank God. Maybe it was over.

But then: "Daddy? Help me, Daddy."

He looked in the direction of the old cherry wood box he had placed the playing card into. The tiny, muffled voice emanated from the box. A sick, anxious feeling of fear and misery filled his gut.

"Make it stop. Please, Phil. Make it stop." Brenda pleaded between sobs. "I can't take... I..." She couldn't muster the words from her burst of cries.

"Fuck it. What are we going to do?" Phil asked her. He placed his hand to his brow to think. "Ok, ok." He pried himself away from Brenda and headed for the box.

"Phil? What are you doing?"

He picked up the wooden box from the dresser and carried it towards the back door.

"No! Phil!" Brenda screeched.

"It's the only way. It isn't right – it can't be like this." He placed the box on the floor of the wooden deck.

"Mommy? Daddy? I can hear you. What's going on? Help me!" The tiny voice said from the box. Phil bent down and opened the lid one last time, unable to catch his breath, his voice cracking from sobbing.

"I'm sorry, baby. Daddy is so sorry."

"Phil, don't....!" Brenda was barely conscience from exhaustion and laid on the floor of the deck like a rag doll, her hand reaching for the box.

The image on the playing card cried out: "Daddy? Please let me out. I miss you and Mommy. Please don't close the lid!"

"Stop it!" Phil slammed the top shut and grabbed the lighter fluid from the shelf above the grill. He poured the liquid over the box.

"PHIL! NO!" Brenda screamed, trying desperately to crawl to the box, just out of reach. "DON'T BURN MY BABY!!"

Phil flicked his lighter and touched it to the fancy cherry wood box. He fell to his knees and sobbed with his head in his hands as the muffled, choking screams coming from the box were finally masked by the crackling of the burning wood, the resin coating bubbling onto the deck from the heat. After a moment, the screaming stopped, and then silence. A gentle orange glow danced beneath the canopy of the elms in their yard from the fire. Phil and Brenda had cremated their precious daughter three years earlier, after a drunk driver had snuffed out her short life. In a turn of events so horrible that no parent could even imagine it, they had put their sweet child to the flame once again. Their townhouse went up for sale later that month, and their friends never heard from them again.

32

"Mrs, Roberts. This is Gayle Strong from WWFQ in Albany. I want to talk to you about an appearance on our show next month."

This was the third message today left on Regan's cell. The offers came pouring in. She had already appeared on eight talk shows in June, and it was only half way through the month. The illusions became more creative as she went:

Bending spoons in Wichita.

Reaching through a solid pane of glass to grab a pen (Miami).

Manifesting a tortoise on a tabletop that peed on the host when she picked it up (Ottawa).

Hundreds of bouncy balls shooting from her fingertips on a kid's show (Charleston, they loved it!).

A levitation in Detroit (a crowd favorite).

Making all the females in an audience in Augusta, have an orgasm in their pants at the same time (an even bigger favorite).

And of course, the glowing orb of sunlight that entertained Auri months earlier.

Plus the round of typical circus tricks: bending iron rods, mind reading, telepathy, flying objects, but no other cruel tricks involving playing cards and deceased children. In fact, most of Regan's illusions stayed somewhat benign save for the G.I. Joe incident that they are still talking about in Peoria even after three weeks.

Didn't you hear about that one?

It seems that Regan thought it would be hilarious to bring a child's plastic G.I. Joe to life in front of a crowd of 200. The problem? It was truly alive. The doll stood up on the table, looked around at its situation, and started screaming bloody-murder. The crew went into a panic. The doll pulled the tiny rubber knife from its belt, and continued to slash at its own throat in an effort to kill itself. The show went quickly to a commercial break. The producer calmed the audience down by claiming it had been an advanced automaton that went haywire – bad programming, she explained; and bad taste – even for a talk show. Regan seemed to enjoy the spectacle and giggled throughout most of the incident.

What went unnoticed, however, was the assistant director running out of the back of the studio, doll in hand, and stomping it to death in the alley. The doll still screamed and yelled expletives at the assistant until guts poured from its mouth. It was all over Youtube (not the stomping part) and was a huge hit with the local teens. And yes, the assistant director is still in therapy.

When asked by a reporter about the 'Joe' incident, Regan explained that she had no desire to attempt the trick again. "If I awoke on national television, and I had plastic blood burning through my veins, I'd be pretty pissed too."

Despite close calls like that, ones that should be investigated as criminal activity on some level or another, Regan became one of the most popular draws on daytime television.

33

Victor had no idea what to do about his wife's situation. Wait it out? Maybe it would soon be over, she would tire of playing these games, or the people would tire of her. He did the best he could do with what he had to work with. He spent time with Maren: renting movies together, going for walks. He looked after Auri and made sure he kept her appointments with Dr. Jobeson. It was tough on Auri not having her mom around. Since Auri didn't attend school, Regan would work on her jewelry in the living room, watching the soaps with her youngest daughter by her side. It was a convenient arrangement, and a fortunate one. Neither Victor nor Regan trusted daycare to attend to Auri's needs. Now, the quiet girl who never says a word, plays with her toys in her father's office while he writes. The situation could have been worse. If he had to go to a job every day, he would have to put Auri in someone's care. Despite the convenience, he felt Regan's activities were tearing the family apart.

Maren didn't mind her mother being gone. Her fast growing independence needed the breathing room. Regan's influence was stifling to her daughter's ability to make decisions. Maren feelings wavered back and forth about her mother's sudden popularity. It was, on the one hand, kind of exciting – maybe she could use the attention that her mother was receiving to further her own music career? On other days, it was embarrassing to face the other kids in school who had a wide variety of opinions on the matter. Was her mom an alien? Could her mom perform at Kelly's sweet sixteen party? How could they get an autograph? Why aren't more of her illusions x-rated? And on and on.

One question, innocent by nature, bothered Maren more than she lets on: why couldn't she perform illusions like her mother? Just as Maren was growing up, feeling better about her future and her accomplishments, her mother ups the ante with sudden fame. She didn't need her mom around while she figured these problems out.

Amazingly, her friends were mainly supportive. They found Regan cool, interesting and even hilarious at times. While not at all the popularity seeker, Maren did welcome the added attention. The pressure was off from having to make new friends – they were coming to her. There were dissenting opinions about her mother's television shenanigans, mainly from other parents, relayed to her by her friends. Maren cared nothing about that. There was one person's opinion she held above all others, and to her dismay, it wasn't at all what she had expected.

"I don't like what your mom is doing, not at all." Perdita had never seemed so serious before. "It's not right. There's something evil about it."

"What do you mean? It's entertaining. They're just magic tricks."

"They're not just tricks." Perdita interrupted. "I've seen them myself. There's something strange about them. I don't like it – she's scary. You're the one who told me something was wrong with her. You were scared, too."

"Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I'm just getting used to it."

"You shouldn't get used to it, you should make her stop."

"I can't do that." Maren said. "What the hell am I supposed to do? She's my mom – I can't stop her. She's not hurting anyone."

"Yet."

"I can't believe you're saying this, Dee. I need you right now. I thought the first person I could count on would be you." Maren took Perdita's hand and looked her in the eyes. "You know, you're my only real friend here. My family's been through a lot – I need you."

Perdita gently pulled her hand from Maren's grasp. "Nothing personal, M, but I don't like people touching me. It's about time I told you that. It's not you, it's just the way I am."

Maren's heart shattered into a thousand pieces. I can't touch you?

"It's a lot to ask, you know, to put up with your families weirdness. I don't think I can handle it."

"Dee, I know we have only known each other for a little while, but we've been through some crazy shit together. You're the only friend I've got."

"Looks to me like you're pretty popular lately."

"Those guys don't care. It's only because they've seen mom on TV. They mean nothing to me."

Perdita bowed her head towards her feet, unable to look her friend in the eye. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think there is something very wrong with your mom. She's not a magician, and these aren't tricks. There is something unholy about this – it's ungodly. She's scaring me, and I don't think I can come back over here with your mom around."

"Perdita, please. You're welcome here anytime. You have nothing to be afraid of; my mom likes you."

"Of course she does." Perdita looked at Maren. "Gaimen nyo-Bosatsu, naimen nyo-Yasha."

"What does that mean?"

"Externally a God, internally the Devil."

"Really, Dee? You're being dramatic." Maren laughed. "My mom's not the devil – that's crazy! How can you say that?"

Pedita looked Maren deep in the eye. "Pay attention, M. Watch your mom carefully. I have a very bad feeling."

Perdita got up from where the two girls had been sitting, grabbed her backpack, and started home.

"Dee!" Maren tried to get her friend's attention. "Perdita!"

Her dark-eyed friend didn't answer. She simply waived her hand in the air and kept walking.

34

It was raining in Boston on the day of the taping. Regan hurried to her hotel room, she only had a few hours to rest up before she had to be at the studio. It was a bit after twelve, and the taping started at four. The show was Talk of the Town with Mike and Allison, one of Boston's highest rated morning talk shows. Regan was excited. This was her largest appearance yet with over two hundred people in the audience, and she'd never been to Bean town before. It was standing room only when they announced that she was coming, and the tickets sold out quickly.

Regan did have her eyes on the prize. The Jillian Rogers Show, live from Los Angeles, had contacted her about booking her to appear. The Jillian Rogers show was one of the most popular daytime talk shows in America with syndication in over one hundred markets, and almost a million viewers per show. She had received an email three days earlier from a staffer on the production department. She replied, but had yet to hear anything back. In spite of wanting to go sightseeing, she caught a taxi to get to the taping early.

"What are all these for?" Talk of the Town producer Gabe Kelly asked the delivery driver for the local florist. "Who's paying for these?"

The driver arrived at the back door to the WBKS studios with twelve cardboard boxes and a bill for $438. Gabe entered a dressing room where Regan was putting on her make up.

"Mrs. Roberts, do you know anything about these boxes of flowers? The delivery guy says you ordered them."

"Yes!" Regan jumped up from the chair. "I've got it. Where is he?"

Gabe led her to the back stage delivery door where the driver had the boxes stacked neatly just inside the hallway. Regan handed him a credit card, and she signed for the packages.

"Exciting!" she said to Gabe with a big smile.

"What are these for?"

Regan opened up a box and pulled out a single red rose, wrapped in cellophane with the little water tube at the end of the stem. There were two dozen roses in each of the boxes; nearly two hundred and fifty in all. She gave Gabe a rose from the box.

"Get your staff to pass one rose to each of the audience members as the enter the studio." Regan said. "I'll let them know what to do with them. I hope there's enough for everyone."

"I really wish you had let me know ahead of time, Mrs. Roberts."

"What? Don't you like surprises?" Regan joked.

"No. I don't."

"Well, you're going to love this! This will be the coolest thing you've ever seen on this show."

Gabe rolled his eyes. "That shouldn't be hard to do."

Mike Barber, one half of the hosts on the popular talk show, was anxious to meet Regan. His producer had shown him many of her past appearances on other shows, and he was downright fascinated with her. In a nationwide trend for the morning talk format, ratings had been steadily declining for Mike and Allison. Mike believed that upping the entertainment value of the show couldn't hurt, distancing themselves from the usual rubbish of teenage moms/crack addicted children stories that permeated daytime television. Mike loved magic – he was excited about Regan's appearance. What irritated the producers the most, however, was Regan's reluctance to tell them what she had planned. Her illusions were hush-hush. On every gig she had booked so far, she had yet to tell a producer up front what she was going to do. Already a frantic life form, television producers hate not being in the loop.

A gentle knock on the dressing room door snapped Regan from her daydreaming. "Mrs. Roberts? Mike Barber. I really appreciate you coming up here to be on our show. To be honest with you, I'm pretty excited. I've enjoyed seeing your other performances."

Regan stood up and took his hand with a charming smile. "I'm glad to meet you, too. This will be fun."

"Are you sure you won't share with me what tricks you have up your sleeve? Gabe is panicking back there. He's such a cry baby you know, but a damn good producer."

"It involves flowers – that's all I'm going to say. Tell him not to worry."

Mike was charmed. "Ok. Taping begins in 45 minutes. The audience is being seated now, and Stephanie, my assistant, will come and get you ready in a few minutes." Mike took Regan's hand. It was soft and unusually warm. He noticed a small electric tingle run up and down his fingers. "This will be great. We have a sold out show, you know. Your reputation precedes you."

"Good." Regan said. "I'll need a full house to pull this off. See you in a few?"

The production assistants handed each guest a rose as they entered. The flowers were tall, slender stalks with a tightly closed bud of varying colors: red, pink, yellow, orange.

"Just hold on to these, you'll need it later in the show." The curiosity blossomed as each person was seated, smelling the roses and talking amongst themselves.

What could these be for? Do we get to keep them?

Regan waited backstage as the show began taping. There were two other guests going on before her, just after the host's opening monologue: a director of the local zoo who brought in a bear cub, and Katie Hockings, a ten year-old girl with brain cancer from the Children's Hospital of Boston. A corporate fundraiser the following weekend for the hospital was scheduled, and Katie was the chosen spoke-person.

Regan watched Katie from the backstage monitors. Not unlike her own daughter, Katie was a bright-eyed future bombshell – without the future. Katie explained to the show's hosts how she had been diagnosed with brain cancer just six months earlier, after being pulled from her third grade class for having terrible headaches. But she was full of life, and full of hope she said, and that she looked forward to the big fundraiser to help the hospital get the needed money to cure her and the other children. Katie's mother rubbed her daughter's shoulders and dabbed away her own tears with a white handkerchief. The radiation treatments had taken Katie's beautiful golden curls, and emaciated her small frame; but not her hope. The little girl never stopped dreaming of the things she would do when she grew up: a trip to England, the boys she would fall in love with, and thanks to the caring nurses at the hospital, she now wanted to be a doctor – one that saves little girls from cancer. Her mother's heart had been shattered irreparably into a thousand scattered pieces. She knew that her only child would not survive another ten months.

As they wheeled the sick girl away, the hosts quickly changed to a more jovial demeanor. You won't believe your eyes as our next guest performs fantastic illusions from our stage!

35

Regan felt uncomfortable following Katie. How could the audience turn on and off their emotions like flipping a light switch? As she appeared in more of these shows, she was torn from loving the attention, to resenting the audience gawking at the talk show freaks that populated daytime television.

I am one of these freaks, aren't I?

"Let's go, Mrs. Roberts." Stephanie, the production assistant, announced. "You're on."

Regan took a couple of deep breaths, and perked herself up, forcing her eyes open wide, so she wouldn't look sleepy. The music blasted away, and the crowd cheered as Mike and Allison announced their popular guest – it was Regan the audience had come to see. A far cry from that first show with the now emotionally crippled Phil on Good Morning Washington, the assistants lead her to the set amidst fanfare and applause. The Green room java tasted much better, too.

Regan was stunning as she took her seat. She was dressed in a beautiful dark blue three-quarter sleeve jacket, and an extremely short pleated skirt that showed plenty of leg. The studio lights illuminated her blonde hair like the finest spun silk, which contrasted elegantly against the blue. It helped her popularity that she was the hottest illusionist in the country, and she knew it. Some people are just made to command a stage, and Regan was growing into the role more every day. As men surfed their remotes, she knew they would stop at any channel she was on to check her out.

"Welcome, Regan. We're thrilled you're here." Allison piped. "Many in our audience, including myself, have seen your illusions on Youtube. In fact, you're quite the viral sensation – you have over two million views. People are going crazy! You've only been performing magic for a few years – how did you get so good at it?"

"Before I get to that, I just want to say what a brave little girl you had on your show just before I came on. I have two daughters at home, one about the same age as Katie, and I couldn't imagine what her parents must be going through right now."

"Oh, yes. She is a wonderfully brave young lady." Mike replied.

"I watched her segment from backstage, and I thought about how lucky I am to have my children." Regan turned to look backstage. "Thank you, Katie. I have something for you."

The hosts glanced at each other in surprise. Regan held her hands out, in her usual palms-up style that audiences all over the East Coast were becoming familiar with. Slowly a small, dark wooden box appeared in her hands, about four inches in length by two high. She placed it on the small, rectangular glass coffee table in front of her and the hosts. To the right of the stage, Katie sat in her wheel chair, eagerly awaiting the illusionist's performance. "Katie? Come here, sweetie."

Katie's mother wheeled her daughter to the set. The audience applauded, the cameras spun around to get the best shot of the little girl. Katie's face was beaming with the biggest smile.

Regan took the girl's hand. "Open the box, Katie. See what's inside."

Together, still holding hands, they flipped open the lid. The audience was so quiet, Katie could hear her own heartbeat. At first, nothing – then slowly, a beautiful black and orange butterfly emerged its head, crawled up to the edge of the box, spread its wings and few off. Katie's mother let out an excited gasp. Suddenly, without warning, dozens of the graceful creatures poured from the box. Katie screamed with delight, the hosts ducked their heads as the butterflies swarmed the set. The audience laughed and cheered the performance. They flew into the seating area, they flew backstage, they flew up to the lighting structures. "Oh, my God!" Katie clapped her hands with excited glee.

Regan held the girl's hand with a look of peace. A feeling of elation was bathing over her once again. This is what drove her to perform.

"What a cool gift, huh Katie?" Mike said.

"Yes, Sir!" Katie giggled.

"Stay right next to me baby girl. I have some other things to show you." Regan said.

"Yes, Ma'am" The girl could barely contain herself.

Regan closed her eyes. The studio was still chaotic from the swarm of insects flying every direction. The audience were squirming in their seats – they loved Regan. She was driving them crazy.

The house lights began to dim. "What's wrong with the lights?" Stephanie asked Gabe in a panic. "Go check the breakers!" Two production assistants ran off in different directions trying desperately to solve the problem. Regan held her hand up in the air to get everyone's attention. The audience chatter quickly died down to a soft murmur. The stage hands held their flashlights up to the breaker boxes running their hands down the rows of switches trying to find the problem. Of course, there was no problem. Regan had total control – control of the electricity, control of her audience.

"Quiet, everyone." Regan announced as she opened her eyes. "Everyone in the audience hold up the rose you were given when you arrived today. Hold them up and out in front of you."

"Turn the cameras!" Gabe gestured. "Get a shot of the audience." The cameramen spun their equipment around on the big floating-head tripods and focused on the audience. Regan stood up and with a flair for the dramatic made a widely sweeping gesture with her hands across the area in front of her.

Gently, each rose started to glow – just barely at first, then gradually became brighter. The audience started to stir with excitement; most were speechless – their mouths hanging open. The roses glowed with intensity; each one began to open their buds. The petals glowed as if there were little light bulbs in each one. People in the audience held their hands over their mouths trying not to gasp, as the rose in their grip slowly opened into full bloom, glowing in a variety of intimate tones. Some participants panicked and dropped their rose to the floor, afraid they might be burned. Katie and others on the stage were unnaturally silent. Everyone was in complete and total awe – speechless. The glowing roses created an ethereal scene in the studio. The faces of the audience members illuminated in the light, unveiling dozens of diverse emotions. It was incredible and heart-warming – the tears were running down Allison's cheek. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

From the vantage point of the stage, something magical emerged. The roses somehow aligned their color schemes to spell something out. Grouped in reds, soft pinks, yellows and orange tones, the flowers spelled out letters the cameras focused in on:

K – A – T – I – E

Regan leaned over and gave Katie a hug.

"Thank you." Katie whispered. "Thank you so much."

Regan said nothing. She just held her hands clasped in her lap and took a deep breath. The studio lights crept back to life, the rose in each audience member's hand faded back to their original condition – in full blossom, but otherwise normal. As the taping concluded, the audience funneled from the building, roses in hand. People put them to their nose for a whiff, chatting excitedly about the most beautiful scene they had ever witnessed.

"Told you." Regan said to Gabe as he removed her lapel mic.

36

Gabe had a charmed grin on his face as he shook Regan's hand. He never smiled about anything. Regan chatted a bit with the stage hands, signed a few autographs for the audience and snapped a few photo-ops. She promised Mike and Allison that she would come back on the show in the near future, but knew she wouldn't hold to that. It's only Boston, after all – there were bigger fish to fry.

She collected her things from the dressing room, and packed her duffel bag to head back to the hotel. It had been a long day, and the excitement wore her out. She couldn't wait to get home to her family; the novelty of the road was wearing on her terribly. Regan walked down the long, dark hallway that ran from the dressing room to the backdoor exit.

"Mrs. Roberts?" a voice came from the shadows.

Regan squinted to make out who it could be. "Who's there?" she asked, a bit startled.

From a small alcove in the darkness emerged Katie and her mother. The girl was sitting silently in her wheelchair holding one of the roses, and the butterfly box as souvenirs. "Can I have this box, Mrs. Roberts? I forgot to ask you." Katie asked.

"Of course, sweetie. It's yours. I gave it to you to keep."

Katie smiled and held the box tightly to her chest. "You're awesome, Mrs. Roberts."

"Thanks, sweetie. I hope you get better soon, so you can see some of my other shows."

"I will!" Katie cried.

"I better get going, Katie. It was nice to..."

"Mrs. Roberts?" Katie's mom interrupted. She held out her hand. "Audrey. Audrey Hockings." Regan sighed and shook her hand. "Mrs. Roberts. Can I ask a favor? I mean... I know you have done so much for Katie today, but can I ask you something?"

"I'm kind of in a hurry to get home – what is it?" Regan asked suspiciously.

Audrey moved closer, wringing her hands and looking down at the floor. Regan hadn't noticed earlier, but this woman was completely eaten up physically over her daughter's illness. Her eyes were bloodshot and glassy, hair frizzled and unkempt. Audrey's expression was that of a beaten puppy, frightened and confused.

"Can you please heal my daughter?" Audrey whispered.

"What?" Regan was caught off guard.

"Heal my daughter. Please, I'll do anything. I don't have much money..."

"I can't heal her, Ms. Hockings. I'm just a performer."

"No – no, you're not." Audrey looked around unfocused, out of sorts. "You're an angel – an angel sent by God. I know you can help us. I'll do anything. I don't have much money..."

"I can't heal your daughter, Audrey." Regan had no idea how to get out of this. The woman was obviously crazy and had lost her mind.

"I'm just a magician. She needs a doctor."

"The doctors can't help her." Audrey gulped, trying to fight back the tears. "You're my last hope. I need your help. Your powers are real, I know they are. You're an angel – an angel sent by God himself to help us."

"Momma!" Katie cried. "Stop it. You're embarrassing me in front of Mrs. Roberts."

Audrey dropped to her knees and grabbed Regans arm. She looked up at her as the condemned would look to their executioner for mercy. "Please, I beg of you. You have to help her!"

Regan panicked. "Jesus Christ! Ok, get up. For the love of God, I'll try."

Regan knew there was nothing she could do, but she had to get out of this situation before something terrible happened. There was no telling what Katie's mother was capable of in her wretched state.

"Yes...yes. Thank you." Audrey stood up and tried to compose herself. "An angel of God – that's what you are, Mrs. Roberts."

Regan tried to play the part of 'healer'. She walked closer to Katie's chair and placed her hands on the girl's head.

I have to get the hell out of here.

Katie closed her eyes. Regan bowed her head. Audrey clasped her hands beneath her chin in prayer. "Oh, God. Thank you."

"Sshhhhh..." Regan commanded. She closed her eyes, and visualized the cancer streaming from Katie's brain like washing mud off of a sidewalk with a hose; chunks of diseased tissue flushed down the sewer by the flowing water. She imagined the young girl skipping, playing with other children, her golden locks flowing gently in the wind. She visualized Katie growing up, and having her own kids.

I wish I could really do this.

"I feel warm." Katie whispered. "I feel...better."

Regan tried as hard as she could to fight back the tears, but they flowed down her face uncontrollably. "Ok. That's it. I have to go. I have to go now." Regan grabbed up her bag and hurried down the dark hallway to the back door.

"Thank God for you, Mrs. Roberts. You're an angel sent from Heaven!"

Regan burst through the back door into the late Boston afternoon. With the clouds finally breaking, she quickly hailed a cab back to her hotel.

37

Maren was excited to see her mom. After nearly two weeks, she was tired of her dad's cooking – sub-par at best. She missed her mom's meatballs and goofy quirks. But most of all, she needed a break from watching Auri. She hadn't seen Perdita for days and wondered if they would ever patch things up. It was summer, so they weren't forced to see each other at school. Perdita's attitude would only keep them apart longer, now that Regan had come back into town.

"Let your mom sleep, girls. She got in pretty late last night." Victor told his daughters, who anxiously waited to see her at the dining table, sipping her coffee.

"Dad, how often is she going to leave to do these shows?"

"That's something your mom and I need to talk about, Mar." Victor said. "I know she's excited about her career, but family comes first – at least where I come from it does."

"You're from the same place mom is. I guess that means family comes first for her, too?"

Victor put his hand on Maren's shoulder. "We'll work it out. Maybe she's through with this show biz stuff."

"I think it's kinda cool, her being on TV I mean. If she makes a bunch of money, you won't have to work anymore. We could travel around with her."

"What's gotten into you, Mar? This is just a phase your mom's going through, I'm sure. I still think these freaky powers of her's will wear off, or they'll find a cure for it."

"I don't want to be cured." Regan yawned, entering the kitchen and grabbing the pot of coffee. "Hi, Babies."

Auri ran to her mom and hugged her around the waist, smiling big.

"Hi, Mom." Maren greeted her with as big a smile as Auri's. "Dad's just kidding. We like all the neat tricks you've been doing. The kids at school are always asking me when you'll be performing here."

"Oh, so that's it." Victor quipped. "You're becoming Miss Popular, and now everything's cool."

"No. No. I've always thought mom was cool."

"That's BS.

"Time out!" Regan demanded. "I just got home, and I need some peace and quiet. It's been a long two weeks, and I just want some decent tasting coffee for God's sake."

"Can't you make a perfect cup of Starbuck's appear out of thin air?" Maren asked with a smirk.

"I'm not drinking that shit. I don't know where it comes from – could be poison for all I know. And if you don't mind," Regan added. "I don't want to hear the words freak, freaky or anything that starts with an 'F'. I don't want to be cured, saved or whatever else. You wouldn't believe what I've fucking been through."

"That starts with an 'F'." Maren said sarcastically.

Regan glared at her daughter and held up a butter knife in a playful manner. "You and I need to talk."

"Ok. Where are we going? It's Saturday, we can go shopping!"

"I was thinking someplace more private."

"We need to talk, too." Victor glanced at his wife. "Let me know when you guys get back. I'll be in my office."

Regan and Maren walked quietly to the wooded park behind their house, the scene of Regan's drowning. Now that it was warmer, the lake was a murky color, the trees full of bright green leaves. "I haven't been back here since that day." Regan said. "It looks so much different."

"Are you sure you want to be here?" Maren asked. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"I see that day in a whole new light. In some ways, I... it's hard to explain – it's not the tragedy I thought it was."

The two women sat on the picnic table and stared silently out over the scenery, not quite knowing what to say to each other.

"Where's your friend Perdita?" Regan asked. "Don't you go to the mall with her on Saturdays? You really like Perdita, don't you?"

You have no idea... "Uh, we're not exactly speaking right now."

"What's the matter? Are you guys fighting or something?"

Maren thought for a moment. "Honestly? She's being difficult about our situation."

"Who's situation? Her's and yours?"

"No, your situation – our family's situation."

Regan took a deep breath. "Oh? Does she have a problem with me?"

"Not with you, exactly. She's just freaked..." Maren quickly caught herself. "Uh... scared of what you can do. She's very religious, you know. She thinks everything is, well, evil."

"Evil, huh?" Regan made a deliberately disgusted look on her face. "Some people think I'm an angel. Just the other day a woman said I was an angel sent by God."

"I'm sure everyone will have a different opinion about you, Mom. It will scare some people and won't bother others."

Regan looked at her daughter. "What do you think?"

Maren had spent the better part of the last four months being scared to death. There was nothing normal about her mother. She had lost more sleep and had worried herself sick than in any other time in her life. Maren had cried herself to sleep, thrown up in the middle of the night, believed her mother was an alien, chewed her nails to the quick, and had lost nearly ten pounds from not eating. Her life was in turmoil. She had been made fun of, arrested and had now lost her best friend. Maren was as close to a mental basket-case as you could get, and stay somewhat functional.

"I believe you're a superhero."

Regan cocked an eye towards her daughter. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, imagine what it would've been like if you were Superman's mom, or what if you'd been Spiderman's grandmother or whoever that was he lived with. Imagine what you would have to do to accept that – how life would be brutally different. You would have to deal with everything you have ever known being thrown out of the window, re-program your entire thought process, and then still have to love this person with all of your might. Think about how tough that would be."

Maren took a second. "Then, you have the entire planet freaked..." she caught herself again. "...scared of this person – the one with the superpowers. Think about it – in all of the comic books, why does everyone believe the superheroes are the criminals? Jealousy, that's why. The hero starts out completely misunderstood. If you can't have the power for yourself, you sure don't want anyone else to have it either. I guess what I feel when I think of all I've had to go through with this, it's like you're a superhero."

"But superheros don't really exist." Regan said.

"Are you sure about that, Mom? Before you know it, you may be throwing cars around like the Hulk."

"Interesting."

"It helps me deal."

"Maybe that's what you should tell Perdita."

"I don't think someone outside of the family would understand." Maren explained. "A family's love can conquer any adversity. She has her superhero – it's God. Anyone else is a villain."

"I like your take on this. It helps a lot." Regan confessed. "I've been trying to figure some things out about this, and to be honest, I don't feel I can trust just anyone."

"Mom, I have to ask you something."

"Ok."

"What happened to Auri?"

Regan turned her head away in embarrassment. She rubbed her hands in the usual nervous way. "I guess it's about time I told you, now that you're getting older. Your Dad and I use to do a lot of drugs. It's just something all of our friends liked to do, stupid I know. Every couple of months we'd get together with your Uncle Todd and his girlfriend, they'd spend the night and we'd take LSD."

Maren had a feeling what was coming and held her hands over her face.

"Well, we got too messed up the night before and left some acid pills out on our bedroom nightstand. Auri, thinking it was candy, ate some of them."

Maren's blood ran cold. She never knew it was her parent's fault. All of these years she believed it was some kind of accident or disease. Her entire world had just been crushed.

"Isn't that illegal?" Maren finally asked after a moment to think. "How come you and Dad didn't get in trouble?"

Regan sighed again. "We didn't want to lose our kids. We were scared that they would take you and Auri away from us...so we didn't say anything."

"You didn't take her to the hospital?" Maren's mouth dropped wide open.

"We tried to take care of it ourselves. We decided to wait it out. We didn't think it would turn out to be this bad.'

Oh my God...

"Some superhero, huh?" Regan cried and dabbed the tears on her sleeve.

38

Regan's inbox was quickly filling with fan mail: 2135 unread messages.

How did these people get my email address? She didn't have time to read them all, but sampled just a few with intriguing subject lines such as:

I love you!

You're better than David Blaine.

Will you marry me?

You're soooo hot!

I'll pay you $10,000 to teach me your illusions.

And of course, no shortage of:

You're going to burn in Hell.

You're a sinner.

Most of these overly-excited fans saw her on Youtube. Her videos were going wild. They were shared by email, posted on blogs and picked up by the Associated Press. Because of the large number of views, more TV producers were trying to get in touch. The one offer she had been waiting for almost went unnoticed, buried deep in the middle of mostly junk praise and offers of sex:

Jillian Rogers - please get in touch ASAP was all the subject line said. Regan held her breath as she clicked on it. Bobbye Hartley, the executive producer for the show, wanted to set up a conference call with Ms. Rogers, Regan and herself on the 20th of the month. Bobbye and Jillian were sent footage of the show in Boston, and they had a hard time believing it was real. They were very interested in having Regan on the show under one condition: someone from the California Researchers Against Paranormal Practitioners (C.R.A.P.P) would have to be present in the studio possibly debunking any fraud that may be evident during the taping. The Jillian Rogers Show was far too legitimate of a venue, Bobbye noted, to fall prey to any debauchery. While Talk of the Town was a quality program, Jillian Rogers' reputation was far too valuable to be left to chance. 'Covering our asses' was mentioned, among other things.

This appealed to Regan nonetheless. Bring it on. In fact, this would be her defining moment to show the world what she could do. After doing some research online, Regan decided to up the ante just a bit. C.R.A.P.P was headed by an individual by the name of Eric Whitestone, a former magician-turned-skeptic that made a point of debunking alleged psychic performers, mainly on their own turf – national talk shows. Retiring from a washed up career performing card tricks in front of inebriated cabaret crowds, Mr. Whitestone believed he could get more mileage by illusion busting his former colleagues, rather than hone his craft into something people wanted to see. Whitestone was known for another interesting tidbit: he had a $500,000 prize for any psychic that could prove beyond a shadow of Whitestone's doubt, that their powers were real, and not a hoax. As Regan hit the 'send' button in her reply email back to Bobbye Hartley, she was sure to mention that she would be collecting the C.R.A.P.P. prize money. The challenge was on.

Victor sat next to his wife and gave her a kiss. Regan smiled. "When's the last time we really tied on one? You know, got really fucked up?"

"Actually, I've been drinking more than I probably should have the last couple of weeks." Victor replied. "A better question is, when's the last time we made love?"

It had slipped Regan's mind entirely. Her and Vic hadn't had sex since before the accident. A slightly guilty feeling washed over her. "What about your friend Mason? Do you think his daughter could watch the girls? We could drop them off for a few hours."

"I don't see why not." Victor grew hot thinking about being alone with Regan. It had been far too long. "I'll give them a call."

"Sounds good... hey, Vic." She grabbed his hand as he was getting up. "I may have some surprises in store."

"What do you mean?"

"Surprises, silly." She smirked with a wink.

"I get it, but...what kind of surprises?"

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I have these special powers." She emphasized the word with a deep, scary voice to make fun of herself. "It would be a shame to let them go to waste for just television shows."

A nervous excitement overcame Victor. "Maybe we should have a drink." His mind raced with all of the possibilities of what she could do to him.

39

Regan came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. Victor was spread out across the bed, but sat up on the edge when she walked near. "I've missed this, let's not wait so long next time."

Regan smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. He slowly pulled the towel from her body, kissing her gently on her breasts. "I'm sorry, Vic. I didn't mean to neglect you, things have been so hectic."

He took her by the shoulders and threw her onto the bed. He climbed on top of her body and nibbled on her, starting on her neck and worked his way down. Her eyes rolled back into her head as his lips made their way farther down her torso, and along the sides of her thighs. Her skin was unusually warm, turning him on even more. Her fingertips tingled his face as she held it in her hands, like small electric shocks. Regan propped her head up with her hands, so she could watch him devour her. He was so passionate – the long absence creating a nearly insatiable desire.

He fell onto his back in an obvious gesture for her to work her magic. He had no idea what magic she had in store. As she worked her warm mouth on him, it alternated between hot and cold, at just the right moments to drive him crazy. There were no words to describe how great it felt.

Victor's eyes were closed, making the sensation even more intense. Strangely, it felt as if another presence were with her on the bed – he could feel extra weight push down on the mattress. Then he felt it – he could distinctively sense two warm mouths on him, each running their wet lips up and down the sides of his shaft. It was so incredible he didn't want to look, but he had to see what she was doing. What he saw nearly took his breath away.

There were two Regans going down on him – identical twins: blonde hair, soft tan bodies.

"Bebe?" They looked up at him simultaneously with their big, beautiful blue eyes.

He wormed out from their hold on him in a panic. He was shaking as he ran to the bathroom for a towel. "Vic, what's wrong?"

"Who was that?!" He choked. "How did you do that?"

"I thought you'd like it. You didn't like it?"

He was still shaking, looking around the darkened room for the other Regan, who had quickly disappeared.

"I told you I had some surprises." She took his hand, genuinely confused. "What's wrong?"

"I don't think I liked that." Victor started getting dressed.

"Where are you going? Did I do something wrong? Get back in bed, Vic."

"I'm not sure I liked that." He mumbled. "I need to get out of here for a while – that freaked me out."

"I thought that was every man's fantasy."

"I'm not every man..."

I don't believe this shit. Regan didn't know whether to be worried or pissed off.

40

Regans flight to Los Angeles was pleasantly uneventful. She was horrified of flying, always had been. Lately, however, it didn't seem to bother her as much. She felt an invincibility growing inside her a bit more each day.

What if the plane crashed? Would my powers keep me safe? She looked around at the other passengers sitting near her. Regan's mind was slowly distancing herself from the normal people around her.

'Normal people.' They seemed so happy. Why did she still carry around a cloud of stress if she were so much better than them? If the plane did crash, she might live while others would die. How could they be happy about that? Responsibility. That must be it. With her ever growing abilities came a fundamental duty to understand them. When would her powers end? Would they end up eating her alive like a virus? These thoughts made her uneasy – there were no answers. She was a superhero all right, emotionally isolated from everyone around her. No one could understand what she was going through.

As her popularity grew, her true powers that she kept secret were growing even faster. Her fame was based on lies. In time, it would become impossible the keep them private. Regan glanced over at a young mother with a small child in her lap. They were playing 'patty cake' with each other. I'm the one with the power, and she's the one that's happy.

Regan made her way to the baggage claim. She had anticipated crowds of autograph seekers or paparazzi, it was L.A. after all – but there were none. No one recognized her. She felt relief and disappointment.

She made her way to the loading area outside where a limo had been assigned to pick her up. A short man with a frog-like face held up a sign: Reagen Roberts.

They can't even get my name right.

"Are you Mrs. Roberts?" frog-face asked her as she walked up and dropped her bags next to the car.

"I'm beat – take me to my hotel." She tried not to notice the little creep staring her up and down. "On second thought, drop me at the closest bar near the hotel. I'll walk from there."

"I know just the place, Mrs. Roberts." He squeaked. "It's my favorite hang-out. They all know me there."

"Then drop me off somewhere they don't know you."

The driver gave her a scowl and threw her bags into the trunk.

"And if you can help it, stop staring at my tits. It's fucking grossing me out."

This was Regan's first time in Los Angeles. As the car wound its way through LAX, she thought of all the things she had always wanted to do here, but there would be no time. "Did Jillian's producers send this car?"

"No ma'am. Eric Whitestone hired me. He wanted to welcome you to California in style."

"I'll bet he did." Reagan quipped with sarcasm.

"Oh, do you know Mr. Whitestone?"

"I know of him, but not personally."

"I've known him for a while." The driver said. "He's a really nice man."

"He's not a magician anymore, isn't that right?"

"He doesn't practice the craft, but he's still highly respected in their circles. I hear you're an illusionist – I'm surprised you haven't met him. He knows everyone."

"I'm not really an illusionist."

"Oh?" The driver said, eyeballing her in the rear view-mirror.

"I'm an angel sent from God to perform His miracles – eyes on the road, buddy."

The driver had nothing to say about that.

Regan's cell went off just as she was taking her first sip of a Long Island iced tea. It was Bobbye, the Jillian show's producer. Regan would meet with her and Jillian in the morning at ten-thirty. Jillian generally didn't meet with guests, she let her staff set everything up for her. But Jillian was intrigued by Regan, and wanted to discuss the details of the $500,000 showdown with Mr. Whitestone. Regan hadn't decided yet what trick to perform, but it would have to be good. She had to win the showdown – but not for the $500,000. It was the challenge itself that was crucial – someone watching her, judging her. She needed to create an illusion that was sure to convince Whitestone that she was for real.

Regan checked into her hotel and settled in for a long night. She took a glance at her email one last time before bed. A couple of new mails had appeared since this morning, nothing she needed to open right away, however, one name sounded familiar:

Audrey Hockings

"Who?" She clicked it open, read a part of it and put her hand to her mouth. She remembered now who it was.

Dear Mrs. Roberts,

A miracle has happened! I took Katie in for CT scans last Tuesday, and the doctors found no evidence of her tumors. None at all! Katie is completely cured. Her cancer is gone. The doctors don't know what to make of it. They ran additional tests just to make sure, and everything is normal.

Not only did you save Katie's life, you saved my own. I have no words for how I feel, the joy is overwhelming. You're an angel sent by God. This is truly one of His most powerful miracles. It's like I have awakened from a terrible nightmare; I hadn't slept for months. Now my baby is cured, she will live her life the way that God intended, and it's all because of you. There's no possible way I could ever repay you for what you have done. There's no deed as strong and everlasting that could equal what you've done for me. Just know that I owe you mine, and my daughter's life.

Katie is playing and running in the street with her friends! This is a sight I never believed I would ever see again. I've been crying so many tears of joy, I have no tears left to shed. My life is whole again because of you. Yet Katie still hurts for those friends still left in the children's hospital. As she packed her bags to leave the cancer wing, she cried for those children who are still sick – her friends that may never come home. It's her wish to help find a cure for those children, and she hopes that if you can find it in your heart to do so, help those desperate souls as well.

This is your calling, Mrs. Roberts. You are the world's most powerful miracle worker, and you have been sent to earth for a reason. Katie will send her regards as soon as she is done running and laughing with her friends. The power of God is yours.

Forever grateful, Audrey.

Regan put her face in her hands and cried.

41

"Have not those who disbelieved known that the heavens and the earth were one connected entity, then We separated them?" Qur'an 21:30

Bobbye Hartley's hand was frail and cold as she introduced herself to Regan. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Roberts. Jillian and I have had fun watching some of your appearances on Youtube. We found ourselves jumping from one video to another. You're a very entertaining lady, and Jillian looks forward to having you on the show." Bobbye looked down at Regan's hand in hers. "You're very warm. My hands must be freezing, I have poor circulation some days. Anyhoo, Jillian is waiting for us – she's in her office."

Jillian stood up from her oversized leather office chair and greeted her guest. "It's a pleasure, Regan. Have a seat. I trust your plane ride was relaxing?"

"I hate flying. But, lately I'm not minding it." Regan said.

"Oh? Have you found a way to overcome the fear?"

"Xanex – and a couple of martinis."

"Ok." Jillian said, unamused. "Let's get down to business. We have been promoting the hell out of this program, and we believe this will give us the ratings boost we need. The prize money that Mr. Whitestone has put on the table will help heat things up. Having psychic performers on the show died out years ago; no one cares anymore. I pray that you have something interesting to show us?"

"Oh, it will be interesting."

"What is it exactly?"

"I don't share my illusions with the host ahead of time."

"Unacceptable. I have to know what is going on with my show. I won't put any old slop out there."

"You've seen my performances, they're not slop."

"Mrs. Roberts, I'm very protective of my reputation. Most so-called illusionists are garbage – a waste of my time." Jillian paused for a second. "Look, I wouldn't have flown you out here if I thought you were a hack. You're a very talented woman, but I need to have an idea on how to prepare for the show."

"Just show up. That's all you have to do."

"Mrs. Roberts," Bobbye interrupted. "Can we just get a hint of what to expect?"

"No. But it will be something that Mr. Whitestone will never forget."

Jillian stood back up from her chair. She was a tall and assertive woman, a brunette with glasses, hair in a bun and decked out in a stylish red blazer with matching pants. "Taping begins at four. Start getting ready. Bobbye, show Mrs. Roberts her dressing room." Jillian sternly left the office without shaking Regan's hand.

"She looks a little tiffed." Bobbye said. "But she'll be ok. She can be a control freak when it comes to her show. The dressing rooms are down the hall. We have a cafeteria on the second floor, here let me show you where..."

Bobbye stood up, her head swirling around slightly, grabbed the chair and caught herself before she fell over. "Oh my – I caught a bit of a head rush. I'll be ok."

"I know." Regan said. "You won't have any more trouble with your circulation."

Better show, still horrible coffee. These television dressing rooms were depressing. Regan put some crushed ice in a towel, and held it under her eyes to scare the bags away – no hope. She didn't get any sleep the night before. She tossed and turned over the email from Audrey and what the implications were. How had she cured Katie? Was it even she who did it? Maybe it was a fluke; maybe the doctors had been wrong all along.

Or just maybe – she had cured her. Had her powers evolved to another level? She really didn't do anything, she just thought about it. How was that possible? People can't cure disease with their minds. Nature doesn't work that way. Could her ability to manipulate inanimate objects have somehow leaked over to living things?

Only God can cure disease.

Regan looked in the dressing room mirror. She looked deep into her own eyes for anything that seemed different. She couldn't imagine herself as a healer, a miracle worker.

I'm still me – nothing's changed.

The image in the mirror was older, more wrinkled than she remembered; must be the lack of sleep. Katie would grow up to have a healthy life, but Regan could only think about herself. How many diseases could she cure? Does that mean she could live forever? The idea of performing on this talk show held little fascination now. There were far too many things to think about.

The time for the taping had arrived. The one show that Regan had been dreaming of appearing on for months, now seemed like a waste of time. She didn't know why she was bothering with it. The next phase of her journey must be planned out. She desperately needed some help. The doctors had failed and were either confused, scared or offended by her affliction. What an irony, she thought. The doctors refused to help, and now I'm the healer. That will piss them off.

42

Dazed from lack of sleep, too much thought or just staring in the mirror too long, she barely heard the producer call her name. It was time for the taping. The novelty was wearing off: gone were the jittery knees, the crack in her voice as she muttered her first hellos. Regan owned the stage. She could pull the energy of the crowd into herself, it coursed through her veins as they cheered for her. She basked in the limelight's glow like a sunny day, warming her face and her soul. Regan took her seat on the couch next to her nemesis, Eric Whitestone, graciously taking his hand with a welcome. It was a sellout crowd – one of the most packed houses in the show's history. Jillian Rogers balanced her happiness of the show's success with her personal dislike for Regan. It was jealously really; two alpha females competing for the attention of the world, starved for the love of their audience. Jillian had earned her place over years of clawing up the celebrity totem, while Regan suddenly appeared on the scene from nowhere – a shameless, self-promoting hack.

"Welcome, Regan Roberts to the show!" Jillian addressed her guest with clenched teeth and a forced smile.

"I'm glad to be here, Jillian. I can't wait to get started. And hello to you, Mr. Whitestone." He nodded to her in silence.

"Regan, you have made a worldwide splash on the internet with your controversial illusions." Jillian opened. "From viral bloggers to Youtube to talk shows, people have been going nuts to see you. How long have you been doing magic?"

"Not very long, Jillian – maybe two years. It just came naturally to me."

"Regan, some people are saying, and this is going around the web mainly, that you are not a magician at all, but your tricks are real. Google your name and you're everywhere. You have built a following of fans who believe you're a miracle worker. What do you say to that?"

Regan was caught off guard. She had never been asked that question before and had no ready answer. She literally froze up and just looked at Jillian with a blank stare. "I don't surf the web. I don't know what people are saying about me."

"Well, let's look at some of the things they are saying about you." Jillian turned to a giant screen where prepared text flashed to the audience. "We took quotes from visitors to JillianRogers.com that left these very intriguing comments:

Regan Roberts' illusions are the real deal.

Mrs. Roberts has taken the art of illusion a quantum leap forward.

She is more than a magician, she is a sorcerer.

Regan can distort reality. She is an example of our true human potential.

"This one is quite over the top."

Regan Roberts is the second coming of God.

The audience let out a collective groan. Regan glanced at them with a dirty look. Are you serious? Groaning? Where am I, Jerry Springer?

"I can't control what other people are saying about me. Jillian. I just enjoy what I do, at least so far."

Someone shouted from the audience. "I love you, Regan!"

"I can't say that I blame you." She replied. The audience laughed out loud.

Jillian turned to her other guest. "Eric Whitestone is with us today, how are you?"

"Excellent, Jillian."

"Mr. Whitestone is the director of The California Researchers Against Paranormal Practitioners. His organization currently has a prize of $500,000 for anyone that can prove their illusions or psychic powers are indeed real. Has anyone come forward, Mr. Whitestone, to claim that money?"

Eric smirked. "Many have come forward, but no one has taken the prize. I don't believe they ever will."

"How can you be so sure, Mr. Whitestone?"

"I've been in this business for twenty-five years, Jillian. Part of the appeal for people watching an illusionist or psychic is the thrill that it could be real. Everyone loves to think... what if."

Jillian loved the idea of bringing Regan down a notch. "How do you explain some of these letters we received this week? These people claim that unexplained circumstances happened to them just from watching Mrs. Roberts on television. Things such as kitchen utensils bending, weird noises in their heads, stuffed bears coming to life. Are these people thinking 'what if?"

"Mass hallucination." Whitestone quipped. "Mrs. Roberts has the ability to make you believe what she's doing is real. That's her greatest trick. I've seen all of the videos on Youtube myself, and nothing weird happened to me. I've done extensive research on Mrs. Roberts prior to this show, and I believe she's a charlatan at best." The audience booed.

"And!" Whitestone sat forward. "And the internet doesn't help this hysteria, it only makes it worse! In my time, it took years of work to become a respected magician – honing your craft. Now, someone such as Mrs. Roberts can become an overnight sensation with no discipline at all. In my time, I...."

Mr. Whitestone's necktie suddenly raised up slowly and whacked him hard in the face. The crowd went wild.

"What the hell!?" Whitestone was caught completely off-guard. Jillian covered her mouth to keep from laughing. The necktie slowly raised and whacked him the face again. "Stop that!" He glared at Regan. "We're on national television!"

"It's not me." Regan said coyly. "I'm a charlatan, remember?" The audience cheered loudly.

Jillian couldn't help herself from laughing out loud, breaking her decorum – but it was funny as hell. "Regan, we're all waiting to see an illusion that will challenge Mr. Whitestone's offer. Are you ready to take the $500,000 plunge?"

43

Regan couldn't wait to show off. "Let's keep this simple, Eric. Write down five numbers between 1 and 1,000 on a piece of paper, fold it half and give it to Jillian."

He did so, giving it to the host. Regan took a post-it and pen from her jacket pocket, scribbled down some numbers, and handed it to Jillian. The host opened both sheets of paper and held them to the camera. They matched exactly: 64, 839, 717, 120 and 454.5.

The audience applauded loudly. "You tried to trick her with a decimal." Jillian laughed. "But she got you anyway! Good job, Regan. That's amazing!" Jillian was starting to catch 'Regan fever' herself.

"That proves nothing." Whitestone said. "Scientifically speaking, there's an element of guessing."

Regan decided to up the ante. She closed her palm – it began gradually lighting up. The rays of light squeezed their way out from between her fingers, the studio lights dimmed on their own. She opened her hand to reveal a slowly rotating star. She dropped her hand into her lap, and the fiery globe levitated in the air before them. Jillian put her hands up feeling the warmth of the star. "It's beautiful."

Whitestone's mouth fell open in awe. He took out his pen and touched the orb. It moved and wobbled slightly, the tip of his pen burst into flames like the wick of a firecracker, and he quickly blew it out. "I don't suggest you touch it." Regan said.

Suddenly, smaller orbs appeared, floating gently around the star. They mimicked the nine planets of our solar system in size and range. The audience gasped in amazement. The solar winds gently tossed Jillian's hair, tears rolled down her cheek. Regan took both her hands and closed the sun shut between her palms. The applause was nearly deafening.

"Can I have my $500,000 now?" Regan asked. The audience burst into laughter.

"As beautiful as these illusions are, Mrs. Roberts. You have proven nothing."

"I'm real, Eric." Regan said angrily. "I want my money."

"Mrs. Roberts, there are no such thing as real miracles."

"She's amazing, Mr. Whitestone." Jillian defended Regan. "You can't prove that she isn't a miracle worker either." The audience cheered and began to chant: Give her the money! Give her the money!

Regan held her hand up to the audience. "Wait just a minute." She turned to Eric with a glare. "I've been lying all along. I'm not a magician or illusionist – every trick I have ever done has been real. I have never practiced magic in my entire life. I woke up from a coma, and I had the power to perform miracles."

Jillian's mouth dropped open. "I'm sorry? What was that?"

"My powers are real – all of them. I can't hide it anymore."

The crowd fell silent. They were glued to every word. "I'm through with television shows. It's gotten out of hand: the performances, the videos, the fame – the lies. There's a reason I've been given this power."

"Don't listen to this people! This is all part of her act!" Whitestone yelled.

"Just a minute." Things were heating up for Jillian. "What are you saying, Mrs. Roberts?"

Regan started to lose her temper. "I've been given the gift of miracles. It's for the good of mankind, I know it. Just a few weeks ago, I cured a little girl with brain cancer." The audience gasped loudly.

"Liar! You're a damn liar!" Whitestone stood up from the couch.

"Sit down, Mr. Whitestone – watch your language!" Jillian scolded.

"I want my money!" Regan was turning red.

"Never!" He turned to Jillian. "Ms. Rogers, your guest is a liar of the highest degree. She was arrested by the FBI for her involvement in attempting to steal the Hope diamond from the Smithsonian!"

Regan was clenching her teeth and balling her fists. "Is this true, Mrs. Roberts?" Jillian asked.

"I didn't steal anything. It was a huge misunderstanding."

Whitestone looked Regan directly in the eye and held his finger to her face. "You were involved in a plan to steal one of this country's finest treasures. You can't stand being an incompetent, isn't that right, Mrs. Roberts? You have failed at everything in your life, so you decided to take what you believe the world owes you."

Regan was trembling, and on the verge of tears – she had never been so humiliated.

"It's all on record, Jillian." Whitestone said. "She is a common criminal with a record of fraud! Our organization would never pay a woman like this – this is why we exist. I debunk these kinds of lies and shut down obvious criminals like Regan Roberts!"

He put his finger up to her face once more. "You should be ashamed. Trying to convince people that you can cure cancer. You can't even cure your mute, retarded daughter!"

Regan closed her eyes. The room fell silent. Jillian was speechless.

Whitestone continued. "My organization is dedicated to... is dedicated to..."

A strange tingling drew his attention down to his feet. His mouth fell open in horror. "What the..."

Slowly, his shoes were dissolving – blowing away like a pile of fine sand. The cells of his feet were coming unglued, and drifting away in the breeze. "What's going on!?"

His feet gently disappeared from view, and the plague moved upward to his shins towards his knees. He was simply dissolving away like an aspirin dropped in a glass of water. "What's going on? Help me!!"

The staff went into a panic. Jillian sat in her chair frozen with fear. Whitestone began screaming. "Somebody, stop it!! GOD HELP ME!!!"

Regan sat unmoving, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Whitestone grabbed her arm. "STOP IT! STOP IT!!"

The dissipation had moved up to his thighs and groin – he would be gone in a few more minutes. Audience members screamed and ran from their seats. Total panic ensued on the set. There was nothing anyone could do for him. The dissolving crept slowly up into his chest, his cells were spinning off into the air like a Kansas dust storm – he was disintegrating in front of their eyes.

"HELP ME!! PLEASE GOD HELP ME!!"

No one had ever heard screaming so horrid in their lives. Jillian began to sob – stage assistants were fainting. The studio lights began to flicker on and off. Regan sat quietly in her trance.

Whitestone's screaming continued until he evaporated entirely. The last part of him to go were his eyes, which bore the most horrified look of intense fear. The breeze whipped up the last few particles of dust.

He was gone.

Regan put hands up to her face. She was in big trouble this time. Fear coursed through her body – what had she done? She was too scared to look, she had killed a man. She would be arrested, and she would never see her family again. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

Fucking bastard.

Maybe she could get away with it. Who would believe that she had the power to dissolve someone out of existence? What jury would believe that? Where did he go anyway? Is he dead?

Regan couldn't look. The screaming had stopped. She heard nothing – just a buzzing in her head. She was visibly shaking and wanted to throw up. The ringing in her ears became unbearable.

"Mrs. Roberts? Are you ok?" It was Jillian's voice.

Regan pulled her hands away from her face. She was in the studio sitting in the same place. The audience was there whispering among themselves.

She looked around the studio in a daze, then looked at where Whitestone had been. There was nothing there. "I'm sorry." she whispered.

"For?" Jillian asked. "Are you feeling well?" The assistant director gave cues to Jillian: should we cut? should we cut?

"I'm sorry about Mr. Whitestone." Regan muttered.

"I'm sorry... who?" Jillian was getting aggravated. "Let's go to commercial. We'll be right back."

The staff attentively brushed Regan's hair and adjusted her lapel mic. The assistant director patted her on the shoulder. "Do you need some water, Mrs. Roberts?"

"What happened so far? I don't remember."

"You showed us some very nice illusions – the thing with the sun and little planets. And you guessed Jillian's numbers that she wrote down. Are you sure you don't need a doctor or something?"

"No, no. I'll be ok."

Regan finished out the segment with a few of her usual tricks, nothing particularly spectacular. The audience cheered and chanted her name. Jillian was pleased with her guest. It would turn out to be one of the show's highest ratings ever.

But what happened to Eric Whitestone?

44

Regan signed a ton of autographs from the audience. She signed books, she signed body parts, she even signed stuffed animals the owners claimed had come to life. It took over an hour to meet everyone who had lined up to see her. She was exhausted. A long flight, being far from home, and the dissolving away of another human being – it's enough to wear down anyone's soul. She went to her dressing room and packed her duffel bag. She was so tired, yet the Whitestone incident would probably keep her up all night. How much more of this could she take?

She walked the long, dark hallway that led to the back alley of the studio, where her taxi would take her to the nearest bar – she needed a drink badly. It was close to six-thirty, and dusk was setting in. Regan opened the door to the back street of the studio lot, stepped into the alley – and stopped dead in her tracks.

Running down the length of the building, along the dumpsters and cardboard boxes, were children, about forty of them in a single-file line. They stood on crutches, they sat in wheelchairs. Their parents stood with them. They were children of all races, all colors, all afflictions. Some were wrapped in bandages – some were missing limbs. Others were so brain damaged they didn't even know where they were.

Regan stood in silence, simply staring at them. She wanted to say something like: Who are you, and what's going on? She really did.

But she knew exactly why they were there, it was obvious. From behind a teenager on crutches emerged a small, beautiful girl with golden hair. She was bright-eyed and fair skinned, glowing from head to toe, with a smile that told the story of a second chance for happiness.

It was Katie.

She walked up and took Regan's hand. "I love you. You're my angel." She whispered. Tucked under her left arm was the butterfly box that Regan had given her. Regan held the tiny girl by the shoulders and looked her up and down. Not only had Katie been cured of her disease, it was as if she had never been sick at all. Her golden locks were fully grown back, and the scars from doctors breaking into her skull had vanished.

"How is this possible?" Regan asked.

"My mom says you're an angel, sent by God." Katie explained. "I think you're more than that." Katie looked back at the line of children behind her. "You know why they're here, don't you?"

Regan took a deep breath. "Yes."

Katie took Regan's hand and led her up to the first child in line, a small boy in a wheelchair. His parents stood behind him. "We read about Katie's miraculous recovery from a blog post that her mother wrote. When we found out that you were going to be in Los Angeles, well... we thought it would be worth a try." His mother ran her fingers through his fair hair. "There's nothing the doctors can do for him. He has a severe muscular dystrophy, and they say he'll never walk again – they say he may not live past 20." Her voice cracked with emotion.

"What's his name?" Regan asked.

"His name's Charlie." Tears welled up in the mother's eyes.

Katie squeezed Regan's hand and looked up with her bright blue eyes. Please?

Regan placed her hand on Charlie's head and closed her eyes. Just as she had with Katie, she envisioned Charlie running with his friends, getting married and having children of his own. She imagined the boy healthy – the damaged cells in his muscles being washed away, being replaced by healthy cells, his muscles growing firm and strong.

"He'll be fine." Regan said quietly. "Take him home." Charlie sat in his wheelchair, unmoving. His parents embraced each other and began to cry. Katie looked up at Regan with tears in her eyes, a priceless smile on her face. Her golden curls swept gently across her delicate forehead. I love you. She mouthed to Regan silently.

One by one, Regan placed her hands on each of the children, Katie by her side the entire time, until they all had been touched. As they moved down the line, the parents burst into tears and got down on their knees to thank her. For the first time in her life, Regan felt the meaning, the power of what it meant to be truly alive. Awakened in her was her sole purpose, a warmth of knowing flowed through her. She felt a mile high.

Katie knew that each child would have their life restored by this miracle worker. Everything she had ever wished for had come true, every prayer uttered in the dark of night, answered.

"My mom says you're an angel, but I think you're more than that." She laid her head up against Regan's arm, clutching the butterfly box tightly. "You are God, herself. Aren't you."

"Yes, Katie. I am."

45

Regan Lizbeth Cutler was born on January 17, 1971 in a small commune in the Appalachian Mountains just outside of Charlottesville, Virginia, an only child of Simon and Silence Cutler. Maybe commune isn't quite the right word. It was a large house that Simon and Silence purchased when they were married in 1963. Attached to the property were eighty acres of half rolling pasture and half rich forest. Silence would take in hippies, hippie wannabes, pagans, the poly-amorous, assholes, vagrants and others of decidedly un-mainstream persuasions. Simon and Silence would avoid uninvited visitors like the plague – there were no televisions, radios, or telephones. The house did have electricity, running water, and an old wood fired pot belly stove for heat. Regan's parents had an aversion to the outside world of materialism, politics, public education and the monetary system. They pulled away as much as possible from modern society, which they believed, was poisoning the populace. For Regan Cutler, born into the commune – it was simply home.

Most people require two or three years to adjust to living in a commune. It's not a question of knowledge, it's an issue of acceptance. For most communards, it's a process of unlearning assumptions, and finding out what does and doesn't work. Regan was one of the lucky ones. She never went through a clearing procedure to learn to live with others in a tight knit setting – it was all she ever knew.

There were horses and dairy cows on the property that Regan was responsible for taking care of, when she became old enough to do so. There were no other children living on the property, except for the occasional transient family, that Silence would take in for a couple of weeks. The children were never there long enough to create lasting friendships. At any given time, there may be a pocket of two or three tents in the backyard with families living in them, pulling what assets they had together and moving on. There were a few advantages to life like this, however. You met so many interesting people, from every walk of life, each had a story with lessons to learn from, and the food was great. With so many people helping cook in the kitchen, one could taste a variety of recipes and ethnic combinations.

Regan was able to remove the preconceptions about people, to be able to show compassion for others feelings and their predicaments. She was as carefree as almost any human on earth, released from the shackles of preconceived notions and cultural bias. Regan, for the most part, got along with all the transient visitors to her parent's home. For as creepy, unclean and misunderstood as these people would have seemed to normal society, she never felt frightened. Out of all the people that she felt threatened by, her own parents were top of the list.

She would share with the horses her secrets and opinions of the passersby that came in and out of her life. For as carefree a life as Regan had, there was no permanency in the relationships she built. The animals got their share of Regan's wishes, needs and fears.

"Casey? You up?" The horse glanced at Regan in her tattered t-shirt and boxer shorts that the girl wore to bed. Casey, Regan's horse, tucked his head down a bit and walked slowly over to the girl to get his usual rub on the forehead and a tomato. Casey was a healthy and majestic animal; a Morgan of chestnut color with a white star on his forehead. She stepped up onto the lowest plank of the stable gate to reach a little higher, and gave him a nice stroke of his withers.

"You wouldn't believe what Momma told me today, Casey."

Casey nudged the girl to hear her story. Regan gave Casey a tomato and fed it to him.

"We were out diggin up clay for Momma's pots, so she can sell her wares at the craft show. Do you know what she told me?"

Casey looked at the girl curiously.

"She told me that the world is overpop'lated. The world can't take no more people. We are killin Mother Nature from our pollution and garbage. And that people shouldn't have any more children – ever. I asked Momma if she shouldn't have had me... she jus looked at me and didn't say nothin, Casey, not a yes or no. I'm thinkin Momma wishes she hadn't had me. You know, because I'm killin the world and all."

Regan fought to hold back her tears. Casey lowered his head for another rub.

"I don't pollute. Why would Momma think that 'bout me? Do you think she does? That I'm a bad person for bein born? Am I really a bad person and killin the earth?"

Regan climbed one more step up to give Casey a kiss on the cheek. "Wish I was a horse. Jus run and eat grass all day...that'd be Heaven! No one blamin me for killin anyone. They don't blame horses for that. Maybe we 'cud run away, Casey, jus run away forever. We 'cud pack all our stuff in a blanket and ride far 'way to West Virginia where no one 'cud ever find us."

The tears fell down Regan's face. "I guess they'd find us eventually, Casey. I guess there's jus no wheres to go, with so many people and all." Regan pulled her sleeves up over her hands. The October air was just chilly enough to warrant a sweater, but she didn't have a clean one. They were soiled from digging clay from the ground with Silence.

"I thought I heard someone in here." A raggedly looking man about forty-five years of age said from the shadows. Startled, Regan jumped down from the stable gate and shuffled her back up to a wooden post and stared the stranger down.

"I didn't mean to scare you little one. My name's Conley. Benson Conley. I'm staying out back of your Mom and Dad's place, in that brown tent over there. You're Silence's little girl aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm Regan." she said softly, slightly looking away from his eyes. He was probably one of the roughest looking visitors she had ever seen at the house. His clothes were tattered and torn. His hands were scabbed up with small cuts and wounds as if he had been pulling up briars without gloves. He had a salt and pepper beard, dark eyes and long brown hair with large stripes of gray on the sides that ran the entire length of his locks. He had a nice, warm smile, but the man's teeth were black and rotted out.

"I have a boy about your age, well maybe a bit older." The man said. "How old are you little Regan?"

"I'm ten."

"Yea, my boy is thirteen or fourteen 'bout now. Not sure which." The stranger put his hand on his forehead as if to concentrate, and started to roll around numbers inside of his head. "Let's see... 1981... take away seven... add six..." the stranger mumbled to himself. He looked back up at Regan. "Yea, he's thirteen or fourteen for sure."

"Where's he at?" Regan asked. "Here with you?"

"No. Not sure where he's at right now. But if he's anything like me, he's doing OK. Ha!" The man laughed at himself.

"How can you not know where your boy is? Ain't you worried 'bout him? Don't you miss him?"

"He's with his Mom. I'm sure she's taking good care of him. That's a beautiful horse you got there. What's her name?" Conley was desperately trying to change the subject.

"It's a he. Name's Casey. How come you ain't with your wife and boy no more?" Regan tried to pry information from the stranger. "You wanted by the police or somethin?"

"Ha ha. Goodness, Lord no!" The man's Texas twang started to show itself. "I like to keep moving. I get bored staying in one place too long. I haven't figured out what I want to do when I grow up!"

He was amused by his joke and cracked a big smile. Regan was not amused, or maybe she just didn't get the joke. She glared at the man with a sour disdain for not wanting to be with his child. She noticed too, that the man was starting to put out an odor, like he hadn't taken a bath in a long time.

"Maybe when you grow up, you can start by tellin your boy you're sorry for not takin him with you."

Benson was shocked by Regan's statement and thought about it for a moment. "Sometimes a child is better off not being with a parent. Sometimes, you know, it's best to let go and let 'em be raised by someone else. I have nothing to offer right now. He don't need me getting in the way of his growing up."

"Only parents think like that." Regan said. "Kids don't know 'bout that kinda stuff – what you got, what you ain't got. They jus love you for you. They're happy jus livin in that old tent of yours out back. It'd be kinda of an adventure."

"What makes you think that?" Benson asked.

"Because I'm, ya know – a kid. " Regan tried to hide her sarcasm only slightly.

"Ha ha. I almost forgot that there for a minute. You're pretty smart for your age, little one. You sure you're only ten? " Benson stared towards the ground, a bit ashamed. "Maybe you're right. An adventure, huh? Do ya think?"

"I need to get back to my room, mister. If Momma catches me out here, she'll kill me. There's a shower in the house, downstairs near the back bedroom, jus past the pantry. Use it." Regan climbed the gate to give Casey a quick kiss, jumped down again and ran past the man.

"Goodnight little one!" he said. "Su'ppose we'll see you around."

Regan said nothing. She ran to the cellar door of the house and entered through the basement, so she wouldn't wake her parents. She tiptoed lightly up the flight of stairs to her bedroom, the boards creaking with each step. She turned out her light and pulled the covers up under her chin. The bright October moon lit up her room, even with the blinds closed. Regan pulled the covers down, peeked through the blinds so no one would see her, and surveyed the backyard for the stranger. He was standing in the middle of the yard staring up towards her window. Regan gasped and pulled away from the blinds, startled. Her hairs were standing on end, paralyzed with a panic.

She took a couple of deep breaths and peered out through the blinds one more time. Benson Conley was heading back to his tent, the lunar angle casting his tall moon shadow across the grass as he walked.

46

Regan awoke to the aroma of bacon sifting slowly upstairs from the kitchen.

"Girl!" Her Mother cried from the bottom of the stairs. "Come eat before it gets cold!"

Regan jumped out of bed and looked at herself in the tall mirror next to her bedroom door. She pulled at her tangles for a moment, and wiggled into a pair of faded jeans she pulled from a pile of half clean clothes on the floor. Still wearing the same t-shirt that she slept in, she flew downstairs to eat before it was gone. Silence was spooning food onto the plates, placing them one-by-one before the guests at the table. "Find yourself a place, girl."

"Yes, Momma." The long wooden dining room table was full this morning with the visitors for the week. A constant revolving door of guests guaranteed she would never have a private meal with her parents. A bright, crisp Sunday with Mom and Dad, possibly a brother or sister or two, laughing and talking about their plans for the day – that would never happen. Like stray animals taken in from the cold, there were always vagrants looking for a handout. She took the last remaining seat at the table next to her father and Benson Conley. Besides Conley, Silence and Simon, there were two other women that Regan hadn't seen before. One, a young girl no older than nineteen, introduced herself.

"I'm Shari. Nice to meet you, Regan." The girl was dressed in a gray sweatshirt with the words George Washington University in white letters, gray sweatpants, hiking boots and a reddish paisley bandana on her head. Regan had seen young adults come through here many times before. Some were runaways, some were trekkers hiking the Appalachian Trail. This young woman was probably finding herself, Regan thought, experimenting with communal living. She didn't seem like the truly transient type; her hands were too clean and she didn't have that beaten-down look about her.

"Good mornin, Shari." Regan replied and shot a quick glance at the other woman seated next to Silence and Shari.

The woman didn't say a word and never looked up from her plate. The woman's hair was greasy, stringy and tangled in a horrible mess. She wore a tattered multicolor sweater littered with holes and snags. Regan got the willies from this one – that happened periodically. The woman obviously wasn't going to give her name.

Regan's father nodded at Benson. "This is my daughter, Regan."

"I've already had the pleasure, Simon. What a fine looking young lady, and smart too." Benson said, winking at Regan.

"Oh?" Her father replied with a suspicious eye at Benson that floated over to Regan, as well. The girl looked down at her plate hoping to escape the inquiry.

"Yes. Her and I were talking a spell about kids and how much they love their parents no matter what they do. Got me thinking about my own son, thinking maybe I should try and find him when I get the chance."

Simon looked confused and went back to eating. Her father was not the intellectual type. He was a worker; always building something or chopping wood or tilling a field. Regan's father reminded her of a mule – a beast of burden. He rarely said anything at all, and she didn't consider herself close to him. She tried hard to suppress a smile for Benson for his acknowledgments.

"That's all the bacon there is." Silence complained. "Regan, you missed out." Silence threw down a plate in front of her daughter with only one fried egg on it. "That's what you get for bein' late."

Regan face turned sour, but she didn't want to cry – she'd been through this before. Bacon was her favorite, a rare occurrence in the house.

"Here you go little one." Benson quickly volunteered his three slices to the girl, sliding them off onto to her plate.

"Don't you dare!" Silence commanded. "She's gotta learn to be on time. The world ain't gonna reward her bein lazy."

"She's just a kid there, Silence. She shouldn't have to go without." Benson said.

"What's your boy's name, Ben?" Shari asked, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Dustin. He lives in Texas with his mom."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"About five years ago, I guess. I missed a lot of his growing up. Maybe I'll try and get down for Christmas. Little Regan here made me take another look at things. She's a smart one."

"She can't even do her chores when she's supposed to." Silence replied. "She ain't that smart, trust me – more of a smart-ass. She don't respect anyone!"

"Well, sometimes a child knows things we don't." Benson said. "Sometimes you can gleem a gem or two out of 'em. You just have to listen. That's what I say."

"Good advice from someone who dumped their kid off on someone else." Silence said defensively. The table became quiet.

"Ok." Sherri said trying to break the mood. "Hey Regan, let's say you and I go look for some fossils after breakfast. There's a big creek about a mile from here, you know the one. There might even be some diamonds in there."

"Cool!"

"You got chores to do." Silence said glaring at Regan. She turned her attention towards Shari. "Maybe some other time."

"Sure, maybe some other time. Excuse me." Shari dabbed her mouth with a napkin and tossed it onto the plate with disgust.

The visitors finished their meal in silence. Regan's father Simon, never looked up from his plate. The creepy woman who never gave her name didn't say a word. She didn't even acknowledge the conversation. She just looked down at her meal and ate very slowly, her hands trembling as she brought the fork to her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Silence. I didn't mean any harm." Benson said, trying to keep a place for himself. "Just small talk, that's all." He didn't want to rock the boat; the hot meals were nice, and it was starting to get cold out.

"You helpin me with the firewood, Bubba?" Simon asked.

"Absolutely. Let's get that done. Excuse me." Benson stood up from the table. "Ladies."

Silence was still giving him a glare. She wouldn't have anyone coming into her home and spouting off like that. She was a tall woman; thin, with dirty blonde hair and scars on her nose from it being repeatedly broken in an earlier abusive relationship. When Regan was younger, she found a picture of her mother in the attic of the home. In it, Silence was bright and beautiful, and the girl imagined what it would be like for her mother to be that happy again. "I was seventeen in that photo." Silence told Regan. "That's just before I lost all my happiness." Regan believed that her own birth was the cause of her mother's disdain.

"After you clean up this mess, you and I are goin to collect mistletoe." Silence harvested mistletoe from the large oaks on the property. She blasted it from the treetops with a shotgun, and Regan gathered the bunches in a knapsack, toting home the bounty. Silence sold the bunches for five dollars a pound to craft stores in Richmond. Regan hated collecting season. The sound of the shotgun frightened her, and she never trusted going into the woods with her mother and her gun. What if her mother accidentally shot Regan? Her mother might be happy again.

Simon didn't talk to his daughter much. He made grunting sounds for most of his communication. He worked from sun-up until sundown, avoiding almost everyone as he did so. In the middle of the night, Regan would hear strange noises coming from her parent's bedroom: gurgling sounds, the flicking of lighters, moaning noises and other unidentifiable mutterings. Simon would cough and hack throughout the night. Often, guests would wander in and out of their bedroom at all hours of the night. It was no place to raise a child.

BLAM!

Regan cringed, cupping her hands over her ears. "Nice one there. That'll fetch a couple of bucks." Silence lit up a smoke that mimicked the smoking barrel of her shotgun. "It's about that time – ready to take the gun?"

Regan panicked. "No, momma! The noise scares me."

"You're such a pussy, Regan. You can't handle real responsibility. Someday, people are gonna depend on you, and you'll have nothin. You need to know what it's like to have real power in your hands – take the gun."

"Please, I don't wanna!"

"You wanna end up like me? Huh? Look at me!" She reached over, grabbed her daughter's face to stare into her own.

"Momma, stop!"

"Look at my face, Regan. I used to be beautiful. Look at the scars on my face! This is what happens when you don't stand up for yourself. People take advantage. They beat you down – they don't fuckin care!"

"You're still beautiful, momma."

"You'll say anythin to get away from me. That's not power, that's bein a pussy! You can't take control with words – it's not enough! You hafta stand up and fight. They'll hunt you, they'll take you, and they'll kill you. Take the fucking gun!"

Regan reached out. Still clenching the girl's face, Silence placed the shotgun in her daughter's hands.

"Now, lift up the barrel and aim up the tree." Silence commanded. "Be fuckin careful! Don't aim it at nothin you ain't gonna kill."

Regan slowly lifted the end of the barrel until it came to rest far above her head.

"Do you see your bunches?" Silence asked.

"Yes, momma. I see the bunches."

"Aim to the side of the bunches, down the branch towards the trunk. Don't aim right at 'em or you'll blow 'em apart."

"Ok, momma."

"When you get your aim, squeeze the trigger easy. Don't pull – squeeze."

Little Regan took aim at the branch. She squeezed the trigger. She squeezed a little harder. Her heart was anticipating the blast – it was racing.

Click... BLAM!

The noise caught Regan by surprise. The recoil almost knocked her down, but her mother grabbed her by the shoulder. She could hear the rustling of the branch falling against the others as it made its way down the tree, finally coming to rest on the ground.

"Hold the barrel down to the ground after you shoot." Silence said. "If it goes off, no one gets hurt." She picked up the bundle of mistletoe that had fallen to the ground.

"Best one of the day. Good job." Silence took the gun from Regan's hands. "Wasn't so bad after all, huh?"

Regan was still in a bit of shock from the noise. Silence bent down and looked her daughter in the eyes.

"Power gets you everythin, Regan. People can't hurt you if you got power. That's all anyone cares about. You can't be lowest Indian on the totem pole, you hafta fight your way to the top. That's what I say."

Silence packed the freshly blasted load into her daughter's knapsack. She sat cross-legged on the ground and took a couple of drags on her smoke, staring off into the distance.

"My life woulda been different if I had the power. Take control every time you can. If you ever get real power, don't ever let it go – ever. It's the only way out, Regan."

She smashed her cigarette into the ground. "Come on, let's go."

47

Silence and Simon packed their van with the take of the day. They had about twenty-five pounds of mistletoe to take to Richmond, a little over an hour away.

"We'll be back in a few hours." Her father told her. "Mr. Conley will watch you for a while."

Regan didn't like the sound of that. "Can I go with you, poppa?"

"No, Regan. We got grown up stuff to do."

She watched the old van pull away, billowing up a cloud of dust behind it as it sped down the dirt road.

Benson was sitting on the front porch wrapping a bird feather onto a small piece of wood. She didn't want to go inside of the house with him, outside seemed safest.

"What's that?" she asked.

Ben held it up in front of her. "This here's a homemade fishing lure. I carved it into the shape I wanted, now I'm binding a feather to it."

"Why's it have a feather? Fish don't eat birds."

"The feather attracts the fish. It's shiny and reflects off the sunlight. Plus, the hairs wiggle when the lure's moving, catchin the fish's attention. Pretty cool?"

Regan said nothing, just staring out into space.

"I'm going for a hike. Anybody with me?" Shari said, coming from the front door of the house with a small pack hanging from her back. "How about it, Regan? Ready to look for those diamonds?"

Regan beamed a huge smile. She wanted to go with Shari, but her parents didn't allow her to go hiking while they weren't there. "I hafta wait till my folks get back from town."

"Don't worry, maybe we can go tomorrow before I leave." Shari touched Regan on the cheek.

Leaving already? Regan felt that familiar pain again. The visitors never stayed around long enough to make friends. Shari walked towards the path leading into the woods.

"Nice girl." Conley said. He noticed Regan eying Shari as she disappeared out-of-sight.

"You thinking of going to college like Shari when you grow up?"

"I don't know, maybe." Regan didn't care about college, she just wanted to leave with Shari, wherever she was going. Regan longed to run away, escape the confines of the farm and her parents. The freedom to leave meant freedom from pain. Regan couldn't wait to grow up, to see the world and go where and when she wished, to be a woman just like Shari.

On the other side of the dirt road near the stockade, the strange, ragged woman with no name was wandering around in circles, mumbling to herself. She whacked herself repeatedly with a towel as if she were being attacked by flies. The woman made Regan feel uneasy. She couldn't hear what the woman was muttering, but Regan was glad Ben was there.

"Why's she like that?" Regan asked.

"Some people just have a rough life, little one. Problems get under their skin."

"My momma had a rough life too. I don't want end up like my momma, or that woman either. My momma says that I have to find power, so they can't hurt me."

"Who's gonna hurt you?" Benson asked.

"I don't know.... them. That's why momma teached me to shoot the gun."

"Guns ain't the answer, little one. Real power comes from choices."

"Momma said if she had a gun, she wouldn't have gotten beat down."

Benson stirred his pipe and knocked the ashes out with the heel of his boot. "You're momma was beaten down because she made the wrong decisions. A gun wouldn't have helped. Trust me, I know."

"You mean you got beat down too, mister?"

"I beat myself down, little one. No one can hurt you more than you can hurt yourself. After a while, we think it's everyone else's fault. We make our choices based on love. If your momma loved herself, she wouldn't have put herself there. She didn't care – she didn't think it through."

"I don't want to be like my momma." Regan said. "I need some power. I need to be the Indian on top the totem pole. That's what momma said."

"Don't worry bout that, little one. There's something special bout you."

"How you know that?"

"I've always had a special eye for things like that. I know who you'll be. I can just feel it."

Regan smirked. "Ain't no such thing as seein the future, mister."

"I didn't say I could, little one." Ben picked up a dried piece of corn from the ground and handed it to the girl. "What's this?"

"It's a kernel."

"What happens if you plant it?"

"It grows into a stalk."

"How do you know?" he asked. "Can you see into the future?" Regan was stumped.

"Everything the stalk needs to be what it'll be, is already in this tiny seed, little one. The same goes for us. Everything we'll ever become is inside us already. We need the same things as the corn to grow: water, attention, love. If you make the right choices, you'll grow as tall as the stalk."

Benson chucked the kernel out into the road. "I can see your stalk, little one – you'll have all the power you'll need. You won't find it in a gun, you'll find it in yourself."

48

Dark came early to the October evening, Regan's parents had not yet returned home from their trip. As the visitors settled into their tents for the night, Regan crept quietly to the stables for her talk with her horse, Casey.

"Look, Casey. Look what I got." Regan held her mother's shotgun up to Casey's nose. "I got to shoot it today. It's loud, Casey. I bet you heard it all the way from the woods."

The animal titled his head down for a pat from the girl. "I have to get the gun back inside before momma comes home and finds it missin." She laid the gun down along the wooden planks of Casey's stable.

"I'm thinkin we should get outta here, Casey. You and me. I betcha momma wouldn't even care if we were gone. It can't be tonight, but when momma leaves for Richmond again, we'll..."

A rustling sound from the barn door startled the girl, but she saw no one there. Maybe it was Ben coming to check on her.

She climbed a rung higher on the gate to look Casey in the eye. "Look, I can pack everythin we need to get outta here and go to West Virg..."

The hinges of the old barn door squeaked as it closed.

"Mr. Conley, that you?" There was no answer. Regan let out a gasp as the lights in the barn went out. Fear coursed through her stomach, racing through her veins. She squinted to see if someone was there, but it was pitch black inside.

She climbed slowly down the gate, trying not to make a sound. She reached her foot down to feel for the ground – just a bit further. As the tip of her sneaker touched the earth, a hand grabbed her by the back of her shirt and yanked her violently to the ground. Her back hit the hard dirt knocking the wind out of her. Shocked, she couldn't make a sound.

Come here, you little whore.

Regan inched her way backwards in the darkness trying to escape. A crushing weight fell on top of her body, her arms pinned up above her head by the strong grip. Her clothes were ripped from her body, the hems digging painfully into her skin before they sheared into remnants. A torturous burning tore through her torso, she couldn't catch a breath.

Casey backed up into the corner of his stable, the scent of his owner's fear permeated his entire being. After a few moments, Regan's muffled screams slowed down, reduced to small mechanical squeaks like someone stepping on a child's toy, over and over, until it stopped.

Casey could smell the heavy breath of the intruder, panting with exhaustion. From his owner, he heard nothing. The barn door opened slowly, bathing the inside of the stable with a soft, orange grow from the full harvest moon.

"Regan? Are you in here?" Benson thought he had heard some kind of commotion. He could barely make out two figures in the moonlight – one standing, one lying on the ground. "Who's there?"

The hot, bright flash of the shotgun blast nearly blinded him. Casey reared up from the noise that echoed through the barn, desperately circling the stall for a place to hide.

Benson, shocked, fell to his knees. As the ringing in his ears faded, a small gurgling sound came from a figure lying on the ground. Benson jumped up and flipped the switch to the barn lights.

Oh, dear God...

The little girl sat naked in the dirt of the barn floor, her face bloodied; her body trembling as she clutched the warm shotgun in her hands. Regan's terrified stare looked off into nowhere, unfocused.

With her hands still clutching her chest, Shari's last choking gasps for air ceased, her head fell back into the dirt. Her body twitched one last time, the black police nightstick she used to penetrate her tiny victim laid next to her. A dark pool of blood oozed quietly from beneath her grey sweatshirt.

49

The fall leaves scattered and tossed about in small dust devils as she walked home from school, the crisp air was a welcome break from the long D.C. summer. The clouds gleamed a golden hue on their edges creating a melancholy peace for home. But home was no longer the haven it once was, now infested with the media and the curious. Maren imagined running away from it all, dropping out of school and disappearing from sight.

Each day became harder to deal with. Over the last six weeks, Maren's mother Regan had convinced the media that she was the world's most powerful spiritual healer. News of her abilities were spreading faster than reporters could keep up with.
Regan performed her miracles on television. She performed them on the web. The police turned people away from the quiet Avalon Hills suburb, now turned upside down by the sick, broken and hopeless. Maren hid behind the tall hedges of Pastor Roland's house to peek down the street. Media vans from local and national news agencies crowded outside of her parent's home, tall antennae lined the sky and news reporters milled about waiting to catch a glimpse of the miracle worker.

It was a title not entirely undeserving. Regan would seek out any sick child she could find and lay her hands upon them; in their own homes, in hospitals – anywhere. The media went into a frenzy when Regan visited the Children's Hospital and proceeded to lay hands on every child in the entire building. She nearly got arrested when she verbally chastised the staff for not trying hard enough to cure the children in their care. Sick children kept the hospital running, she claimed, providing a steady paycheck and paying for their fancy cars.

The doctors had no rational explanation for how the children were being healed, but they were willing to accept that Regan possessed some kind of gift, a power beyond nature that the doctors did not have.

"You lay your hands on the child, and you visualize – you fucking visualize." Regan scolded. "If I can do it, anyone can do it. You're not even trying."

Maren tucked her head down and held her books tight against her chest. She quickened her pace toward the side entrance of her house to avoid the press.

"Miss! Miss!" The reporters flocked after Maren like seagulls to a chicken bone. Maren simply held her hand up. No comment. A flurry of questions ran together in one jumbled mess that she couldn't decipher. After two solid weeks of abuse, the neighbors held clandestine meetings for a solution on how to get Regan removed from the street. Frustrated by a lack of empathy from the police department, many were considering putting their houses up for sale if events didn't wind down.

Maren managed to make it into the house through the side door amid the rabble. As the press jumbled to get close to Maren, a photographer grabbed her by the shoulder in an attempt to take a picture of her face. She pulled away from his grip and ran into the house with her head down. It wouldn't be long before things would get ugly.

Maren found her mother sitting in at the dining room table in her usual spot, sipping her coffee with Auri in her lap.

"I can't take this anymore!" she cried. "We have to move or something. They're out there trying to grab me, Mom."

Regan stared at the wall with a blank look. "Yes. We'll have to think of someplace else to go. Our neighbors sent me a letter yesterday. They want us out of the neighborhood."

"That's just great." Maren threw her books down on the floor with a bang that startled Regan. "My life is in shambles. I want my life back the way it was."

"It can never be the way it was, Maren. I have a responsibility, one that I can't shy away from. The world has been waiting for me. Think of the thousands of years people have been suffering, and now they won't have to anymore."

"I'm suffering - you're not doing a thing about that." Maren said sarcastically.

Regan slammed her cup on the table and stood up. She held Auri in her arms, and walked towards Maren, looking at her in the eye. Maren backed up slowly as her mother confronted her.

"I said think about it, Maren. In all of history, people have been sick with plagues, disease and pain." As she moved closer, Maren inched cautiously back. "Then someone comes along that can change all of that – someone who can change the course of humanity. That's why the press are out there; they're frightened and confused – life will never be the same. This is a momentous time for everyone; it's a momentous time for me."

50

Maren began to tear up. She had become frightened of her mother over the last month. Since her appearance on the Jillian Roger's show, her mother had changed. Something was different. Maren tried to reason with her.

"Maybe there's a reason for suffering. Maybe the pain helps us make the right decisions, to keep us on the right path."

"The children I help don't have a choice. They're innocent!" Regan's voice raised to a feverish pitch. Auri cupped her hands over her ears and tucked her head into her mother's shoulder. "Here's your problem, Maren. You think you know everything, but you never think anything all the way through! Do you remember Katie? The little girl with cancer?"

"Yes. I remember Katie. I saw the..."

"I guess if it were up to you," Regan interrupted. "She'd be dead right now! Why would you let that happen when you have the power to do something about it?"

Maren cried harder with each passing syllable.

"Nobody cares. No one will take responsibility." Regan put Auri down on the couch and rubbed her forehead, trying to calm down. "I will – I'll take responsibility. Someone has to. The world will be different; a better place. I'll see to that."

"Why would God let us suffer if there isn't anything to learn from it?" Maren asked. She knew she was pushing her luck.

Regan put her finger in Maren's face. "Fiction!" She turned beet red with anger. "The God that people have been worshiping all this time isn't real! It's just a figment of people's imagination." Regan jammed her finger hard into her temple over and over.

"They say: Why did this happen to me? It must be God's fault!" She screamed with a trite, imitating voice. "People are stupid! They have no power to take control, so they put the responsibility onto a fictional character. They don't have the guts! When was the last time God made a miracle happen?"

"I don't know..."

"Never! I make miracles every fucking day!!"

Regan had totally flipped out. Her eyes were as big as saucers, her hair a frazzled mess. She took a few deep breaths, clutching her chest as if she were having a heart attack.

"If you're gonna save the world," Maren said through her tears. "Why did you kill that man on the television show?"

Regan looked up, shocked. "How do you know about that?"

"I saw it – I saw him disappear. It was horrible."

"How did you see that?" Regan whispered.

"I saw him scream. I saw him disappear." Maren cried. "It was horrible."

Regan looked around confused, not knowing what to say. "No one else saw it. They never even asked me about it – I don't understand that."

"Where did he go?"

"I... I don't know."

"Does Katie know what you did?"

"No one knows... except you." Regan eyed her daughter suspiciously.

"Can you bring him back?"

The worst of what Maren had imagined had come true; a turning point in her fear. Her mother was unstoppable, literally getting away with murder. Maren could see through it all – but who could she tell? No one would listen. The world was clueless; ignorant to the extent of her mother's power.

"Ok."

"Ok, what?" Maren asked quietly.

"I've brought him back."

"When? Just now?"

"Yes. He's at home, sitting in his easy chair. He doesn't remember what happened to him."

Maren was relieved for the stranger. "Thank you, Mom. Katie would be glad if she knew."

Regan grabbed Maren by the neck, pulling her head, so she could whisper in her daughter's ear.

"If you ever mention Katie's name again, there will be fucking hell to pay."

The hairs on Maren's neck stood on end. What if her mother wiped her from reality? No one would ever know she existed.

At that very same moment in Los Angeles in a darkened, empty television studio, Eric Whitestone appeared in his chair. The same chair, that in a moment of terror he could never describe, he painfully dissolved away in front of thousands of viewers. He looked over his body, touching himself on the legs and chest as if to see if he was really there. His expression was that of torture; an empty look of shock and confusion. He grabbed his coat and headed for the back studio doors.

"Are you ok, fella?" The security guard was surprised to see anyone in the studio this late in the day.

"Can you unlock the door for me?" Whitestone whispered.

"You know, no one's supposed to be here after taping."

Whitestone took his off glasses, wiped the lenses with his sleeve, then used the same sleeve to dab beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Can you please unlock the door?"

A chill ran the length of the guard's spine. "Sure, buddy."

Eric Whitestone walked the three blocks to the Holcomb Insurance building, and opened the glass doors that led into the lobby. He took the elevator to the thirty-sixth floor, exited through the maintenance area dock, and climbed up the small metal stairs that led to the outside roof. He'd been here before, drinking tequila under the star-lit sky with college buddies – good memories that had always brought a smile. The bright California sun cast a glare on the photo of his wife and children that he held in his hands. He kissed the picture gently, and took a couple of deep hits of the cool afternoon air – pleasantly clean for that time of the day in L.A.

He dropped quickly and without a sound.

51

Regan took to her front porch to confront the throng of press that refused to leave her family alone. They swarmed her within seconds.

"Mrs. Roberts! Mrs. Roberts!" They clambered for any photos they could get.

"Backup!" Regan demanded. "First of all, you will leave my daughter alone. She has nothing to say to you." The reporters pushed to get closer.

"Secondly..."

The rabble began shouting questions at her.

"Secondly!" Regan shouted back over them. "I'll take questions, but only one-at-a-time. I'm not going to shout over you all. You in the blue tie – what's your question?"

"Mrs. Roberts. Tom Haley, CNC. How did you acquire these powers?"

"I woke up with them after I drowned. I have no idea where they came from. Next."

"Mrs. Roberts, Cyndi Jackson, Associated Bureau. How powerful are you? I mean, what are the extent of your powers?"

"I'm finding new things every day, you'll know it when I know it. By the way, that was two questions – you're through here. You there, with the cheap toupee."

"Mrs. Roberts. Joe Turner, NBC. We've interviewed people camped out at the fairgrounds down the street. The police refuse to let them into the neighborhood."

"So what?"

"So, they claim that this has something to do with the Mayan calendar, end-of-the-world stuff."

"I don't know anything about that." Regan replied.

"The Mayan date is only a few months away. Do you believe that your powers are related to this prophesy?"

"I said, I don't know. That sounds like wacko conspiracy crap to me."

Maren and Auri peeked out through the den curtains. They couldn't hear the extant of what was being said. Auri suddenly broke away from Maren's side and ran towards the screen door.

"Auri! Stop!" Maren cried.

Auri burst through the door and ran to her mother's legs. The reporters went nuts. Regan grabbed Auri and held her in her arms. "No pictures!"

They refused to listen. They pushed and shoved each other to get a better shot of the youngster. "No pictures!" Regan turned her body to shield the child from them. The flashbulbs lit up the porch like a lightning storm.

"I SAID NO PICTURES!" Regan screamed. Then silence – not a word. The reporters were frozen, unmoving.

Regan had stopped time.

She put Auri down and walked carefully among the throng, waiving her hand in front of their faces trying to get a reaction. They were as motionless as department store mannequins. Regan laughed to herself as she pulled the cameras from each reporter's grip, opened up the back, and ripped the film from the compartments.

Maren opened the screen door. "What did you do?"

"They were getting on my nerves. I told them not to take pictures, but they wouldn't listen. That's what they get." She reached into Miss Jackson's purse and rummaged around for a second. "Here we go."

Regan took out a ream of bright red lipstick, removed the cap and methodically wrote asshole on the foreheads of each of the reporters.

"Wanna help?"

"No, thanks." Maren sighed. "Please let them go when you're done humiliating them."

"Should we take their clothes off?"

"No. Please let them go, Mom."

"You're no fun at all, Maren."

Regan thought for a moment, rocking slowly on the front porch swing. "Is it just them, or is the entire world frozen? What if I just left them like that? They'd never know."

Maren grabbed Auri to bring her back inside – a nauseous feeling brewed in her stomach.

Regan shrugged her shoulders, shut the door and peeked out from the curtains to watch the spectacle. Suddenly, the reporters animated back to life. They bumped into each other confusingly, and cursed as they discovered what she had done to their cameras. Miss Jackson reached up, rubbed her forehead and wiped red lipstick onto her blazer. "Bitch!"

"I should have taken their clothes off." Regan laughed. "That would have been classic!"

52

The crowd was overtaking the fairgrounds down the street from Avalon Hills, bulging the perimeter to the point there was no room for any other tents. People slept in their cars, and campers filled the Wal-mart parking lot a few miles away. They gathered to catch a glimpse of a modern-day shaman, and the area was filling fast, overrun with new age believers and the sick. The Montgomery county police department estimated the crowd at three thousand and growing. The believers erected banners up on poles and pounded signs into the dirt along the four-lane highway through town with messages of worship:

We love you, Regan!

Regan for President.

2012 – the era of Regan.

The age of Regan has begun!

Reganites united to stop suffering.

And of course: Regan is God.

The situation was deteriorating rapidly, and the police were going to have to find a way to shut it down. The suburbs of Washington were not designed to contain attention of this magnitude. On Monday, Regan decided to visit the throngs of admirers gathered at the overcrowded fairgrounds. At first, no one recognized her. She had her blonde hair wrapped in a bun, and she sported a pair of shades, a tight blue blazer and jeans.

Children were playing games, unkempt men and women were firing up grills for cooking, and long-haired, hippie types were hanging clothes on lines to dry. It looked like a small Woodstock concert, but even worse, it reminded Regan of her parent's farm.

Had she come full circle? Taking in and looking out for the dregs of society? She felt ill and back-tracked her way to the entrance, hoping not to be noticed. Too late. A young woman grabbed her by the shoulder. The woman put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh my God! It's you! It's you!" she screamed excitedly.

"Shhhh..." Regan put her finger to her lips.

The woman freaked out. "Look! It's her! It's Regan!!"

The crowd turned to see what the commotion was about. When they realized who the mysterious woman was, they quickly swarmed her. It was akin to a zombie movie: hands thrust out to touch her, voices moaning in ecstasy.

"Stop! Don't touch me!" Regan cried.

The crowd pulled on her sleeves and begged her.

"Help me, Regan! I'm sick!"

"You have to help my child, she's dying!"

"I love you... I love you!"

"I need money, Regan, to help my parents!"

"Stop touching me!" She pushed the crowd back, just enough to break free and run. The crowd chased after her.

She ditched behind one of the dugouts, closed her eyes and became invisible to the crowd. The throng searched everywhere for her: under seats, behind trees, turning over trash cans.

Where is she?

Unseen, Regan wormed her way through the crowd to make her way back home. Just as she was about to make it to the gate, she noticed a small girl standing by the dirt path. It was Katie. Her mother, Audrey, was with the crowd desperately searching for Regan. Katie was highly respected in the camp for being personally healed, and the one to first break the news of Regan's miracles.

Regan crept up to the girl and reached out to touch her golden hair. Just an inch or two from making contact, Katie swung around, startled. Regan stood frozen in place. Katie squinted her eyes to adjust her vision and smiled. "I see you. I know you're there."

"How can you see me?"

"I can smell your perfume." Katie whispered. "I've had it in my head from the very first time we met."

"They're going to rip me apart."

"They can't see you – you're safe."

"Why are you here with these people?" Regan asked.

"I've been waiting for you. I knew you'd come."

"These people are crazy. You're not like them."

"They're crazy because they're sick; they're unhappy." Katie explained. "You're my savior and I worship you with all my heart."

Regan wanted to cry. She touched the girl's golden locks, her invisible hand caressing her face. Katie closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of her savior's perfume.

"I need to get out of here." Regan told her.

"I'm going with you."

"What about your mother?"

Katie looked at her mother joined with others trying desperately to pry open a padlocked door in search for Regan. "She doesn't understand how I feel. She's one of them."

Regan touched Katie's lips. "You're coming with me. We have to find a way to manage this situation. I need my lieutenant."

Katie kissed Regan's hand softly. "I'm at your command."

"Let's get out of here."

"Wait!" Katie said, and ran unnoticed back to a small tent pitched on the far side of the baseball diamond. After a second, she emerged with the butterfly box and walked briskly back towards the gate where Regan was waiting.

"I can't leave this. This box holds the answers to all that is good."

Regan took the girl's hand and walked back to Avalon Hills to build their dream together.

"We need a church." Regan said. "A place where the sick can come and heal, but where the press isn't allowed. We have to get away from this town. I have no room to work."

"We can make our own city, like where the Pope lives."

"Not a bad idea." Regan agreed. "Maybe more like Superman's Fortress of Solitude. I am a superhero, you know."

Katie laughed out loud. "The world is our oyster, as my Dad used to say."

"Where's your dad?"

She knew, she could read Katie's mind, but Regan wanted Katie to tell her in her own words. She needed to know that Katie trusted her enough to share her secrets.

"He killed himself when I was five." Katie said. "My mom said he was depressed."

Katie and Regan walked a bit further, then the girl continued. "I miss him – I really do. Can I share a secret with you, Regan?"

"Of course."

"Before you healed me, I was kinda looking forward to dying."

"Why is that?"

"Because as bad as dying from cancer would have hurt, living life without my Dad would have hurt worse. I knew that after the cancer took me, I would be able to see him again."

The girl paused for a moment. "I really didn't mind dying. Life would've sucked without him, you know?"

"Are you mad that I healed you?" Regan asked.

"Oh, no. That's fine. I was just looking for something positive in the situation, you know? Your miracle made me realize that there's plenty of good to do in the world. Dad will be proud of me, and I'll see him soon enough. Is your dad still alive, Regan?"

"Oh, no. He died of lung cancer when I was in college, a long time ago."

"Betcha you wish you could've healed him then, huh?"

"Uh... sure." Regan lied.

"What about your mom? Is she still alive?"

"What is this? Twenty questions? She died a few years ago."

"It must be hard not having your parents around." Katie said. "Especially now that you could heal them."

"What they suffered from, I don't think I could have helped them with."

53

"Never in a million years, would I have believed we'd be second fiddle. You took a vow. You stood before God and our families and made a commitment." Victor couldn't even look at his wife. He stared down at the carpet as he poured out his feelings. "I'm so disappointed. My heart is breaking."

"I thought you were the one who would stick by me when things got tough." Regan paced the bedroom floor as she talked. "I can't believe you're leaving me."

"I'm not leaving you. I just need to take the girl's to where it's safe. The press is hounding Maren – she can't even walk home from school without being accosted. That's no way for her to be. And you... you need to figure out where we fit in to all of this."

Regan sat down next to Victor, her hands between her legs like a scolded child. "I thought we could all go together... as a family. My parent's property is a safe haven. It would be perfect for the kids – and us."

"No offense, but that's the last place I want to be." Victor leaned over and gave her a kiss. "You need some time to figure out what's important to you. It's been too crazy for all of us. It's not fair to the kids."

Regan replayed the memories of her and Victor's life together – people tend to do that in their darkest hours. How did things get so out of control? Where was the balance between her family and her duty to cure the sick? The priorities were no longer clear.

"I'm taking the girls to Florida. We need a break from the insanity. Do your thing and when you make room in your heart for your family again, we'll be there waiting."

Regan broke down and had a real cry for the first time in a long while. Even for a miracle worker, things don't always work out the way you want them to. Some miracles you have no control over.

Regan sat at her dining room table in silence, the same place she had sat many times before, thinking about her life. With a power unlike any human on earth had ever displayed before her, the bowling ball still lay heavy in her gut. Her and Victor would have to explain to their children why their family was breaking apart. She dreaded the thought of it: the look on Auri's face alone would kill her. The only solace she could find within her was her duty to heal the sick. Life's meaning wasn't found in the power itself, she realized, but in the calling. To reach the point where she could put her family back together, she would have to first establish her sanctuary – a haven to understand her place in the world. It was a sacrifice Regan would have to make no matter how painful.

"Your daughters aren't coming?" Katie asked. "There will be plenty of room at the fortress."

"Not right now, maybe later." Regan said. "Our responsibility's too great for anything to hold us back. I'm doing this to make their world a better place to live in. I won't always be here to make their world safe – to protect them from harm. This is my chance to do that, even if it means letting go for a while to create that world for them."

Katie took Regan's hand in her own. "I love you my savior, and I understand our sacrifice. The world has been suffering for far too long. You can change that."

Regan placed her hand on the child's cheek – she couldn't believe the depth of Katie's understanding. "Have you always been like this?"

"No ma'am," Katie replied. "Something happened when you laid your hands on me. My eyes were truly opened, seeing things as they are for the first time."

Regan realized that her abilities had progressed beyond physical healing. As she laid her hands upon the citizens of the world, she would exercise the power over them to see the world as she saw it. Suffering is not caused by physical pain alone, but in the perceptions of how we each deal with our existence. We see our worlds closing in on us– suffocating our souls and thoughts. For God to have left us alone, powerless to understand our true nature, we created a suffering for ourselves that even God couldn't cure. Now, all of that was over.

Regan looked out of her living room window, broken from her thoughts by a loud commotion outside. The police were in the street trying to suppress a throng of people descending on her house. The crowd from the fairgrounds were tired of being denied her saving graces, they took to the streets in search of miracles.

Katie joined Regan at the window, the fervor of the crowd was growing by the minute.

"It's time to go."

54

Victor pulled the metal door down on the U-haul truck and cranked the lock shut. This was the last of eight loads he and Maren had taken to a storage unit a few miles away. Maren stared at the ranch style home that she had lived in for only seven months, her life being torn apart once again and forced to start over. Maren had worn emotionally thin - a break from her mother is what she needed. In the corner of her eye, she saw Perdita standing on her porch. Maren locked eyes with her former friend and surrendered a smile. Perdita looked to see if her dad was around and gestured her friend to come over. She hadn't seen Perdita in nearly two months – or any of the neighborhood kids at all. The parents had strictly forbidden their children from associating with Maren's family.

"So you're moving? I guess that's it, huh? I told you bad things were going to happen if you didn't stop her." Perdita scolded. "Now look what's happened."

"Perdita, I didn't walk over here for a lecture. There's nothing I could do and you know it. I kinda thought you were going to give me a goodbye hug."

Perdita looked over her shoulder once again to see if anyone was watching. A grimace came over her face as she let out a soft sob. "I didn't want it to end like this. My dad would kill me if he saw me talking to you. Your mom ruined our lives around here."

"How do you think I feel? She's ruined my life, too."

"Where are you going? Are you coming back?"

"Auri and I are going to Florida to live with my Dad until my mom comes back."

Perdita covered her mouth, failing hide another sob. Maren tucked her hand inside of her jacket sleeve and reached up to wipe a tear running down her friend's face. "Shhhh... it's ok. Can we write? Will your dad let you do that?"

"No." Perdita caught her breath. "He'll never let me have anything to do with you – ever."

The tears welled in Maren's eyes. She fanned herself with her hand to try and keep them from flowing down.

"Maren! We have to get going, before it gets too dark!" Victor shouted.

Maren turned to her friend, the tears couldn't be stopped. "I have to go."

"Wait!" Perdita reached down into her shirt, pulled out a silver crucifix on a chain and handed it to Maren. "Take this. Please try and talk some sense into your mom."

"I can't take that! That's the one your mom gave you before she died."

"Take it." Perdita said quietly. "You'll need it more than I will." She handed the necklace to Maren and forced her hands around it. Perdita's father called for her.

"Shit! You have to go!" Perdita thrust herself into Maren's arms and gave her a hug. "Please, talk some sense into your mom. She'll listen to you. If you don't stop her, she'll kill us all."

"I love you, Dee." Maren sobbed.

"I love you, too. Now get out of here."

Maren took her sister's hand and climbed into the truck with her dad. From this day forward, she swore that she would reverse the damage that her mother had caused. Knowing that her life would never be the same, this trip was Maren's next step forward.

Come visit us at our new worship center in the Virginia mountains just north of Crozet, in the town of Long Meadow, off of Route 810. Everyone's welcome: any age, race, denomination. Just knock, you'll know it when you see it.

"I just posted on our Facebook page. We're up to over 400,000 fans now." Katie reported to Regan. The new worship center was a concrete compound on the former property of Regan's parents, Simon and Silence Cutler.

"I've come full circle, Katie. I guess they're right – we all turn into our parents."

"What do you mean?"

"My parents took in people who were in need right here on this farm. They fed them, let them camp on the property. Now, I'm here doing the same thing, but unlike them, I'm really helping people. Putting people up for the night just encourages them to keep doing what they're doing, never solving their problems."

"Now that we're having our grand opening, it's gonna get crowded."

"We're ready Katie. We have everything we need. I want that Facebook page up to a million fans by the end of the week."

In an effort to wash away the past, Regan destroyed Casey's old stable barn and laid the compound on top of the area. She created the massive structure in just a matter of minutes with her power of constructive visualization, a term she coined herself. The opposite of dissolving visualization (how she made Whitestone disappear), she would think of an object in her head, and imagine it appearing before her, molecule by molecule.

The building consisted of a living quarters for her and Katie, a chapel for healing the sick, and a kitchen. The chapel was a long, narrow room specifically designed to keep the followers in single-file line, and filter past Regan's chair without creating a ruckus. The chair itself was an oversized marble obelisk covered with a dark red velvet – more of a throne than a chair. Behind the throne were candles, curtains and music playing, creating an atmosphere of a medieval vestry.

The perimeter of the compound was simply a tall brick wall to keep pesky reporters from being able to see inside, and an entrance door brandished with copper and steel. There were no cameras, no alarm systems. Regan instantly knew if intruders were approaching the compound, and their intentions. It was a place to exercise complete control of her powers, to hone her abilities without distraction. The compound was a symbol of dominance over her life; a celebration of reaching the top of the totem.

55

Early the next morning, cars were lined up down the county road for miles, clogging up the only route in and out of the surrounding towns. The locals stood on their porches and gawked at the caravan of vehicles loaded with the disabled and the curious.

What in the hell is going on?

The cars piled onto the property and for lack of a place to park, bottle-necked themselves into a four mile back-up.

"Look at that, Katie. Well done." Regan touched the girl's cheek. "Let's get started."

Katie pushed the button that opened the massive copper door to let the followers in. "Keep order. Single-file line. The savior is waiting for you in her chapel."

Katie's heart was touched by the display of faith in her savior by those who had every conceivable affliction known to man: diseases, missing limbs, those bound to wheelchairs and wheeled in on hospital gurneys. Represented by all races, ages and faiths, each held a common bond by their excruciating suffering. Regan's powers had evolved into instantaneous healing of most afflictions, which resulted in the discarding of wheelchairs and crutches into a giant pile outside of the chapel exit. One by one, the followers bowed their heads in reverence as the savior sat upon her throne and silently placed her hands on them.

Further down route 810, Sheriff Clarence Hardey and his Deputy, Bill Miller, flashed their cruiser lights to bump traffic over to the side of the road. They had received complaints all morning from residents who couldn't get into town from the choke hold the followers had placed on the two-lane road. Sheriff Hardey crept slowly down the oncoming lane in an attempt to get the source of the commotion. No one knew of a plan for Regan's worship center, and considering that she built in less than sixty minutes, it went up quietly without drawing any attention.

"What is this shit?" Hardey said under his breath.

"Couldn't tell you." Miller replied. "I was hopin for a quiet day – didn't get much sleep last night."

"Why's that?"

"Barbara's been keepin me up with her snorin, always hoggin the damn bed. I slept on the damn couch last night."

"That reminds me of a joke!" Hardey laughed. "Little Johnny had never had sex in his life, so his buddy took him to a girl that would teach him a few things. So, Little Johnny's in a room with the girl. She takes off her clothes and asks him, "Do you know what I want?"

Little Johnny says, "Nope."

She lies down on the bed, and asks him again, "Now do you know what I want?" Again he answers, "Nope."

She spreads her legs open across the bed and asks him the same question, "Now do you know what I want?"

Little Johnny answers, "Yeah. You want the whole damn bed to yourself."

The two officers burst out laughing. They finally reached the property where a large number of people are waiting near the front of the farmhouse.

"Everyone step aside. Get over to the side." Sheriff Hardey commanded over his PA system to the crowd. They pulled their cruiser in and walked up to the crowd.

"What's going on here? Why are y'all crowdin this house?"

"We're here to be healed. This is Regan's worship center." Someone said from the crowd.

"Who?"

The crowd went into a cacophony of explanations that the Sheriff couldn't comprehend. "Ok. Everyone move back and settle down. Ya'll can't be here cloggin the road in and out of town like this. Who's runnin this shindig?"

The crowd pointed towards the back of the property. The officers filtered their way through the crowd to the compound. "What the hell? Where did this come from?" He knocked on the copper door, still wide open for the followers. "Sheriff's department! We need to talk!"

Katie emerged from behind the crowd. "Can I help you?"

"Sheriff's department, little lady. Is your mom or dad home?"

"Neither – only my Savior. What's the nature of your visit?"

"Your what?" Hardy asked the girl.

"My Savior."

"Look, little lady, who's home that we can talk to?"

"Hold on, I'll see if she's available."

The officers waited for a few moments, then impatiently knocked on the door again. "Sheriff's department!" Katie emerged from the darkness. "Come this way."

The child led the officers through the compound and into the chapel where Regan sat on her chair. She did not stand. "Can I help with you something?" Regan asked irritatedly.

"I'm Sheriff Hardey, this is Deputy Miller, and you are...?"

"Regan Roberts." she sighed.

"Miss Roberts, we've been gettin complaints all mornin about the traffic into this property. It's cloggin up the only road to town. Why the hell are all these people here? Some kinda party or somethin?"

"They're here to be healed. Please don't curse in front of the child."

"You some kinda of religious nut or somethin?"

"Something like that." Regan was starting to lose her temper.

"Is this your property, Miss Roberts?"

"It was my parent's. I own it now."

Hardey stroked his chin. "Old man Cutler's daughter, huh? Back when we were kids, a transient disappeared from this farm. Rumor has it, it was a murder. The family moved away just after old man Cutler died – been vacant ever since."

"My father's name was Simon. Show some respect."

Hardey looked down at Katie. "Where's your parents, youngin?"

"They're dead." Katie whispered.

Hardey placed his hand on his gun. "What's going on here? I need to see some identification on this child."

"Don't touch her!" Regan screamed. She reached over and grabbed the Sheriff's hand. Deputy Miller reached for his firearm. "Put your hands down..."

The scene froze as if someone had hit pause on a DVD. Regan had stopped time.

"Stupid hicks. Now I remember why I wanted to leave when I was a kid." Regan said, getting up from her chair.

"What are we going to do with them?" Katie asked.

"I'll have to re-adjust their attitude a bit, that's all."

Regan thought for a moment. "Ok, they're good to go...oh, wait. Katie, where's my lipstick?"

Katie grabbed the lipstick from Regan's parlor and handed it to her.

"There we go. You guys can go home now – have a nice day."

The officers snapped out of it and looked around for a moment. "We hate to have bothered you, Miss Roberts. Have a nice day."

"What are you going to do about the traffic?" Regan asked.

Hardey looked at his deputy and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess we'll have to build a wider road."

The two left the compound and walked back to their car. The crowd snickered to themselves. They were amused to see the word asshole written in bright red lipstick on each of the officer's foreheads.

"We need help." Regan confided. "We need to recruit more staff."

"I'll take care of that. " Katie smiled. "They're building us a wider road! Isn't that great?"

"Yes, we'll need that. Let the followers back in."

Katie was just about to exit the chapel then turned to Regan. "What did they mean about a murder on your parent's farm?"

Regan leaned down and put her finger in the girl's face.

"Nothing – they were lying! Go and let the fucking followers back in!"

The hairs on Katie's neck stood on end, and her stomach sunk to her feet.

"Yes, my Savior."

56

State the nature of the suspected crime or terrorist act being committed.

Maren filled out the form on the Jacksonville FBI field office's website. She put her name, address and phone number in the required fields and now came the hard part – how to explain what her mom was doing and how it may affect the world. No one would believe her no matter what she said, it was just too crazy. Her dad wouldn't be much help, either. His love for his wife blinded him from certain truths; he couldn't see the entire picture of what her mother was capable of. Maren was on her own, without proof, without cause for alarm. She wondered how long it would take to hear back from her online request – if ever. What if there were a real terrorist threat? Are they even monitoring the site at all? She continued to fill out the form the best she could:

My mother has psychic powers. She has already tried to kill someone...

Scratch. Delete. No good.

Regan Roberts is a dangerous person. She can control the minds of others.

Backspace again.

This was not going to be easy. Any mention of her mother's 'powers' would make Maren look like a kook. What they aired on television were basic run of the mill illusions. Fascinating yes, but far from convincing the authorities that she was a threat, or that the illusions were even real. No one would believe that. She would have to shake the tree from another branch.

My mother, Regan Roberts, has kidnapped a young girl from her home keeping the girl against her will in a compound, in rural Virginia. The girl's name is Katie Hockings, and her mother is probably looking for her. It has been weeks since the abduction. You can find directions to the compound on her Facebook page: Regan Roberts: Incarnation of God on Earth. Use caution – my mother is very powerful and mean. She is armed and dangerous.

That ought to rock the boat. Maren needed someone on her side to help her explain what her mother was capable of, someone who knew the extent of her true power. Maren hit the Internet to find a number for Eric Whitestone. Now that her mother had brought him back from God-knows-where, he should be good and pissed off about making him disappear on national television. Is it possible he would want to exact revenge?

310.477.9034 - That was easy to find. Mr. Whitestone's number was available front and center on the C.R.A.P.P website. Maren took a deep breath and dialed it.

"Hello?"

"Is this the Whitestone residence? My name is Maren Roberts." Her voice shook. "Can I speak with Mr. Whitestone? This is an urgent matter."

"This is Mr. Whitestone's sister-in-law. The family isn't taking any calls. Mr. Whitestone passed away three weeks ago – it seems he took his own life."

Maren put her hand to her mouth in shock. "What happened?"

"I can't discuss that with you, Miss. That's a private matter, and our family has been inundated with media calls for weeks. Good day."

"Wait..." The woman hung up on Maren. She closed her cell and went directly to the Internet to find an answer. There had to be some clue to his condition, and she was convinced that her mother had something to do with.

After a bit of searching, a local news report came to Maren's attention.

Eric Whitestone, a local magician of long standing and president of a paranormal investigative committee, apparently committed suicide on Thursday at the Holcomb Insurance building in downtown Los Angeles. According to his family, there were no previous indications of depression or any telling signs that anything was wrong with Mr. Whitestone emotionally.

The family stated that immediately following a television appearance on Thursday morning he was seen wandering the studio out of sorts, then walked to the Holcomb building where he took his own life. Jillian Rogers, the host of the popular show, and her staff were interviewed about the incident. They stated in a memo that nothing unusual had happened on the show, and there were no clues as to Mr. Whitestone's predicament.

The L.A.P.D. has ruled out foul play. Eye witnesses report seeing Mr. Whitestone enter the elevator in the Holcomb building alone and that he was still clutching a photograph of his family even after the fall to his death. The official ruling is a suicide. A memorial will be held on Tuesday with the magician's local chapter, friends and family in attendance.

What the hell? How was that possible? If he killed himself just a few hours after the show was taped, where had he been for two weeks? A chill went down Maren's spine. Her mother's powers were far more twisted than just making someone disappear with her thoughts; Regan could shred the entire fabric of time and space for everyone involved, and they wouldn't even realize it. The two-week period that Whitestone floated in Regan's netherworld was not the same two weeks the rest of the world experienced. What did Mr. Whitestone see that made him commit suicide? Where had he been? Another dimension with strange creatures?

Or maybe Hell itself?

Maren's blood ran cold; her mother was playing with the most deadly of fire, a million times stronger than Maren had even realized. She would have to be stopped. How could an ordinary citizen be allowed to roam the earth with the ability to wipe out the universe with a single thought?

57

The crutches and wheelchairs were piling up faster than the staff could haul them away. Beyond the exit door of the Worship Center, the cured followers tossed their worthless steel appendages with gusto, a sign of Regan's growing power as the world's greatest healer. She soon would trump any historical figure in scope and popularity and would have the pulse of everyone on earth. It was only a matter of time before the entire planet would fall under her spell.

There were now twelve staff members at the Worship Center, thanks to Katie's Facebook posts announcing available positions. Second Lieutenant Charlie took his vows to the family. Just below Katie in authority, Charlie held a special place in Regan's heart. Previously wheelchair bound with muscular dystrophy, he had been the first to be healed by Regan in the back alley of the Jillian Rogers show. Standing on two strong legs with the ability to raise Katie over his head, he was one of the most loved by the staff. Regan still remembered Charlie's parents breaking down in tears as she laid her hands upon the crippled child, changing his and their lives forever. As Charlie's body went through its changes, he swore an everlasting devotion to his savior, leading him from California to Virginia to stand tirelessly by her side. Forsaking love and forsaking career, his reverence outweighed everything in life that he would never have had the chance to experience if not for her. Charlie's affection would be Regan's to keep – no one else's.

"My Savior, I have spotted a news crew a half mile away from the walls of the center." Charlie reported to Regan. "They're unpacking equipment, and I think they're headed this way."

Regan hated reporters more than anything. "Katie, go to the hill and tell me what happens. Take your phone."

Katie grabbed binoculars and her cell, and headed out to spy on the reporters. After about ten minutes, Katie called in.

"There are three vans – they're from CNN. There are five crew members standing outside packing up some gear. They're on the banks of Buffalo creek."

"I see them." Regan said with her eyes closed. "Stay on the hill, don't go down there. Tell me what happens next."

Silence from Katie, and then: "They're looking around and grabbing stuff... they're getting back in their vans."

"Don't go down there, Katie. Stay on the hill."

"Understood."

After another moment: "The water from the creek is rising. They're peering their heads out of the windows. The water is up over the tires now... the creek is rising fast, the waves are breaking over the road."

A pause, and then: "The vans are moving... the water is pushing the vans around in circles. The news people are screaming for help... there they go... the vans are washing down the road.... more screaming. They're gone. I don't see them anymore."

"All right, Katie. Come back home."

"Roger that. Are they dead?"

"We don't hurt people, Katie. We're just protecting our own. Once they get the message they'll stop coming around."

"Understood."

Lt. KatieOne reported that three vans from CNN that were parked just outside the Worship Center, were caught in a sudden flood and were washed away where they parked. No one was hurt, thank G.O.D. Hmmmm.... strange.... it wasn't even raining...

Regan posted on her Facebook page the events of the afternoon. The fans were growing rapidly with people from all over the world adding their two cents worth and sending in drawings of Regan, Katie and other staff members. The Worship Center was taking on a cult of personality and rocking the tiny world of Crozet. Lines were being drawn between camps: those who supported Regan's powers and those who ardently disagreed with her stance on God's obsolescence. In the small town outside of the Center, residents were frightened to say anything to the Center staff. They feared a Waco-style showdown with the religious nuts that could escalate into a disaster.

The Worship Center Facebook page, in keeping with cultural significance, was fast becoming a battleground of words. Maren had taken up correspondence with her mother through the social site for all the world to see. Regan needed a way to silence the teen before she pulled the tide of opinion against the Center and their great deeds of salvation. Regan believed open debate with her daughter would be all she needed to win her over. The staff, however, were becoming angry with Maren and especially Perdita, who left disparaging comments on the page on a regular basis. Threatening in nature, Perdita's comments pushed the envelope on decorum and riled up the others posting on the site. The Little Miracle, Lt. Katie, held secret meetings with staff about how to suppress the trouble maker. How could that thorn be covertly eliminated from the side of the Center without Regan's knowledge?

Maren knew that her mother's powers were changing the reality of everyone involved, twisting time and space and reason into shards of disjointed realities. There was no control, no rhyme or reason. Maren suspected that her mother wasn't fully aware of what she was doing, so full of ego and justification for her so-called miraculous deeds. Her desire to change the world and take away its ills were a genuine extension of her kindness, but the road to Hell is often paved with good intention. Regan's mind was one of vast intelligence and compassion. Her ego was that of a caged animal. Everything that God and man had harmoniously created together could be destroyed in seconds by a woman filled with an insatiable angst.

58

The dark sedan rolled down the small two-lane road into Long Meadow, kicking up dust in its wake. Residents no longer sat on their porches soaking up the autumn air. The line of cars clogging up the small town had only gotten longer, pushing traffic miles into Albemarle county. The sedan with the pair of FBI agents came upon a county squad car with its lights on, blocking an alley between two small buildings. Sheriff Hardey and his partner, Deputy Miller were busy marking off an area with red construction tape. Hardey stood up and stretched his back out with a groan.

"Howdy, gentlemen. What can we do for you today?"

The agents showed their badges. "Sir, I'm Agent Crowley, and this is Agent Williams. We received a report to our field office that one of your residents may be involved in an alleged abduction incident. We contacted your department, Sheriff, and they said we could find you out here working on the road."

"Yes, sir. We're plannin to widen the road through town. We couldn't seem to get the transportation boys to come out here. Said they needed to have a vote on it first, but Miller here and myself well, we just couldn't wait to get started – damn state bureaucrats."

"Why are you trying to widen the road by yourselves?" The agents asked.

"I'm pretty sure you saw the shitty traffic on your way in here."

"Where are all of these cars going?"

"To the Worship Center down yonder a bit. Owned by Ms. Roberts."

The agents looked at each other in disbelief. "Regan Roberts?"

"That's right. Her family has owned the property for years. Good people."

"Your office stated you made contact with Ms. Roberts back on the 29th."

"Yes, sir."

"About the abduction?"

The Sheriff and Deputy looked at each other with surprise. "We don't know of any abduction."

"What's going on there exactly?"

"It's a church – they heal the sick. Ms. Roberts is a miracle healer." Miller said, smiling.

"So you didn't notice any suspicious activity?"

"No, sir."

"We received a tip that Ms. Roberts is holding a child against her will. You didn't happen to see that child?"

"No, sir."

"We have a signed warrant from a federal judge to question Ms. Roberts. Can you officers point us the way?"

Sheriff and Deputy looked at each other again with surprise. "I'm afraid we can't do that."

"Excuse me?"

"You got no right to harass one of our own. You got no jurisdiction here."

"Sheriff Hardey, we have a court order. Why are you trying to block our investigation?"

"I'm the law in this county, sir. We don't needa bunch of trouble brewin. She ain't done nothin wrong. I think it's time you boys went back to DC. We gotta lot of work to do here." Hardey said. "Can't you see how bad traffic is? We gotta widen the road for Ms. Roberts."

"Yea." said Deputy Miller. "We gotta widen the road."

"That reminds me of a joke!" Hardey laughed. "Little Johnny's mother looked out the window and noticed him playin church, with their three kittens. He had the kittens sittin in a row, and he was preachin to them. She smiled and went about her work. A while later she heard loud meowin and hissin and ran back to the open window to see Johnny baptizin the kittens in a tub of water. She yelled, Johnny, stop that! Those kittens are afraid of water! Johnny looked at her and said...he said...damn...I forgot the punchline."

The agents climbed back in their sedan, shocked by what had just happened.

"Something about those two isn't right."

"They look as if they've been drugged."

"Damn hicks. These mountain people give me the creeps."

The car and backed out of the alley. Deputy Miller flipped the bird at the agents as they drove off. "Good riddance. Bastards."

"Wait!" cried Hardey. "Now I remember... Johnny looked at his mom and said, "They should have thought about that, before they joined my church."

They burst into laughter. "Good one!" Miller said.

The FBI agents inched their vehicle along a muddy road until they spotted a line of cars in the distance heading towards the compound. Williams got out of the car and checked out the compound with his binoculars. A white steeple rose above the trees, and two teenagers stood guard by the entrance.

"I have limited visibility of the property. We'll have no idea what we're up against."

The agents crept their vehicle up the muddy road before being blocked by a small creek. They walked the remaining fifty yards through heavy mountain brush until the large stone wall of the compound came into view. A gate made of wooden posts bound together was being opened for cars entering the property. It looked like an old wooden raft from a deserted island movie set.

As the gate opened and closed for the passing vehicles, Williams used his binoculars to peer inside the compound. "I don't see anything unusual." he reported. "Just a white church-like structure and some barracks. There are approximately thirty civilians waiting in a line."

The agents walked up to the entrance and approached the young men standing guard. "Federal agents. We have a warrant."

The boys nearly jumped out of their skin. Agent Williams patted down both young men. "Are either of you carrying any weapons?"

"No, sir."

"What are your names?"

"I'm Kelly." a blonde haired boy stated. The other young man, large built with long dark hair said nothing. "He's Grady." Kelly said.

"What's with him? Does he have a problem with speaking?"

"He's never said anything since I've known him."

"Where's Ms. Roberts?"

"She's in the church."

"You two wait here." Williams led the boys away from the gate and sat them next to a large tree.

Regan pulled her hands away from the legs of a wheelchair bound young woman and jumped up from her chair. Damn them. Not again.

"Don't let the followers leave." She whispered to one of her newest recruits, a young brunette girl who had been horribly disfigured in a fire as an infant. "They came to be healed, and that's what they'll get." Natalie's skin was healing after Regan's miraculous touch. For the first time in nearly seventeen years, the young girl could look in the mirror each day to say hello to a person who she had never seen before – her true face. The one she had been born with, but up until now, permanently covered with hideous scars. For her entire lifetime, she had no idea just how beautiful she had been meant to be. It was a miracle of the highest degree.

"What can I help you with?" Regan demanded as she approached the wooden gate.

Agent Crowley whipped his badge in Regan's face. "We have a federal warrant to search the premises for a missing girl: Katie Hockings. You wouldn't know her whereabouts would you?"

"I would not. There's no one here by that name."

"You don't mind then if we search the compound?"

"I don't see the point. I have business to attend to. I'm very busy."

"It seems that you are, Ms. Roberts. We won't hold you up too long. We're just going to have a look around."

The agents walked around the complex searching in and out of the chapel and barracks for the girl but came up empty. The line of people waiting for Regan's touch stood quietly as the agents looked over the property. "Has anyone here seen this little girl?" The agents held up a photo of Katie. "She's ten years old and has been missing for four weeks." No one said a thing, they just shook their heads silently. Invisible, Katie had been standing beside Regan the entire time.

The agents again cornered Regan for answers. "What are these children doing here, the ones in your camp?"

"They're my children. They live here."

Williams raised his brow in disbelief. "Your children, you say?"

"Yes."

"Do you have identification on these kids? They can't all be yours Ms. Roberts."

Regan began to lose patience with the questions. "They are all my children. And no, you can't see identification. You need to leave now."

The agents took leave of the grounds and headed back to their vehicle. "I don't believe her for a minute. We need to shut down this operation pronto. Call the Assistant Director, we need to monitor this compound immediately. Upload the photos of those children and run them through the central database."

59

"Is there any way I can purchase transcripts from show 1189?" Maren asked the PR department of KPNN in Los Angeles, home of the Jillian Rogers show. "Or maybe a recording of that episode?"

"Young lady, I'm surprised you're not more with the times." laughed the assistant head. "All of Ms. Rogers' shows are on her Youtube channel, especially that one. It was one of our most viewed yet."

She couldn't get there fast enough. Maren had watched Mr. Whitestone perish in agony on the set, and after he had gone, no one remembered that he was even there. Now that her mother had brought the man back, people do recall him being there. That made no sense at all. What version of these twisted events would be on Youtube?

She found the video, it was the featured one on Jillian's channel. So far through the episode, everything was as she remembered – fast forward.

6:46 - The fateful statement by Whitestone about her retarded daughter.

6:48 - Regan bends her head down, eyes closed. Whitestone stops talking and looks towards Jillian.

6:50 – Regan looks up at Jillian and says "Thanks for having me on the show, but I don't feel that I should be insulted any further." Whitestone looks straight ahead without speaking, in a trance-like state.

6:56 – Jillian apologizes for Whitestone's behavior and asks if Regan could perform one more illusion. Regan refuses, Whitestone is still in a trance.

7:05 – Commercial break. Cut away.

This was an entirely alternate version of the show: not the one Maren saw and not the one the audience saw following the taping where Whitestone had never been there. It was a new version, one brought into existence after her mother willed Whitestone back from oblivion. Reality was bending to whatever her mother thought in her head. The audience as a whole, even the tape itself had become unstuck in time. Her mother was in control over reality on multiple levels and perceptions. A chill shook Maren so hard she bent over in pain, trying to catch a breath. How could this be possible? Whatever her mother believed, that would become the way it is... period.

Maren replayed the video over and over looking for any clue, slowly dragging the play bar frame-by-frame.

What the Hell is that?

It was a brief white flash on the frame just as her mother closed her eyes. Maren dragged her cursor slowly over the spot trying to find the exact moment – there it was again. Maren rocked her cursor slowly over the frame. A flicker of light washed out the scene for a split second at the exact moment where Whitestone should have disappeared, like a splice in a film reel. Maren rocked it back and forth, back and forth, then noticed a sound like a dolphin's squeak. It lasted for maybe a tenth of a second. It could scarcely be heard over the audience noise, but it was there.

A computer program she had purchased to edit MP3's, Sound Forge, would be the perfect tool for the job. She recorded the small section of audio and used the program to slow it down. She reduced the speed of the small dolphin-like chirp as far as it could go.

Slower, slower – and then she heard it. Maren's stomach dropped to her knees. It was the hideous, bloodcurdling screams of Mr. Whitestone as her mother dissolved him away with her thoughts – a sound Maren would never forget for as long as she lived.

The magnetic particles on the studio's video tape had recorded a part of reality that no one saw happen; a fold in time and space. If Maren could hear it, then others would be able to as well. She had discovered her mother's Achilles heel.

60

"So, what was it like for you?" Charlie asked. "I don't remember anything, nothing at all. I don't remember much from before I was healed. Just my parent's voices as I slept, their kisses on my face."

"For me, it was as if a rush of energy flowed through my head. Colors – beautiful colors. Her hands were so warm...I remember."

Katie looked around at her troops surrounding the small fire in the pit outside of their barracks. Each of the twelve of them sitting cross-legged, warming their hands against the cold Virginia night, the glow from the flames gently licking their tender faces.

"I remember the sound of thousands of people inside of my head, speaking all at once; rejoicing in the loving touch of my Savior. I saw colors flowing through my head and out into the air above me. Then I saw water rushing down my body as if a great river were cleansing the filth from my head. When she pulled her hands away from me a terrific snap! yanked my body forward like the release of a giant rubber band."

"I remember, too." Natalie said. "I saw bright flashes of light when I closed my eyes. I felt warmth flow over my skin – it was soothing. I knew she would heal my hideous face and..."

"It's not hideous!" Charlie interrupted. "You're beautiful and always have been. I thought you were the most beautiful girl ever before Regan even healed you." Natalie blushed, but it was hard to tell. Her face was not yet entirely healed.

"Of course you are Natalie." Katie looked around at the group of brave young women and men. "You all are. Beauty has nothing to do with external images, but love for our Savior and love for others. What makes you more attractive than anything is your sacrifice; the pain that you made love to each and every day, but you wouldn't let bring you down. And now? Now, it's your love for the world so great that you would leave your homes to stand with your Savior."

Katie stood up and pointed to each member of the group. "Children's Hospital Boston. Twas to be my last residence, where I waited to die. Then the blondest of angelic creatures presented me with the most precious of gifts: my future, my life. No bells were ringing, no angels dancing. Only God Herself with love in Her touch, in a darkened hallway where I lay in waiting. Her light of soul burned my retinas, so I was to be blinded to anything but Her love for all time. Eternity is only a fleeting moment in my worship of Her."

Katie pulled from her gown a beautiful dagger with a gold thread wound handle. It gleamed sharply in the reflection of the campfire. She passionately rubbed it's blade, toying with the razor sharp edge.

"This stance, this desire to make the world a better place comes with a cost. People will be jealous of our gifts and unity. They have not these things and never will. They would fight to shut us down with as much vigor as they would fight for their dearest loves, and jealousy alone fuels that flame – that's how deep their hatred runs."

Kelly raised his hand and began to speak. "Lt. Katie sir, are you saying that we will have to fight a war? How could people not see the miracles that Regan is performing? The whole world should worship her!"

Katie walked slowly over to the blonde haired teen and put her hand on his shoulder. He cowered slightly from her touch and looked down to the ground.

"Everyone wants to be a God. Everyone believes their way is right, but have no power to do anything about it. It's an incredible feeling of helplessness. If they can't have their way, by God, no one can. It's not that they don't have power, it's that they don't believe they do. One person with a belief is equal to a force of ninety-nine who have only interests, but even against those odds they will fight tooth and nail to shut that believer down."

Katie rubbed Kelly's hair with her hands, slowly twirling it around her tiny white fingers. "Regan's powers cannot be stopped. Her belief in Her sacred duty outweighs any army, any force. She knows unequivocally why she is here. Nothing can stop what she has put into motion. We here tonight, around this warm nurturing flame, are witness to the Holy adventure that will transform the world into its newest chapter of history. More than just witnesses, however, we are the well-oiled machine of God that can never be halted!"

"Is Regan the second arrival of God?" Natalie asked.

"Regan is the one and only." Katie said sternly. "There has never been a God, only a wish, a desire created in the minds of men to give them strength and hope. Through that desire, our Savior has manifested. We as a race have given birth to the God we always believed was there, but only now has appeared. We created Regan from scratch – it was time."

"I'm coming to Florida. I lied to my Dad and said I was taking the bus to winter band camp." Perdita sent Maren an instant message. "He'll give me about $500 to spend. I need to see you. I've been reading the stuff you've been posting online."

Maren had been in a pseudo dialogue with her mother on the Worship Center page. While trying desperately to break through to her mother's sensibilities, most of the online posts turned into shouting matches with Katie making Gothic-style threats against anyone who crossed her 'savior.' Katie was the proverbial thorn in Maren's side. At only ten years of age, Katie had quickly turned into a powerful tool in Regan's arsenal of influence. Somehow through Regan's healing of her brain, the young girl's mind had accelerated in its concepts and religious fervor beyond the scope of an ordinary person. Her posts were becoming more and more twisted in their anger and passion. Katie, once an innocent, desperate child clinging to the fragile life she loved, now had the ear and trust of the most powerfully frightening woman in the universe. With Katie fueling Regan's fear and justification, all of reality and the fabric of humanity was in danger.

Victor, so blinded by his passion for Regan, wouldn't believe anything Maren tried to say. She quickly grew tired of walking that road and welcomed Perdita's visit. Her beautiful friend had been aware of her mother's neurosis and had even warned her about the dangers of Regan's so-called illusions. Maren hadn't listened. But now, she hoped to have a kindred spirit in Perdita, someone who could help her make a plan of action.

Maren knew she couldn't physically stop her mother. She doubted if anyone in the world could do that. That made it all the more urgent that she come up with a way to dissuade her mother from hurting anyone in the name of salvation. The last thing she wanted to do was to make her mother more paranoid than she already was. Would Regan listen to logic about unraveling time and space? About the cascading flow of probable realities spinning off in frantic directions? That all sounded like crazy talk; pablum for acid heads and new-age freaks. If Perdita was to help out, she would have to tone down the fire and brimstone sermon about Regan burning in hell. That would just put her mother's defenses up even higher, breaching any trust she had left. And Katie would be the real problem. The youngster could make Regan believe anything at this point.

How would she be able to get close? Now that she had triggered the authorities to her mother's whereabouts, they would build a wall around her that Maren could never penetrate. Maren feared the whole thing could blow up at any moment.

Armed with her recording of Whitestone's agony, she set out to collect as much evidence as she could that might sway her mother's opinion. Were the audience members at the Jillian Rogers show all completely affected the same way? What slight discrepancies could lead to clues about Regan's power. It was all she had to go on, so she started an investigation of her own. There were a lot of calls to make and people to question while she waited for Perdita's arrival.

61

"We're sending everyone back the other way, ma'am. You'll have to turn around and head out of town. The church property is off-limits until further notice."

The Washington office of the FBI in conjunction with the Richmond office had shut down the traffic coming in or out of Long Meadow. They quickly set up multiple camps around the perimeter to watch the goings on at the compound. With so many civilian children occupying the complex, trying to take Regan into custody was out of the question. They had no idea of the scope of Ms. Roberts' psychosis, or what she might do to the children in her defense. The agents' ongoing dialogue with Maren proved to be confusing. She couldn't explain how her mother could be dangerous – there were no discernible weapons or explosives that the feds could detect. Maren knew the feds couldn't comprehend the full scope of Regan's abilities. In the eyes of the FBI, Regan was a charlatan: a cult of personality in control of emotionally volatile followers. Maren told the FBI that her mother was armed, and that's all they had to go on. All they could do was bring order to the little town and remain vigilant in their observation of the compound. In time, they would have to make a move.

Just outside of Crozet near the interstate, huge pasture fields were filling with campers. The neighboring farms were making a killing putting up the followers, charging them for food, water and other supplies. Even though the feds had restricted entry into Long Meadow, people were still coming at an alarming rate due to Katie's Facebook postings. As they ranted about the feds blocking Regan's access to the sick, the followers became increasingly unsettled, growing to over ten thousand strong in the surrounding county. The postings to the social networking page became more hostile:

I found something out that will take you down, mom. Your power to change reality is not as stable as it seems.

Maren Roberts Oct. 17 - 12:39pm

Why are you doing this, Maren? My own flesh and blood? I am solving the problems of humanity that have plagued us for half a million years! What is it really? Jealousy? Leave well enough alone. You know I would never harm you, but I can't say what my followers might do. They have freedom of choice, freedom to worship. Don't stand in their way.

Regan Roberts: Incarnation of God on Earth Oct. 17 - 12:44pm

Maren - Slowly caressing the grindstone that sharpens the blade of your demise; I'm the blessed protector of the Savior who will transform this wretched world into Heaven on Earth. One so small against many so magnificent – that will never stand the test of faith.

Katie Hockings ‎ Oct. 17 - 12:49pm

Katie - I'll pry that fucking blade from your cold little hands, and it will find a new home up your ass!

Perdita Skye Oct. 17 - 12:53pm

Knock it off, Dee. Quit playing around, this is serious.

Maren Roberts Oct. 17 - 12:57pm

Perdita - you know my love, I find you the most intoxicating, beautiful creature on earth. But my attraction outweighs little my desire to protect the beloved. So with an excited heart, I will slice you from ear to ear if I must, and plant a kiss upon your bluish lips as they beg for mercy. Of course, there will be none to give.

Katie Hockings ‎ Oct. 17 - 1:07pm

"Our ministry has been stopped dead in its tracks. How can we turn this around?" Katie asked the staff who'd assembled in the room just outside of the chapel. The boys and girls of Regan's ministry just looked at each other and shook their heads.

"This is all my daughter's fault." Regan proclaimed. "She tipped off the FBI, saying everyone here is being held against their will. She has turned the tide against us, and the feds will never stop trying to shut us down." Regan clenched her fist and pounded it over and over into her thigh, completely losing her temper. Frightened, most of the staff looked down at their feet until the tantrum had subsided. Regan took a couple of deep breaths and closed her eyes for a second: "I don't want anyone to believe that I'm holding you against your will. If anyone wants to leave the Worship Center, now is the time."

The staff looked at each other. "This could get ugly." Regan said. "I'm not sure what we're going to do about this, but I can't have anyone with me who isn't 110% dedicated to this cause. Raise of hands - who's with me?"

All of the children raised their hands. They would stand by their miracle worker no matter what. "No special instructions need to be carried out. I will protect each and every one of you. I'll know instantly if anyone tries to breach our walls, or if anyone gets into trouble. Let's get back to work."

The meeting adjourned, the staff went back to their duties. Regan and Katie sat alone together. "I didn't want to say this in front of the others," Katie said softly. "But how far are we willing to take this, my beloved?"

"In what regard?"

"Our entire plan is at stake, our utopia has ground to a halt. If we can't create our vision, the world will slip back into chaos. We can't let that happen." Katie looked Regan in the eye. "You can do something about it, my Savior. You have the power to change this."

Regan shied a bit from Katie's gaze. "I don't want to hurt anyone again."

"Sacrifices must take place for the good of the world. Are the sick and desperate to go on suffering because a few bureaucrats don't understand the nature of our mission?" Katie pulled her dagger from her blouse and jabbed into the ground. "That's it then – they win! Our chance to change the world has been stolen from us by the weak and immoral!"

"What am I supposed to do?" Regan asked.

"You're God, you can do anything. Consider this your sixth day. God One didn't realize His full power of creation at first either. Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."

"What's that from?" Regan asked.

"The Bible. Matthew 17:20."

"I've never read it. Maybe I should have?"

"No need to, my beloved – that's yesterday's news. The new version of the rules is being written by us, right now." A demented smile graced Katie's lips. "Finally after millions of years the era of Yahweh is over."

Regan looked down and blushed, trying to hide her grin. "So what about the feds?"

"Easy." Katie took Regan's hand. "You're going to kill them all."

62

Sheriff Hardey and Deputy Miller crept their cruiser down the old Pig Road on the outskirts of the former Cutler property. Slowly, they approached an area cordoned off by the feds.

"What can I do for you, officers?" The sentry of post 6 asked.

"We were just hopin to help out seein it's our jurisdiction." Hardey replied.

"You can help by leaving. Really, gentlemen, we have everything under control."

"We need to talk to whoever's in charge of this operation."

"Why?" The sentry became quickly irritated.

The two backwoods officers glanced at each other. "We have information about the compound that just may help your investigation."

The sentry pulled his radio from his jacket. "This is post 6, over."

A woman's voice answered back. "We read you post 6, go ahead."

"I have two county mounties here asking to speak with Agent Jackson. They claim to have information about the subject's compound, over."

A pause, then: "Let them pass. Jackson will meet with them."

"I'll need to see some ID, boys." the guard demanded. Hardey and Miller flashed their badges.

The sentry pointed in the direction of a grove of trees about half a mile further down the Pig Road. "The encampment is down this trail. Agent Jackson is the one you'll want to speak to. Keep in mind that we're very busy, and Jackson can be a prick, so get in and get out. You'll need to surrender your firearms, boys. You can pick them up on the way out."

Hardey and Miller handed the sentry their handguns. "We appreciate it. We'll try not to keep your boss too long."

The cruiser edged its way to the grove carefully to keep from slipping into the ditch. "You know," Miller said. "When I was in high school me and Polly Martin snuck back on this road after the ring dance and got down big time. She gave me the hottest blow job – man, those were the days."

"Yep."

Miller laughed. "I got the dickens whipped outta me that night cause I drove my Dad's Mustang into the ditch... right about here I think. Polly got grounded for a month. Ha!"

"That reminds me of a joke!" Hardey said. "Little Johnny was sitting in sex-ed class one day when the teacher drew a picture of a penis on the board. "Does anyone know what this is?"

Little Johnny raised his hand and said, "Sure, my daddy's got two of them!"

"Two of them?" the teacher asked.

"Yeah, he has a...has a... damn! I forgot the punchline. I hate when that happens."

The camp was hustling with activity. The agents, seven of them, seemed busy readying themselves for a possible assault on the compound. Hardey and Miller noticed tall telescopic structures similar to antenna poles on television news vans being erected just on the edge of the grove with small video cameras mounted on top.

Special Agent Anthony Jackson was in charge of the operation. A sixteen-year veteran of the bureau, he was a large, imposing African-American with bulging muscles and an ego to match. Taking his job seriously and being a devoted family man with two young daughters, Jackson held a special commitment to cases where young lives were at stake. He commanded the highest respect and performance from the agents beneath him, and they consistently delivered. He greeted the two officers at the window of their cruiser.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Jackson said with a deep, yet palliative voice. "Do you have some information that could help us out?"

"I've known the family since I was a kid, grew up around these parts. There was an incident at the home involving the shooting of a transient. Your subject, Ms. Roberts – Cutler was her name at the time – her prints were found on the weapon that killed the woman."

Jackson looked at both officers and smiled. "You know that I'm already aware of that, gentleman. What are you really here for?"

Hardey took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. "I don't want any children gettin hurt, not here in my county. Maybe this is gettin outta hand."

"We know what we're doing." Jackson quipped. "The bureau has authority here now. What you can do gentlemen, is cooperate by staying out of the way. Now if you officers don't mind, we have a lot of planning to do."

Hardey removed his hat and sighed. "Agent Jackson, we can't let you do that."

"What in the hell does that mean?"

Hardey looked over at Miller sitting in the passenger seat of his cruiser. "Wait! Now I remember! 'Yeah. He has a little one that he uses to pee with, and a big one that he uses to brush mommy's teeth!"

The two men burst into laughter.

"Good one!" Miller said and reached into his jacket.

A half a mile away the sentry of post 6 was knocked off of his feet by the detonation of the sixty pounds of TNT loaded in the trunk of Sheriff Hardey's cruiser.

63

Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the ground each morning the devil says, "OH SHIT, SHE'S UP"!

"Thanks for the ride, Mr. Roberts!" Perdita grabbed her backpack from the trunk of Victor's car. Her bus ride of nearly fourteen hours had finally come to an end in Lake Wales. "I'm so glad to be off of that darn bus."

"I'll bet. It's nice to see you again, Perdita. Mar can't wait to see you, she's inside."

"Actually, I'm right here." Maren said. Perdita spun her head around, caught her friend's eye and beamed a huge smile. Maren's heart warmed inside at the sight of her. Perdita dropped her pack in the driveway and ran to embrace her friend. "Do you ever stop getting more beautiful?" Maren asked, kissing Perdita on the cheek.

"I can't say the same, you look like shit." Perdita smiled. "Wow. Nice place. You'll have to show me around town."

"I haven't been out of the house in weeks. No one knows I'm here."

"What do you mean? What about your old friends?"

"I called them before I came down here. They don't want to talk to me." Maren said "They made that perfectly clear. I don't want the attention from the news anyway, so I'm hiding out – taking a leave from school."

"Yea, my Dad thinks I'm at band camp. He said it was cool to take a break from studies for a while. I just hope your Dad doesn't tell him."

"He won't, but don't say anything about my mom around him. He has no idea what I'm up to."

Perdita whispered in her friend's ear. "What are you up to?"

"Grab your bag and come in. You're not gonna believe this."

"Are you eating? You look like you haven't been eating. You really look like shit."

Maren sat at her computer and showed Perdita everything: the video tape from the Jillian show, the transcripts from audience members, footage from just about every show her mother had been on. She explained to Perdita about the alternate reality theories she had about her mother's powers.

"Does any of that make sense?" Maren asked.

"Yea, I get it. But if your mom can make it so no one knows what's happening to them, how do we know she hasn't already tried it on us? Or when she does, how will we ever know."

Maren fiddled around with her computer flipping between windows and files, avoiding Perdita's inquiry.

"I mean, how do we know that this isn't what she wants us to believe? That's kinda creepy, don't you think? Maybe this is the alternate realty."

"Dee, stop. We're fine, trust me."

"But how would you know?"

Maren turned to her friend and looked her in the eye. "My mom can't do anything to me. I'm immune to her powers. I've seen through it all, even from the very beginning."

Perdita leaned back in her chair. "Seriously?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"What about Auri?" Perdita asked.

"I'm pretty sure about that, too. I mean, I can't exactly ask her. I think Mom tried to cure Auri when Katie was staying with us, but nothing happened."

"Katie, that horrid bitch. She's the one who needs to be stopped. She's threatening me on Facebook. Can you believe that?"

"I know, I read them."

"She's the dangerous one. She's like a miniature Hitler or something. She gives me the creeps, and she's not even the one with the powers."

"Don't believe that for a second." Maren said. "She has my mom's ear. Katie has her finger on the trigger of the most dangerous weapon ever seen. That's why we're going to Virginia. Things have escalated because of Katie. I have to talk to my Mom without her around."

"Fuck that." Perdita said. "I'm not going to Virginia, my Dad will find out. If you're avoiding the media you can't go either. The place is crawling with them. Haven't you seen the news? Besides, if I see that little Katie bitch I'll break her in two."

"I need help with this, Dee. You're the only one who believes me."

"That's not going to help much. You need someone more important than me to believe you."

Tap, tap... Maren turned around to see Auri knocking lightly on her bedroom door.

"Auri!" Perdita cried. "I've missed you!"

Auri produced a giant smile and ran to Dee's arms. "Hi, baby girl. How have you been?" Auri just smiled and gave Perdita a big kiss on the cheek. "Oooohh, so much love! And you're getting so big."

"Knock it off, Dee. It's only been a couple of weeks."

"I'm just playing."

"She's been looking for Mom. I explained to her that..." Maren paused, putting her hand over her mouth. "Oh, my God."

"What is it?"

"Take Auri to the living room and turn on some cartoons or something."

"Why, does she..."

"Just go Dee. Now!"

Perdita led little Auri by the hand, sat her down on the couch and poured her a drink from the fridge. "Stay here for a while, Auri. Your sis and I have some work we gotta do."

She ran back to Maren's bedroom. "What happened?"

Maren was speechless. She showed Perdita the breaking news coming over the web.

Breaking news from CNN. Just a few minutes ago a Federal Bureau of Investigation outpost keeping watch on the Roberts' Worship Center property came under attack. Eyewitness accounts point to a car bomb that detonated inside the camp, just a hundred yards from the church property that's under surveillance. We have no idea what the extent of the damage is, or how many casualties there may be. There is no information about who may have detonated the bomb, whether it was a terrorist act or if anyone from the Roberts' compound or one of their followers were involved. A rescue operation is currently under way at the outpost. We will have more details as the hours unfold, but this is indeed a terrible tragedy.

The girls looked at each other with their mouths hanging open. "Did your mom do that?"

"I don't know. I don't know." Maren said quietly, rubbing her hands with anxiety. "I don't think my mom would do that."

"I hope it wasn't her." Perdita said. "Maybe it was Katie."

Maren held her face in her hands, shielding her from seeing the screen. "This is all very bad. They're going to blame my mom for this. They're going to kill her – they'll never stop." Maren's eyes welled up, the tears flowed gently down her cheek. "Oh, Dee, it's too late. There's nothing I can do."

"Maybe she didn't do it. Maybe it was an accident."

Maren cried into her hands. "I'm tired, I'm exhausted. I can't believe my mom did this to me." The sobs came harder, she held fast to catch her breath.

Perdita snuggled her mouth in Maren's ear. "If your mom can't hurt you, then you may be the only one who can save her."

64

The campers holed up around the county were forced to move farther away from the area for the second time. Sides were being drawn among the followers, detractors were driving in by the thousands to protest the 'false messiah.' The police were losing ground daily to the ever-growing swarm. Heated and emotionally charged arguments were being taken to the streets. Passions soared, and tempers flared everywhere: the county, national editorials, Youtube. The passion inside of the Worship Center was just as heated. On Regan's Facebook page:

Mom, I can't believe you could do such a thing. My heart is breaking for those poor souls. A car bomb? What a horrible way to die. Those people had families; now they will hunt you down and never stop until you are dead. I'm having a breakdown... this is worse than I thought.

Maren Roberts Oct. 23 - 9:28pm

Your mother is innocent. The followers of our Savior took that upon themselves. Sometimes our passions can deliver the highest courses of ideal and sacrifice. They believed – that was everything to them.

Katie Hockings Oct. 23 - 9:32pm

Katie - you have crossed the line. You will die a slow and painful death for this act of cowardice. Because Regan let you live, now dozens have perished. You're nothing. A tiny nobody hiding behind her master like a sniveling gremlin peering from behind her legs.

Perdita Skye ‎ Oct. 23 - 9:37pm

Fuck you both!! Fuck you both!! Is there nothing you would die for? You are the cowards! They suffered? What about the thousands the beloved has cured?! They have no right to try and stop us. They can't and they won't! The world is ours, now. Never in the history of mankind has anyone seen the wrath that is about to take place!!!

Katie Hockings Oct. 23 - 9:43pm

Katie - you sound a little nervous. Did I hit a frayed nerve somewhere between your wings and your horns? Yes, you will be hunted down like a rat. Regan has the power, but you my love, are nothing. When she leaves you behind they will gut you like a pig...

Perdita Skye ‎ Oct. 23 - 10:02pm

Regan shut herself away in the chapel to stew. She knew that the feds would never stop their pursuit. It was an all or nothing point of no return. She could change her looks and blend back into society, but she would have to give up all that gave her life meaning. Fight it out? That would only escalate the feds' determination and put her family in jeopardy. Regan imagined a scenario for a moment – could she possibly change the entire outcome of the future?

"My Savior? Are you coming out soon? The children are frightened. They want to know if everything's going to be ok." Katie asked through the wooden door that separated off the chapel from the rest of the center.

"Go away, Katie." A muffled voice returned from the other side. "You deal with it. That's why I hired you."

"I don't know what to tell them, my beloved. There's a bunch of news trucks and helicopters. It's getting scary."

The wooden door opened up abruptly. Regan stood there with frazzled hair and bloodshot eyes – totally unkempt. She lowered herself onto one knee and looked Katie in the eye. "Show some backbone and tell them it's going to be fine. If I can't count on you, then what in the hell are you doing here?" She jammed her finger into her own temple over and over. "I'm thinking. Leave me alone!" Regan slammed the door in Katie's face.

The young Lieutenant gathered her staff together for a meeting. Surprisingly, few seemed nervous about the impending government wrath. They believed in Regan and not because they were affected by her power. The children of the Worship Center loved her, she had given them a second chance at life. Doors had been opened, the paths of life extended, they owed everything they had to Regan. Katie proclaimed her vigilance to protect the Center and the life of the Savior. She believed in Regan's mission and her ironclad faith could not be shaken. With their small hands piled one on top of the other in a gesture of solidarity, they vowed to fight to be part of something greater, for the chance to live and change the course of history.

"It's a minor setback." Katie explained to the staff. "Throughout history God has been faced with trials that test the faith of the followers. Those decisions create the solid backbone of faith. We are impeccable in our duties. We'll hold fast to our faith and do what we have to do."

Katie realized that a monumental landmark was passing during this beautiful month of October. This was the month her doctors predicted she would never live past. Two vastly different realities could have presented themselves: suffering painfully in Children's Hospital attended by her grieving mother, or standing tall as she was right now, living her life to the fullest. Because of Regan's love, Katie was one of the unique persons in history. Cancer be damned.

Katie called in private her two most trusted officers, Charlie and Natalie. Together, they planned out a trip to Washington. "The thorn must be removed from the side of our Holy house. I'll take care the dirty work, lest you both not sully your hands with rotting viscera of our detractors."

Regan hid away in her chapel. That familiar bowling ball weighed in on her gut. Her faith was not as unshakable as the children's – she felt at the end of her rope. Regan was frightened of her unpredictable temper she could no longer harness. Having been bumped down to the bottom of the totem pole again, her anger was justified in her mind. It had been too easy to manipulate the officers to do their horrific deed, Hardey and Miller were no more than sock puppets with Regan's hand thrust firmly up into their souls. But a guilty feeling weighed on her. Instead of holding the true power of change within her heart, she harbored thoughts of violence and manipulation.

The Bureau set up multiple camps around the surrounding area. Security was as tight as at any military base. They prepared to make an assault on the compound when they believed the children would be safest. Hundreds of video cameras were set up on tall poles to record every move from every angle possible.

Agents searched for answers – who was Regan really? They carefully followed the history through her childhood to the present. Her college transcripts were analyzed and any records to the IRS. They studied the hospital records and FBI records after the accident trying to put together a plan. They watched every television appearance and speaking engagement. An expert was called to analyze the letters that Hardey and Miller had left their wives on that fateful day when they took the lives of nine people. The grieving wife of the Sheriff handed an agent the piece of blue stationary he had left on his dining room table early that morning. "He would have never done anything like this. He was a devoted family man, he loved the job and had the highest respect for all law enforcement officers." she cried. "We had plans at the end of the month to go to Mexico for vacation. He was looking forward to it."

Her story checked out. Airline tickets had been purchased by the Sheriff months earlier. "It's that God foresaken woman who did this." Mrs. Hardey sobbed. "She needs to be stopped. Kill her before she harms the children or anyone else."

The note from the Sheriff gave very few clues:

To my lovely,

As the head law officer in this county, I was voted and sworn in to protect the rights of each and every citizen who resides here. One of our own, Ms. Regan Roberts, I feel has been unduly targeted as an enemy of the federal government. Her family and mine, as well as your own my love, grew up here together in this peaceful valley. They are our kin. I have to stand up for the innocents and those being harassed by authority. I don't know what's come over me. I feel compelled as never before to take the matter into my own hands and try and rectify it. If all goes as planned, I won't be home for dinner. Tell the children I love them and I love you.

Why would a mild mannered county employee have acted so brutally violent against bureau agents? Nothing about Ms. Roberts added up. A long path of unrelated, twisted events lead to nowhere.

65

"Going on a tip from one of the family members, we have set up these recording devices that specifically look for electromagnetic anomalies between a set of defined frequencies." Special Agent Booth tried to explain it as clearly as possible to Agent Alvaro, his superior officer, during their briefing. "They're for recording purposes only. We're capturing footage constantly, and it's being monitored by the mobile lab here."

Alvaro flipped through the notes he had been faxed by the Washington office. "Maren Roberts, that's her daughter?"

"Yes, sir."

"And this girl provided the tip?"

"Yes. She sent us a link to an online video of a television performance by the subject. The daughter noticed a slight anomaly in the recording – a flash of light during the session. It didn't take us too long to discover that the flash of light was a hidden low frequency carrier buried underneath the high frequency video format. Any simple frequency analyzer would have caught it. We don't believe it was placed there on purpose, too shitty of a job hiding it."

"Why was the daughter looking at the tape anyway?"

"Well, this is where it gets strange." Booth explained. "The daughter is claiming that her mother's illusions are real and that she has the ability to change the outcome of physical events with her thoughts."

Alvaro raised a brow. "Go on."

"She said that one of the participants on that talk show disappeared into the ozone only by her mother wishing it to be."

"Is that person on the tape?"

"Yes, sir. The subject never disappeared from view on the recording, so we believe the daughter's story is bunk. However, we did find something interesting on the tape at the point where the girl believes the man vanished."

"And what's that?"

Booth rubbed his chin for a second, wondering how this was going to sound to his superior. "Well, sir, we heard screaming. Clear as day. Somebody yelling for help and pleading for it to stop."

"For what to stop?"

"We don't know that, sir. Nothing like that matched up to the video portion of the recording. The sound was, again, buried in that hidden carrier frequency, and not very well disguised."

"So what does this mean for us?"

"I'm not sure, sir. But as a precaution due to the high level of security here, we are taking every consideration that we're dealing with a highly dangerous subject and that the frequency could have something to do with it."

"What do you believe, Agent Booth?" Alvaro asked.

"I think that the frequency could be a signal from some kind of device the subject has on her person." Booth explained. "A detonator, a triggering mechanism, mind control – who knows. But it's all we have to go on. If we detect the frequency again, it will raise red flags."

Alvaro laid his briefcase out on the table, neatly arranged his papers inside and shut the lid. "She doesn't have super powers any more than you or I do – this is a load of bullshit. Agent Jackson was a friend of mine. Our kids played together."

"I know, sir." Booth said. "He was a friend to all of us."

"Watch for all the flashes of light you want on your video games, but I'm putting this situation to rest. This bitch is going down. There will be a planning strategy for an assault on the compound this afternoon. Be there."

The presence of the FBI triggered panic in the follower's camps. On the news and at the rallies, comparisons were being drawn between this and the Waco incident. CNN showed Regan's photo side by side with that of David Koresh in news blasts. The bureau itself was trying to avoid damaging press, anti-government protesters and conspiracy theorist rants. Tensions were already as high as they could get from the bombing and mistakes were bound to happen.

The timing couldn't have been any more convenient for zealots, or any worse for the government. With Dec. 21, 2012 just under two months away, the world was glued to the rapidly disintegrating situation. Joining a long line of crazies such as Harold Camping, Koresh, and Jim Jones, the mystique was quickly building in the minds of the people. Regan was more popular than ever – cult figure, social networking sensation, public enemy number one.

'For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and great wonders; so that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect.'

Matthew. 24:24

66

On banners, billboards and TV commercials, Regan's detractors were spreading their agenda and pushing the emotional buttons of the followers. For them, the signs had never been more clear. She was the new Messiah for millions of people, and she had to be stopped. With God being a no-show, Regan was slowly inching the title away from Him and into her court. Just like in an election, a people's God doesn't have anything to do with miracles, it's a popularity game – whoever has the most believers, wins. At no other time in history, could the emergence of a religious figure spread as fast as it had. What took hundreds of years to convince the world of in the past, could now be done in a matter of weeks. And it was the people themselves who spread the fire of belief as fast as the electronic winds could carry it. Regan had done little in the past few weeks but hide in her chapel. The fervor of the popular mind had a life of its own, outside of her influence and power.

Inside the churches of all denominations, synagogues and spiritual centers people prayed. They prayed not just for the safety of the children, but for themselves and their families. They prayed for God to make an appearance at this crucial time. Each day that the standoff dragged on, the more frightened the people became. Would the government be able to stop this? In the last fifty years, they had become the real savior of the populace, with citizens putting their faith in politicians to take care of their problems and build moral fiber in their children. Could they put this fire out as they had so many times before? Regan had her finger on the trigger. She would bully God to the side of the platform like a high school popularity contest, and to save face, maybe God would sit this one out.

The opinions were many, and when asked by reporters what they believed was happening, there was no solid consensus among the people.

"She is being demonized. The government has made up stories about abuse and kidnapping that cannot be substantiated. There is no proof that Regan Roberts has harmed anyone. They just want to take her down. She is a symbol of religious liberty that is protected by the Constitution. It's the administration that feels threatened, led by Jesuits and the Catholic Church, that will find any excuse to crucify this woman and her followers!"

C. Harris, factory worker in NC

"It's a sign of the times. It's a sign of what's to come. Old religious ways have lost their place in problems of modern society. We need real change and real answers for today's problems. As a collective, a new age is dawning where our spiritual awakening is at hand. We have control over our destinies and direction; the power to heal and change our realities has always been inside of us. This new era has been long predicted by seers for centuries and now it is upon us. Regan Roberts? Well, she has done some terrible things to the children and must be stopped. I hope the government can find a peaceful solution to this standoff."

M. Amberstone, Yoga instructor in CA

"Ms. Roberts is the biggest threat to the stability and integrity of our Christian nation since Bin Laden. She is a false messiah who is spreading the word of Satan. To turn away from God at a time like this is exactly what the devil wants us to do. This is how Satan will win. It couldn't be any more clearly spelled out in scripture: 'Millions of deceived people will accept, follow and worship him instead of the true Christ.' (Rev. 13:3-4).

Rev. Kelsey, Pastor in AZ

"Maybe they should just leave the woman alone."

B. Tonelson, student in MD

"Katie, come into the chapel with me for a moment." Regan addressed her tiny commander. "Sit down and hold my hands."

"What are we doing?"

"Shhh... close your eyes."

Regan went into a deep trance. She started breathing deeply and made the slightest groaning sounds. Katie opened one eye to spy on her. After a few relaxing moments, Regan released her grip on Katie. "Ok, let's see what happens now."

"What did you do?" the girl asked.

"Massive PR."

Katie looked at her with a blank stare.

Regan stood up and stretched, cracking her neck and shaking off the trance.

"I implanted myself visually in everyone's heads, kind of like a campaign commercial. I told them how great I was and how the feds need to let us go. You know, influence the public opinion a bit."

"How will that work?" the girl asked. "Are they going to see your face? Did you say something to them?"

Regan looked at Katie with a puzzled look. "I don't know, this is all new to me."

"I still think it would be easier to blink them out of existence." Katie said. "Then this will all be over, and we can get back to business. Why can't you just do that?"

"I'm not even sure I have that kind of power. Besides, why not fuck with them a while longer?"

Katie turned her head away in mock disgust.

"Look, we have to save that for a last resort." Regan said. "I don't want to hurt anyone again unless it's absolutely necessary."

"How do you know that blinking a person out of existence hurts them? Have you tried it?"

Regan looked down at the floor. "Just once. I didn't even know what I was doing or how I did it – I was just mad. It scared me to death. He didn't just vanish either, he slowly melted away, screaming, and I couldn't seem to stop it."

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know."

"Is he dead?"

"He is now. I brought him back because Maren begged me to do it. Then he jumped off a building."

"Wow. That must have been a pretty horrible place you sent him to." Katie smiled. "Maybe it was hell, or maybe he was being tortured by demons."

"You're very gruesome for such a little girl."

Regan walked over to the chapel window and peeked out through the curtains. "That's why it's a last resort. There has to be another way. I can't kill everyone, no matter what you think. They'll never stop coming for us. I have to show them that we're the good guys."

Katie's soul soured a moment for her Savior's lack of resolve. It was OK. Katie had her own ideas to implement.

67

"I had the weirdest dream last night." Perdita yawned. She sat on the front porch with Maren and sipped a glass of orange juice.

"Oh yea? What about?"

"It was strange. It didn't seem like a dream really, more like a transmission from some far off TV station that wasn't coming in very good. Your mom was in it."

Maren turned with a look of surprise. "My mom? What happened?"

"She was on top of a mountain with tall pine trees all around – it was dark. She had her arms raised towards the sky... oh, and helicopters. Lots of helicopters."

"Did she say anything?"

"Uh... no. Didn't say anything – just a lot of noise and commotion. It was dark, but there were spotlights shining on her. Someone was saying something, but I couldn't make it out. Kinda like an old time radio broadcast or something."

"That's weird." Maren said. "I dreamed about her too."

"Maybe all this is starting to get to us."

"Starting?" Maren let out a forced laugh.

"What happened in your dream?"

Maren thought for a moment. "My mom was walking on the beach in a beautiful white dress, the wind was blowing, she didn't say anything. Just walked slowly along the edge of the beach. It was like a commercial for a perfume, it just needed the sappy soundtrack."

"Yea, that is weird." Perdita lit a cigarette. "Look, I have to leave Friday to head back home before my Dad finds out where I really am. All of this is wearing me out."

"I wish you could come to Virginia with me."

"Why even bother? If you two have some kind of telepathic bond, you can talk to her right from here."

"I want to convince the FBI to let her go."

"That's not going to happen."

"I have to try, this is all my fault. I thought they would understand, but I was wrong. I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

The two girls sat on the porch soaking in the morning sun, Perdita blew gentle smoke rings into the air. "It wasn't so long ago that things were so much easier, how did everything change so fast?" Maren asked.

"That's just how shit happens, I guess. I'll never say my life's too hard again. I'd give anything to be able to roll the clock back for you, M."

Maren stretched and let out a deep sigh. "That OJ looks good. I think I'll get a glass."

"Here, hit me up on a refill."

Maren went to the kitchen. Victor was glued to the television just like he had been for the past three weeks. "Good morning." he said with a rasp. His hair was standing on end, puffy bags under his eyes – the stress was killing him.

"Hi, Dad. Can I get you anything? Make you some breakfast?"

"No, no – I'm not hungry. You and Perdita eat something. You girls gotta keep your strength up..." he mumbled, staring at the newscast on TV covering the events at the Worship Center. She was worried about him. He was the one who needed strength.

Victor's hands trembled as he scratched his stubble-covered face. "I'm scared, Mar. I don't want to see her get hurt. I feel helpless now, as if there's nothing I can do." Maren walked over and sat gently at the side of his chair and held his hand. Watching him worry like this was breaking her heart. Her determination to end this situation grew with each tear he tried to conceal. There had to be a way to put her family back together. Maren wasn't above suggesting that maybe her mother could use her powers to change reality for the family. To selfishly put the suffering of her other victims on the back burner, go back in time, and make everything right again. Maren would give anything right now to have a genie in a bottle to grant her any wish. She would use them to make this all go away – to make her father happy again. Maren painfully knew that her mother was a real-life genie, one that no one could control.

"I dreamed about your mother last night." Victor said quietly.

Maren's mouth dropped wide open.

He clicked the off the remote and shut his eyes. "I can't watch any more of this shit."

Damn it.

Maren ran outside to the porch. "Something's happened. I think my mom has screwed with our heads."

The comments were rolling in all day. On CNN, Youtube, Facebook, Google news, people were posting the same things:

"Anyone kill that bitch yet? I dreamed about her last night. She be in my head."

"I dreamed that Regan Roberts was flying over my town."

"Her face was in the sky, it was huge. Like she was a billion times bigger than the earth."

"I dreamed that she was floating in darkness. That was it, just her in a white dress and nothing but darkness. Everything was gone."

"She was standing in my room telling me how great she is. It wasn't a dream."

"How the hell is she doing this? I'm really scared. *SOB* Is this the end of the world?"

"I'm spending the rest of my time in church until this is over."

"It was kinda sexual for me, I hope she does it again."

"LMFAO! We've been Regan-rolled!"

68

"She's going to know we're gone." Charlie grabbed the over-stuffed duffel bag and threw it into the bed of the red and white '93 Dodge Ram pick-up.

"I think she knows already and doesn't care." Katie replied. "So, you know how to drive this thing, right?"

"I think so." Natalie had borrowed the vehicle from one of the campers near the Crozet exit on interstate 64. She was the only one who was old enough, and knew how to drive. Regan had sent the children to get food and supplies from the local market. Invisible to the feds and other eyewitnesses until they reached the store, they had walked the four-mile stretch to Alfie's Grocery at dusk on a cold November day, only to purchase what goods they needed for their trip to Washington. Katie wore a red fleece hoody covering her head to keep from being recognized.

"I don't like the idea of going against the Savior's wishes." Natalie was concerned. "She kinda scares me."

"Sometimes your conscience keeps you from verbalizing your true thoughts." Katie said. "You wish someone would carry out your desires without ordering them to do so."

"Do you have the address?" Charlie asked.

"That wasn't hard to get." Katie smiled deviously. "We better move, we need to be back before nightfall."

The three sat in silence, Katie in the middle, for most of the two-and-a-half hour trip to Avalon Hills. Even though each of the children had taken a sacred vow to protect Regan, the level of resolve differed greatly within them. Katie knew the others didn't fully comprehend the scope and immensity of the situation. Charlie and Natalie were not privy to Katie's true plan.

Regan sat meditatively silent in her chapel, cross-legged on the floor, honing her skills. She was starting to change physically: her hair was getting whiter, her pupils growing darker – gone were the beautiful, cold blue eyes of her former self. Strange pink and blue patches ran down the side of her face, very faint, starting just above her temples, sweeping across her cheeks and gently curving back below her ears. It didn't startle her at all; it was, in fact, quite elegant. Her skin radiated a glow, it grew brighter as she practiced her power. She could only assume that it was an aura of Holiness, a halo – the illumination in religious paintings when the God of old descended from the heavens. In the future, the one she would create, how would the artists depict her?

Regan toyed with the feds like ants. She imagined the camp engulfed in a clear dome, pulling the air from the bubble until agents sweated and panicked, bringing them just to the point of suffocation and then letting them go. She poured rain and hail on them and made their skin burn and itch. The agents were unaware that it was she that controlled them. They believed it was random events, unconnected to their subject. As Regan breathed deeply in an out, waves of energy emanated from her body in all directions, cascading across the landscape. Soft breezes from her influence swept gently through the trees as far away as the Mid-West. Her powers were growing faster than she could comprehend.

69

It was overcast and chilly in Avalon Hills as the Dodge pick-up parked inconspicuously in front of the ranch-style house. The children unlatched the wooden gate leading to the backyard and slipped unnoticed through a utility door into the garage. The noise from the clothes drier covered their steps as they crept, opening another door and entering the kitchen.

"Look for the girl." Katie whispered. "I'll check out the living room. Natalie, go to the bedroom. Charlie, you hold fast and keep a lookout."

Katie tiptoed down the hallway. A television was blasting the Saturday afternoon Redskins game, Washington 3; San Francisco 10. She peered around the corner wall from the hall into the den. Parker Skye was sitting in his recliner, watching the game and sipping on a beer, his balding head just barely visible over the pillow top. It was dark in the house. Most of the lights were out, and there was very little sun creeping through the blinds. Katie stepped quietly down the hallway, peering into each room looking for Perdita: the office, the master bedroom, the guest bath – nothing. Where is that little whore?

Natalie gently picked up some nicknacks from Perdita's dresser. A couple of stuffed animals, gemstone bracelets, some photo cut-outs of boy bands from Teen Beat. Next to a pile of hair ties was a folded up piece of notebook paper. She opened it and snooped its contents. It was a love-letter to Perdita from a boy in her class, a secret crush that Perdita hadn't even told Maren about. It was beautifully written and well thought out. Gordon, as signed at the bottom, so eloquently described his feelings for the exotic girl he coveted daily from afar, this note being the first time he had expressed his interest in her.

Natalie's heart warmed for the boy. She had never received a letter like this herself, being as scarred and deformed as she had been for her entire life. What would that be like? To have someone love you and desire you like that? She got butterflies just thinking about how exciting it would be. Natalie looked in the mirror that hung over Perdita's dresser.

Hello...

She still wasn't used to seeing the incredibly beautiful woman staring back at her. She gently caressed her own face, the scars had completely disappeared. Since she had been a little girl, a monster had greeted her in every reflection: the bathroom, the lake, even store windows. Her heart sank each and every day she realized that she would never be loved, never be sought after like the beautiful Perdita. But now things were different.

A beautiful Hallmark card lay stashed under a small pile of papers as if someone was trying to hide it; red roses decorated the front. Natalie opened it:

Dee, I love you forever. I hope we find the courage to take our relationship to the next level. You're always in my heart...

"How did you get in here!"

Natalie jumped out of her skin. It was Perdita's father. She froze in place, unable to think of a decent excuse. She was busted; the fear nearly doubled her over. "I... I'm a friend of Perdita's. I just came to borrow some CD's."

That was a lame excuse.

"Perdita's not here! Don't move young lady, I'm calling the police!"

"Please don't! I was just leaving. I'm sorry!"

Natalie panicked and started to walk past Mr. Skye, trying to escape. He was an imposing man, at least 6' 3", and heavy. He grabbed her by the arm. "You're not going anywhere! Sit down, damn it!"

"Let go!" She screamed and desperately tried to writhe her way out of his firm grip. He grabbed her other arm in a struggle, trying to wrestle her to the bed. "Please stop! I'm sorry!"

"You little punk! Sit down! I'm calling the..."

His mouth dropped open, his eyes widened. He clutched his chest in terrible pain, then dropped to his knees, releasing his hold on the girl. He fell face forward, bent over as if he were praying to Allah, a gurgling and wheezing came from his body as he begged for the last few gasps of air. Katie stood in the doorway from behind him, her bloodied dagger in her hands.

"Wha... what did you do!" Natalie put her hand over her mouth desperately trying not to scream.

"The girl's not here. We have to go." Katie explained calmly.

"You... you killed him! Why? WHY!?"

"He's not dead yet." Katie walked over to him, pulled Parker Skye's head up by his hair, exposing his neck, and pulled the blade across his throat. His eyes looked around his daughter's room with the fear of an animal going to slaughter. Katie dropped his head back to the floor and wiped her blade across the back of his white t-shirt.

"There. Now he's dead."

70

Perdita was leaving Florida that afternoon, catching the 6:30 bus back to Virginia.

"The whole world is watching, M. I wouldn't want to be you right now. I pray every day that you'll figure something out."

"Thanks, Dee. I know you do. I'm feeling more confident that there's a way out of this. You know, Mom's just a regular person – always has been. Maybe we can clear this up like regular people."

Perdita frowned. "As good as that sounds to you, it's too late for the world to look at her as regular. She's crossed the line too many times. People will never forget that. I mean, she planted herself in everyone's dreams. That's something you can't ignore."

They sat on the front porch enjoying what little time they had left with each other. Maren's heart sank. She needed a friend more than ever, but it was time to grow up and accept the responsibility that had been thrust upon her. "I've been thinking about what I'm going to say to my Mom when I see her. I've played so many scenarios in my head."

"I wish I could go, M. I really do. Once I get back home, maybe I can get away for a couple of days to help you out." She pulled a smoke from her pack and combed through each of her pockets. "Have you seen my lighter? I can't find it."

Auri missed her mother terribly. Regan appeared to her youngest daughter in a dream just as she had for everyone else. Auri's dream seemed personal; a special touch from mother to favorite daughter. She performed for Auri her most beloved trick: the floating sun orb. Auri clapped with glee as Regan dramatically opened her hands to release the flood of warm, beautiful light rays. The girl laughed aloud when the tiny planets emerged from nowhere and joined in their soft parade around the glowing orb. Regan gently closed her palms to extinguish the miniature sun and bent down to give her a kiss. The dream was so real.

Auri was the spitting image of her mother in every way: Golden blond hair, bright blue eyes. She wanted to be just like her mother and do all of the things that her mother could do. If Regan couldn't be there for her daughter, then Auri would have to entertain herself. The girl crept silently into Victor's shed in the backyard of the house. In the slight darkness of the shed, she opened and closed her hand in an attempt to create the orb. Auri closed her soft eyes and put one hand to her forehead in concentration, just as her mother had done dozens of times before.

Auri sat cross-legged on the dirty, wooden floor surrounded by cardboard boxes and garden tools, opening and closing her hand. How did the orb work? She pulled the lighter from her pocket that she had taken from Perdita's purse, and flicked it to life. She yanked her hand away in pain each time she laid the flame to her palm, and licked the wound to cool it down. Something was missing. How did the orb glow? She squinted in the darkness of the shed for any aid to her quest. She spotted a bright, red metal can from behind the lawn mower, and poured the liquid liberally over her hands.

The orb would glow this time!

Auri flicked the lighter one more time.

"What was that?" Maren looked at Perdita.

"Something exploded! It came from out back!"

They jumped from the front porch and ran to the back yard gate. The shed was engulfed in flames.

Auri's screams were blood curdling. Victor ran from the house to the shed. "Get a blanket!"

"AURI!!" Maren cried.

Victor tried to pull the shed door open, but he couldn't get close enough. He grabbed a broomstick and attempted to pry the door open from the side, sobbing uncontrollably.

Auri screamed louder as the flames raged out of control.

Regan was meditating in her chapel and looked up with horror. Oh my God!!

She put her hand over her face and let out a horrible cry. "AURI!" She vanished into thin air, a slight warm breeze caressed through the chapel as if a giant hand had suddenly snatched her away.

Regan appeared from nowhere, right in the middle of Victor's backyard. Auri's screams were reduced to gasping and whimpering – there was no time left.

"MY BABY!!"

Regan waved her hand, and the fire extinguished itself instantly. The shed was a smoldering cinder of blackened wood planks. Victor pulled open the door, Auri was lying on the dirty floor, charred down to nothing, dark smoke rolled from her body. He picked up his baby girl and laid her on the grass.

"Oh... my baby...my little girl..." He sobbed. My little baby.

Maren and Perdita had fallen to their knees, sobbing. Maren turned to her mother. "Do something!"

Regan was speechless, unable to catch her breath. She wrapped her arms around her head in utter breakdown and fell to her knees beside Auri's body. The girl was entirely blackened from head to toe like a log pulled from a campfire. She let out one small gasp for air – then nothing.

"Baby?" Regan cried. "No...no..."

Auri was still. Her mother let out a wail that was heard in Heaven and in Hell.

"Do something." Perdita begged. "Please..."

Regan held her tiny daughter in her arms until the paramedics arrived. Maren wrapped her arms around her mother's shoulders and cried. The paramedics pried tiny Auri from her mother's grip and wrapped the girl in a black body bag. Regan couldn't speak. She just bent down into the grass and sobbed with her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I should have been watching her." Maren said sobbing, trying to catch her breath.

"I have to go to the hospital." Regan said, in shock. "I have to go with my baby. I can cure her... I can cure her..." Her voice trailed off into a whimper.

"The police are coming, Mom." Maren whispered, crying. "If they find you here they'll kill you."

"I have to go to the hospital."

"Get up, Mom. – you have to hide."

Maren pulled her mom from the ground and tried to drag her into the house. "Come on, God damn it! Get on your feet!"

"I need my baby."

Maren's tears poured down her cheeks so hard she couldn't even see where she was going. She tugged at her mother's arms to get her to move. Her mother was so tall; she was too heavy to pull from a dead weight. Suddenly, her mother became as light as a feather making Maren almost fall back off her feet. She held in her arms an elderly woman, very old, about ninety and frail. Her mother had disguised herself.

Mom?

"Take me to the hospital, Maren." The elderly woman cried. "I can fix this."

71

"Agent Alvaro, come in."

"What is it, Templeton?"

"We have movement outside of the compound. A red pick-up truck pulled up to the front gate, some kids got out and went inside."

"Was our subject with them?"

"No, sir. Just two teens and a small girl, alone."

"Who the hell are they?"

A call came in from one of the video technicians reviewing recordings from the previous hour. A large flash of light was clearly seen emanating from the inside of the compound. So bright, in fact, that it nearly washed out the image on the special recording software, yet went entirely unseen by the sentries.

"Did the recordings pick up anyone leaving the compound?" Alvaro asked.

"No, sir. Until that truck pulled up, there hasn't been any movement detected."
"What the hell is going on in there?" Alvaro would have to make the call. He contacted the bureau office and after a few minutes of discussion, radioed Templeton to get prepared for an assault. "Have the team get ready to take the compound. We'll be going in within the hour."

An armored vehicle pounded open the front and back gates of the compound. Twelve Special Agents, armed with MP5/10 assault rifles, advanced upon the Center. They maneuvered carefully in formation through the complex, clearing room by room until they found the children hunkered down in their barracks. Eleven children, ages ranging from eight to eighteen, were quickly evacuated from the compound.

"Where's Ms. Roberts?" an agent asked the group of frightened kids.

"She's gone. She left us here."

"Where did she go?"

"We don't know." they cried. "She just disappeared."

Agents hustled the staff into waiting bureau vans outside of the back gate. A pocket of agents carefully descended upon the chapel, where they had been informed Regan may be hiding. Inside, sitting motionless on her throne, was Regan, her head bent down in prayer.

"Get down on the ground!" the agents commanded. Regan didn't move.

"Federal agents! Get down on the ground now!" Still no movement from Regan. An agent fired a shot into the wall just to the left of her head. The image flickered slightly on and off like an old time projector beaming a movie on a screen. As the agents slowly approached Regan, guns drawn, she faded away before their eyes.

"All clear. It was some kind of decoy."

"Where the hell is she!?" Alvaro yelled.

At the same moment, on the far side of the complex, agents entered the darkness of the mess hall. A rustling sound coming from behind a long counter gave away the position of a suspect. Agent Ivan Garrison shined his light slowly around the corner of the counter and saw a small girl balled up with her head between her knees. Her golden hair reflected sharp twinkles in the beam of the flashlight. The child was whimpering very quietly.

Garrison gently approached the child and bent down to touch her arm. "It's alright, honey. We're here to help you. Are you hurt? Are you..." He stopped dead in his sentence as he felt the cold blade of steel pressed against his throat. Katie held her sharp dagger firmly to Garrison's neck.

"What are you doing?" he whispered gently. "Put the knife down. I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" Katie whispered back. "You've just fucked everything up. You've no idea what you've done. You've unleashed the beast in Her. She'll kill you all."

"Honey, don't do this. Let me take you out of here." Garrison said. "Put the knife down. I don't want to see you get hurt."

She pressed the knife tighter against his throat, the edge slowly drawing a tinge of blood from his skin.

"Don't..." Garrison pleaded. He was starting to panic. "I have a family, a daughter just like you. Please put the knife down."

"Men will wrangle for religion." Katie whispered to him. "Write for it, fight for it, die for it; anything but – live for it."

"Please let me go." Garrison cried. "You don't want to die over this."

"I'm already as dead as I'm ever going to be."

With that, Katie firmly pulled the blade across the agent's neck. His eyes opened wide with panic as he held his hand to his throat, tongue dropping from his mouth. He fell back with a gurgling sound.

"Garrison!"

Katie stood up and held the bloodied dagger in her hand. "Drop your weapon! Now!"

With a high pitched scream, Katie ran towards the agents. The rabid look in her eyes said that she would defend her beloved to the very end. Her sacrifice was easy: she had been given the ultimate gift of a second chance in life. A chance to help do what no other human had done before her. Thousands of people living their lives without pain, without fear, without shame. How can you truly measure time, given a few extra precious weeks of life, yet have kissed the lips of God? Katie's small body tumbled to the floor, the loud crack of the MP5 round echoed in her head.

Regan dropped to the floor of the hospital waiting room. Police were trying to get a report of the accident from the distraught family members.

"Is she ok?" asked a female officer. She bent down to help the elderly lady back up.

"DONT TOUCH ME!!" Regan screamed. Everything was frozen instantly in time; the world lay completely still and silent.

Maren lifted her head from her hands. Her face was flushed red, eyes puffy and bloodshot from crying. "Mom, what have you done?"

"Katie... they killed my precious little Katie."

Regan took deep breaths trying desperately to control herself. She wiped away the tears from her face. "Come on, Maren. Let's find your sister."

"What are you going to do?"

Regan transformed back into herself in front of Maren's eyes. She seemed even taller than usual, her eyes were wild with angst.

"Why is no one moving, Mom? Are they alright?"

Regan shook with rage. Her voice had deepened like that of a demon.

"Fuck them all."

72

Regan and Maren walked to the morgue where the remains of her youngest daughter lay in a black, tightly sealed bag.

They walked up to the table where Auri was laying. Regan unzipped the bag and exposed the charred body of her daughter. Maren put her hand to her mouth and doubled over. "Oh, God!"

"I shouldn't have left you, baby." Regan said, tears flowing quickly down her face. "I should have been there. I should have taken care of you." She caressed the small body of Auri, picked her up and held her to her chest. "I love you. I'm going to make this right."

"Oh, mom..." Maren sobbed. "Look at her."

Regan placed her baby down on the cold, steel gurney. Pieces of Auri's flesh were breaking off and falling to the floor. Regan's head felt as if it were about to explode, she held her fingertips to her temples and squinted in pain. Inside, darkness swirled around like a typhoon, bright flashes of light sparkled like a laser show. An electric tingling flowed painfully down her limbs that forced her over in agony. Regan felt her body growing larger; the energy of the Universe flowed through her burning every nerve ending in her skin. Her mind took off like a rocket, twisting and hurtling through space and stars, though galaxies and nebulae. Regan looked down at her feet, her body stretched out as vast as space itself, spreading like a comet trail for billions of miles. She clenched her fists in pain. Her mind soared through eons of time and distance. She was in possession of all power, all creation. Maren witnessed a radiance from her mother's body, an aura of glittering illuminations spewing forth like a roman candle.

"Mom?"

Regan white-knuckled the gurney and hyperventilated. She slowly took control of her breathing, sucking forcefully in and out; in and out. She looked up at Maren and shook off her trance.

"Where am I?"

"You're at the hospital with me." Maren said. "You came to help Auri." Maren could feel the heat pouring off of her mother. Sparkles danced from the top of Regan's head, she was flowing with energy – sizzling with power. Her eyes were dark black saucers.

Regan looked down at the remains of her baby. She grimaced a painful expression as she laid her hands on the child. A gorgeous orange light radiated from her palms, which bathed Auri's charred body in a veil of what almost looked like fire. Maren stood back in awe, her mouth hanging open – speechless.

Beneath the fiery glow, a transformation was taking place. Auri's body began to pulsate and grow. A golden skin layered over the blackened slag, fingers and toes slowly emerged from the charred stumps. Regan recomposed her daughter in front of Maren's eyes, right on the gurney. The fire slowly died out with a few remaining flickers, Regan pulled her hands away from the girl, and the glow extinguished from view, turning the morgue back into a cold and darkened dungeon.

"My God." Maren said, choking back her tears – barely able to draw a word. "I... I can't believe it. You did it."

Regan held her hands fast to her baby's chest, breathing deeply and slowly with her head tilted back in ecstasy. Her knees were shaking, and her hairs were raised on end.

"Is she alive?" Maren asked. Regan couldn't speak. She just rubbed the girl's chest and stomach. Auri was complete. She was even more beautiful than before. Her complexion was clear and fair; hair as white as strands of Chinese silk. Auri slowly opened her eyes and looked at first to the ceiling, and then to her sister.

"Auri. Can you hear me? It's Maren!"

Auri looked at her sister with a frightened, confused look on her face. She grabbed Maren's hand tightly and looked back at her mother.

Then the screaming began.

"What's wrong with her!?" Maren cried. Auri thrashed violently, fighting to break from her sister's grip.

"I don't know! Auri, stop baby! Please stop!"

Auri continued screaming at the top of her lungs, arching her back in violent convulsions.

"Something's not right, Mom. Do something!"

"I can't! I don't know what's happening."

"She needs a doctor!" Maren yelled. "She needs help!"

"I can fix her!" Regan screamed, laying her hands upon her hysterical child. "I can do this!" Auri shrieked even louder.

"NO!" Maren yelled, grabbing her mother's arms and yanking them away from Auri. "You're only making things worse!"

"Don't touch me, you little bitch!!" Regan punched at Maren's face trying to break the hold. Maren grasped her mother's hands even tighter. The two women tussled with each other, knocking over tables and equipment in their wake. "Let...go...damn it!" Regan cried.

"Don't touch my sister! She needs a doctor!" Maren let go of her mother's hands. They backed off into a defensive posture and slowly circled each other like two mountains lions ready to attack. "Unfreeze everyone and let them help Auri!"

"You don't tell me what to do, Maren! I'll make you disappear...so help me."

Maren stared down her mother for the first time in her life. "You can't hurt me. You never could and you can't now."

Regan stuttered and wiped the hair away from her face. "I... I brought Auri back to life! Only God can do that! I am God, can't you see!?"

"You may have powers, but you're no God. You're an egotistical bitch. You've done nothing but ruin countless lives. You're way too fucked up to be God!"

Regan lunged at her daughter with a tribal scream. The two women crashed to the floor.

"I'll...kill...you, God damn it!" Regan wrestled with Maren on the cold floor of the morgue. Maren got the best of her mother and wrestled her down into a head lock.

"Unfreeze everyone – now!!" Maren demanded.

"Ok! Ok! Get off me!" Regan yelled, blinking her eyes trying to make her powers work on her daughter. She was helpless. Some God you are.

Maren cautiously released her hold on her mother. The two backed away from each other, and Maren went to hold Auri, who had settled down from the screaming, and into horrible whimpers like an injured puppy.

"Don't ever talk to me again!" Regan screamed. "Let the doctors take care of your sister. But if it weren't for me, she'd still be dead!"

"If it weren't for you, there would be a lot of people still alive."

Regan released a deep scream from the depths of Hell and waived her arms in an outward swinging motion. A shock wave emanated from her body that rumbled through the entire building. Maren ducked her head from flying debris, the walls of the morgue rippled as if they were made of rubber. She held on to a metal table as if fighting against an ocean wave. The hospital lights flickered for a second and went dead. Regan dissolved quickly away into the darkness.

73

"My darling Katie, my beautiful little girl."

Regan gently caressed the body of her friend and lieutenant. Katie laid in waiting at the UVA medical center for the Bureau to complete their investigation, and for her mother to come and identify her daughter. Sickness ran through Regan's blood as she looked down upon her tiny body; a small bullet entrance wound etched on her forehead, the same head that Regan first worked her beautiful magic upon. After stealing away the ravaging effects of her brain cancer, the girl now laid lifeless from federal agents unmercifully blowing her mind to shreds – a mind full of wonder, charisma and eloquence. Regan's vision for her did not come true after all. Katie would not grow to be old, play with her friends and make love to her soul mates. All the things Katie would have missed dying so young were painfully stolen from her once again.

"I'm so sorry, my love." Regan whispered, taking the girl's small hand. "I should have been there to protect you."

Regan began to cry. "I promised I would protect you, and you believed that. I've let you down. I've let everyone down. My baby is sick, and I don't know how to cure her. But you my love, I can bring you back. I have the gift of life that until now only God has possessed."

Regan placed her hands upon Katie's body. The orange glow of life warmed from her hands. Then suddenly, Regan took her hands from her friend's body.

"No. This isn't the way it should be." She kissed the girl on the forehead.

"You gave your life for me. You gave up the precious life I had given you to protect our cause." Regan realized that the gift she had given to Katie wasn't a second chance at life, but an opportunity for her to give up that life for the only thing she believed in. Katie's real fear in life wasn't that she would die from cancer but that she would pass away without meaning.

"We all die." Katie once said. "The real fear is that one's death not be glorious, living without ever being able to say: It would be an honor to die for this. Someday when I have a child, I'll know what that truly means. But until that time you, my beloved, have given that meaning to my life. It wasn't the cure, but the sacrifice for something greater than myself that was the true gift. A life without knowing is no life at all."

Regan brushed Katie's golden locks with her hand. She would never rob Katie of that one moment for an excellent death. Regan was jealous of the young girl's call for sacrifice. Regan herself had never felt that sense of duty to anything or anyone. Ironically, she stared down at her young friend lying cold and lifeless upon the slab, but it was Regan who felt cold and empty.

"You have sacrificed for me, I will sacrifice for you. I will carry on our legacy, and you can watch from above, my dear." Regan whispered. "All that we have waited for has finally arrived. My full transformation into deity has taken place. The world will be whatever I wish – the universe is weightless in the palm of my hand."

Regan kissed the little girl on the forehead once more. "I love you, Katie. Here, you forgot something."

Regan placed Katie's beautiful wooden butterfly box under the girl's arms and folded them across her chest. "I know how much you love this." Regan cried. "This is what started it all, and now we are here. Du début à la fin."

With that, Regan left to fulfill her promise and take her rightful place as God on earth.

74

The FBI was notified and quickly arrived to the Lake Wales Medical Center to question the family. Victor, upon seeing Auri fully healed and alive, had a breakdown. He was sedated and asleep in an emergency room bed. Auri lay in a private examination room while doctors combed her over for clues to how she had come back to life. That left Maren and Perdita alone to face the feds' questioning. It was time to come clean. They sat in a conference room with Agents Celia Flores, a twelve year female veteran of the Bureau, and Greg Robinson, a newbie on the force. Two other armed agents stood outside the door to the room.

"You say your mother, Regan Roberts, was here in Florida and rescued your sister from the burning shed?" Agent Flores asked.

"Yes." Maren replied tearfully. "But it was too late by the time she got to her. Auri was already dying."

"What happened next?"

"We followed the paramedics to the hospital with Auri. My Mom was disguised as an elderly neighbor."

"How did she do that?"

"She has the power of illusion... a very strong power." Maren said. "She can look like anyone. She can do anything."

"She's like Superman, only angrier." Perdita quipped.

"Who are you? Are you part of the family?" Flores confronted Perdita.

"No, but I..."

"Then I'll have to ask you to leave. This investigation..."

"She stays." Maren demanded. "She's a part of this, too – she's family."

Perdita reached beneath the table and grabbed Maren's hand, giving her a solemn smile.

"So, it was when you arrived at the hospital that you claim your mother brought the child back to life?"

"I'm not claiming, she did it for real."

"That's not possible." Agent Robinson stated, looking at his colleague.

"Listen!" Maren interrupted. "Stop screwing around and quit playing games. My mom has extremely dangerous powers and you people know it. So stop pretending this isn't happening!"

The agents glanced at each other as if they had been busted in a lie, which in fact, they had been.

"She can look like anyone. She can stop time. She can become invisible, and she can fly for fuck's sake." Perdita added sternly.

"I'm trying to help you people." Maren cried. "You better listen to me – she's pissed and going on a rampage. I should have beaten her ass when I had the chance."

"We need to know everything you know." Flores stated. "We need to know what she's capable of."

"She doesn't even know what she's capable of. She's growing stronger by the minute."

"How do we stop her?" Robinson asked.

"You don't." Maren said, tears running down her face. "You can't stop her. No one can. She'll kill us all, and there's not a God damn thing you can do about it."

"No pun intended." Perdita smiled.

"Is she armed? Does your Mother possess a special weapon?" Flores asked.

"You're not listening." Maren looked straight into their eyes. "It's more than a weapon. My mom can unravel the fabric of time and space. Once she realizes it, she'll be able to make this entire universe disappear... boom! Just like that. We could be dead right now, already – and we wouldn't even know it."

"That's what I told her." Perdita patted Maren on the shoulder, smiling. "I guess she finally came around."

"Unacceptable." Robinson said. "Everyone has a weakness. She may have powers, but she's just a woman. We can't have her running rampant doing anything she wants."

Maren gave up trying to reason with the agents. "I'll tell you what. Go back to your precious Bureau and look up in your little textbooks about how you would theoretically kill God. Can you do that? Because that's what you have here. Can you guys look that up for me?"

Everyone sat in silence at the table – strong words for an impossible to believe situation.

Perdita's cell went off. She pulled the phone from her jacket pocket, she didn't recognize the number. "I need to take this outside. Can someone let me out?"

"The door's unlocked." Flores said. "You're not a prisoner."

Perdita stepped outside and took a few paces down the hall away from the guards. "Hello?"

"Is this Miss Perdita Ann Skye?"

"Yes."

"This is the Bethesda Police Department. Are you sitting down?"

Maren sat steaming at the agents in silence. She had tried to warn them weeks ago, now the situation was totally out of control. There was no way to turn back the clock.

"Did you have a fight with your mother in the morgue prior to her leaving the building?" Agent Flores asked, looking over her notes. "What did you mean by 'beaten her ass when you had the chance?"

"We got in a fight. We struggled, and I had her in choke hold. Yea, I should have beaten her ass." Maren said.

"Why didn't she try and stop you?"

"She can't do anything to me. I'm immune to her powers."

The agents looked at each other. "Are you positive about that?"

"I'm sure, yes."

Flores gave a slight nod of her head to Robinson. He grabbed his cell phone, started dialing and walked out of the room.

"What about your sister? Is she immune to your mother's power, too?" Flores asked.

"I don't know. I think so."

Flores leaned across the table and looked Maren in the eye. "Are you willing to work with us on this?"

"I don't know what I can do. She can read my mind. She'll know if I'm up to something."

"Let us worry about that." Agent Flores said. "You have five minutes to collect your things."

"Where are we going?"

"We're taking you into protective custody until this situation is resolved."

"Oh, I don't think so!" Maren exclaimed. "I have to take care of my sister!"

"Your sister is good hands, trust me. We're getting consent from your father as we speak."

Maren walked out of the conference room with Flores close behind her. In the lobby adjacent to the guarded room, Perdita lay balled up in a fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. Two FBI agents sat near, trying to console her.

"Dee! What's wrong?!" Maren cried. Perdita couldn't answer. She just sobbed even harder.

An agent took Maren by the arm and whispered in her ear. "The Florida State Police are escorting your friend back to Maryland this afternoon. There's been an accident in the girl's home involving her father."

75

"What the hell is this? This bitch is on every channel. Martha! Call the damn cable company, there's somethin wrong with the tube again." Archie yelled at his wife from his easy chair. "Shit! I pay good money fer this. Why today?"

From a small cabin, not far from her former compound in Crozet, Regan took control over the entirety of electronics throughout the world: satellite signals, radio waves, shortwave broadcasts, landlines, cell towers, cable and internet connections.

"On this day, November 18th, 2012, I am taking control of our collective destiny." Regan broadcast her message to every corner of the earth.

"The future of our world will be mine to decide, as I wish it to be. From this point forward, you will worship me as your God. You will abolish all churches, all synagogues, all mosques. All organized religions will be dismantled. From now on, I will be answering the prayers. I will be performing the miracles. There will be no more war, no more sickness, no more disease – unless I say so. I will control everything."

An emergency meeting of the President's cabinet had been called. Diplomats from all over the entire globe were inundating the White House for answers. The National Terrorism Advisory System was raised to an 'imminent' threat with no immediate-end date. All departments of the Armed Forces were on high alert. People were urged to stay calm and stay in their homes.

Maren watched in horror from her special room inside a little known location of the Department of Homeland Security in Maryland. She was a prisoner in her small hotel room, unable to come or go. Her mother had obviously gone off of the deep end over Katie's death, and nothing would stop her reign of madness. Maren felt helpless and wondered if she had made a mistake in offering to help the feds.

"I want to see my sister!" Maren pounded furiously on the door to her holding cell. The Feds were not interested in her help – she was a prisoner. "Open this God damn door!" There was no response. Maren started throwing chairs at the windows and turning over the tables and mattress to attract attention. She threw a tantrum until she was breathless, still no one came.

The Pentagon had known for the past three days exactly where Regan was hiding. Due to the unusual video anomaly first pointed out by Maren weeks earlier, a unique electronic identifier had been created, giving them the ability to track her signature since the raid on the compound. Regan no longer cared; she was blatantly showing herself to the world. Maren was told none of this information – she was purposefully kept in the dark. Government officials were still suspicious as to whether Maren and Regan may be working together.

Six 22-Raptors of the 1st Fighter Wing from Langley AFB were dispatched to Regan's position near Crozet. The orders were to strategically take out the entire cabin and surrounding area with her in it. The pilots radioed that they were detecting a turbulence or vibration approximately mid-way to their destination. At eighteen minutes into the flight, the fighters broke apart into thousands of pieces, scattering debris over an extensive area of central Virginia. The command center went into a panic as the vehicles simply disappeared off of the radar.

A lock-down of the county took place immediately. A mandatory evacuation went into effect, and roads in and out of the county were blockaded by the National Guard. Citizens panicked as officials knocked on each farmhouse door and gave the occupants as little as thirty minutes to leave their properties. Regan's powers were growing rapidly – a major assault on the cabin had been ordered.

Maren knew that the only person who could stop this situation was herself. She would say anything to get to her mother.

"Mom, can you hear me?" Maren thought inside of her head. "I'm being held prisoner in a government facility. They have taken Auri, and I don't know where she is. I want to help you. We can find a way to work this out together, but I have to get out of here."

No reply. She thought again. "Mom, please don't hurt anyone else. This isn't the way to prove your power. God wouldn't do these things."

Still silence. She changed the game plan. "Mom, I want to help you. I want to protect you. We can do this together. I can join you..."

"Liar!" Her mother's voice rang in her head clearly. "You have never understood the true purpose of my destiny. You're one of them. You always will be."

"Not true." Maren said aloud. "I know you meant well, but this is a lost cause. People don't want to be controlled – they want their free will. They'll never stop trying to kill you."

"There are millions of people that worship me! My flock is growing by the second."

"They're just scared of you. They don't want to die – that's all. Don't confuse that with worship."

There was no reply from her mother. Maren changed her tactic again.

"Mom, I'm afraid what they might do to Auri. If you're not going to look after her, I'll have to do it. But I can't do it locked up."

"Who the hell is she talking to?" An officer monitoring Maren's cell alerted guards to search for intruders.

Maren waited for any response from her mother. She heard a small click. The lock on the cell door turned over, the doorknob turned slightly, and it opened just a crack.

Bingo!

"We have a security breach!" The monitor radioed to the guards. "The subject's door is unlocked." Maren stood up to sneak out of the room when suddenly the guards entered with their weapons drawn. She froze where she stood.

Shit!

"Ms. Roberts? Are you Ok? Is there anyone in here with you?" Maren was just about to say something when she heard a small whimpering coming from the corner of the room. A girl with dark hair was sitting curled up in a ball sobbing quietly. A chill ran through her body as she realized it was her, a clone, sitting there crying. The guards approached the clone carefully.

"Are you ok, Ms. Roberts? Did someone come in here? How did the door open?"

Maren realized that the guards had no idea she was there – they couldn't see her. It was a powerful ruse created by Regan to help her daughter escape. She tiptoed past the guards and walked silently out of the door. Maren looked back just for second to see if the guards were on to her. The clone raised her head up and gave her a sinister smile that made Maren's blood run cold. She crept down the hall passing by armed security details and cameras, completely unnoticed.

76

Maren perused the facility for hours in search of her sister. There was no trace or any clues as to where Auri might be. She had lost mental contact with her mom, and even though Regan aided her escape from the holding cell, Maren didn't believe for a moment that her mom would help with anything else. She was on her own, like usual. Hunger rolled in her belly, and Maren entered a cafeteria at the bottom level of the complex. Still invisible, she moved in and out of agents standing in line to get to some food. Surprisingly, no one noticed a cheeseburger in a blue foil wrapper hovering mysteriously through the air and landing gently on a table in the far corner of the room. Most of the agents dining were glued to the television broadcast from a giant flat-screen monitor on the wall near the drink machines. Reporters from CNN were again on the scene reporting about the biggest breaking news since 9/11 – you guessed it, Regan Roberts. The military, in a blatant show of force, were lined up in armored personnel carriers and Bradleys for an assault on the isolated wooded cabin. The show of force was for the benefit of the public, who were rapidly losing faith that the government could do anything to stop the lunatic woman. Maren anxiously prayed that more innocent lives wouldn't be lost as her mother defended her perverted, self-absorbed right to supremacy. Humans had taken their rightful place as the slugs after all.

Maren's cheeseburger did nothing to stop the feeling of nausea in her gut. This assault was going to end badly, she just knew it. Nothing involving her mother's reign of terror had ended well yet. CNN reporters boarded the armored vehicles with the troops and edged slowly towards their target.

"This is Frank Wells reporting from a Bradley armored vehicle in this CNN exclusive special report. I'm live with military troops as they prepare for an all-out assault of a cabin where the fugitive terrorist Regan Roberts is held up, wanted for the brutal murders of nine Bureau agents, and two Albemarle Sheriff's Department officers. CNN caught up with a few of the residents of this once quiet area of Virginia to get a look into the mind of this horrific mass-murderer."

Broadcast cuts to prerecorded interviews:

"I knew the family my whole life. Yea, I grew up just down the road. The family was weird... people say they were worshipin the devil and such. Just a bunch of weird goins' on at that farm. The army needs to capture this beast, so our town can get back to normal."

"I hope the President knows what he's doin. He needs to do somethin. God help us..."

Broadcast goes live again.

"Yes. There's a lot of very frightened people here in Virginia. In fact, people all over the world have expressed concern over these events. Regan Roberts is no ordinary terrorist. The government has stated that due to the unique nature of this fugitive's power and strength, it has been quite the challenge to bring her to justice. We're getting close to the perimeter of Roberts' cabin, and in just a few minutes from now we'll be taking positions outside so that these specially trained assault units can make their way into the compound, and either capture or kill the fugitive. Earlier, we talked to a few of these brave men and women."

Broadcast cuts to troop interviews:

"Yea, it's a little strange that we have a known terrorist conducting operations right here in our own backyard. Most people think this stuff only happens in the Middle East, but times are changing, and we're ready for it."

PFC Melissa Gardner

"This is the kind of stuff we've trained for..."

"Hey! That's my little brother, Mikey!" A woman in a blue dress told her colleagues watching the television. "Look, ya'll! Hi Mikey!" She waived at the monitor. The group laughed it up and patted her on the back.

"I'm glad I'm here able to serve my country. I feel for the families of those fallen Bureau agents, and we need to bring this individual to justice."

CPL Michael Hollis

"Give 'em Hell, Mikey! Go get 'em boy!" The woman shouted. Maren stood there with a knot in her stomach, unnoticed by the group hooting and hollering for the soldiers to kill her mother. She just wanted to cry. How could her life had gone so wrong? It was only in the last few years that her and her mom grown apart and Maren didn't even know why. Selfish thoughts, Maren's desire for independence and identity, things that seemed now to be so petty – if only she could go back in time. Maren had grown into a woman in the last few months of her ordeal. Cherish each day while you can, things can turn weird in a moment's notice. She realized just how few moments there really are, the importance of which are all based on your perspective – all moments are not created equal.

"Get that bitch!" the woman shouted to the television. "The Calvary is here. It's time for some fucking payback! Go Mikey!!"

Maren put her hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing and being heard by the people in the cafeteria. Tears poured down her face as the group cheered for her mother's death. She couldn't make a sound, or she would be found out. It was like holding a live hand grenade and counting down the seconds.

"Wait. Wait. The convoy has stopped for a moment. Our driver is getting a call over the radio. Bear with me for just a moment."

"Shhhh.....Everyone quiet down." a man watching the television said. "Something's up."

"There seems to be some kind of obstruction ahead of us. Not yet sure just what they mean by that. Yes, radar has detected an object bearing in on our position very quickly... I don't know if you can see that. Can you see that?"

The camera focused in and out for a moment towards the sky above the trees. A dark object, somewhat like a plane, could be seen in the clouds. Everyone in the cafeteria crowded closer to the television to get a better look. Maren carefully tiptoed over and stood just behind the group of agents watching the broadcast.

"It seems to be a plane or a...? I can't tell what it is. It's growing larger. It's definitely getting larger. Can you see this?"

They inched even closer to the set – no one could say a word. An object could clearly be seen. It was square. It was a massive square in the sky. It was black, like a roof shingle, but thicker. It seemed to be falling from space and getting closer.

"What the hell is that? Is it some kind of ship or craft? It must be five miles across. Wait. Wait... Ok. Ok, we're going! Command believes we're under attack. The convoy is backing up. Keep the camera on that!"

"What's happening?" The woman in the blue dress said. "What is that?" She turned to a male colleague and grabbed his arm. "What's happening!?"

"I don't know if you can see this. Keep... yes, keep the camera on it. It's some kind of giant object that is heading this way. It's heading right for us."

The cameraman was shaking, but holding the shot pretty still, considering. The giant black square grew steadily larger and larger. It made no sound – it didn't waiver. It simply descended closer and closer to the convoy, falling very quickly. It was so large, the object obscured the entire sky as it fell to earth.

"Oh God! We're not going to make it! Let's go! Let's go! Move! Move!"

"Mikey?" The woman in blue stood there in shock, her mouth hung open in disbelief. Maren was breathless – unmoving.

The cameraman kept his shot steady to the sky, a hero until the last. A sound could be heard, growing louder, like the groaning of a deep, giant wrought iron gate. The wind picked up. The camera filmed debris starting to fly around violently. The black object fell quickly to earth. The soldiers began their screaming – they knew they were going to die. More wind, more groaning, more screaming. The camera shook violently and went dead – just static.

The woman in blue put her hand over her mouth. It did little to stifle her screams as she lifelessly dropped to the floor. Colleagues laid her out and put a jacket over her. She gasped for breath in between sobs, staring up at the ceiling in shock.

"What happened?" A cacophony of voices echoed throughout the cafeteria. Cell phones began to go off, chaos brewed out of control. "She killed them! That woman killed our boys! They're all dead!"

The cries were distant in Maren's head as she drifted into shock. She sat slowly down in an empty chair and stared down at the floor. A jolt of terror and emotion ran down her entire body. What had her mother done? Why?

Maren turned her head, eyes unblinking, and looked at the at woman in blue, the sister of Mikey. The woman was sobbing her eyes out. She had watched her brother die horribly on live television at the hands of her own mother. Dozens of young soldiers crushed to death by a terrifying object dredged into existence by Regan's imagination. The woman who believed she was God had made her final stand. She would not only kill anyone that tried to stop her, but would deliver a reign of terror so profound that our minds could never comprehend it. Maren clenched her fist so tight her whole arm shook, the fury in her was building to a boiling point. Her nails cut into her palm, blood ran down her arm, glistening red under the cafeteria lights.

77

"I'm in Texas." Perdita confessed. "There's a big gathering of people just outside of Belton waiting for the Savior."

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

"We've heard that she's heading this way, and we want to be a part of her ceremonial passing."

Maren stared at her cell in disbelief. Had her best friend gone crazy? "I've been so worried about you, Dee. Your phone's been off for weeks. I've tried calling."

"Yea, I didn't want to talk to anyone."

Maren's heart was racked with guilt. Perdita's father would still be alive if it hadn't been for her. Sure, she had tried calling her friend a number of times, but had no idea what she would say. "I'm so sorry about what happened, Dee."

"Yea, Ok."

"I thought you may be living with your Nana." Maren said, trying to change the subject.

"I was, but I ran away. Don't you tell her where I am."

"Where are you staying? Are you alright?"

"I'm hanging out with a nice family in their camper. I caught a ride to Texas with them. They're from our part of Bethesda. We're waiting for your Mom to pass through. We want to show her how much we love her. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity; you know, to meet God herself – face to face."

Maren's head felt as if it would explode. What had happened to Perdita? Her father's murder had obviously driven her mad. "My mother's not God, Dee. I thought you believed in the real God?"

"How do you know your mom isn't the real God?"

Maren's heart sank to her knees. She put her hand to her head in an effort to stop it from spinning.

What in the hell is happening?

"I don't believe this." Maren whispered.

"You coming?"

"Yea, I'm coming. I'm coming to bash my mother's head in with a shovel."

"That's not very nice." Perdita said. "Just let her be."

"I can't believe you're saying this. I thought we were in this together."

"Things have changed."

Maren wanted to cry, but she didn't. Something was stopping the tears; a frustration had turned her emotions to stone. Crying was for babies – she needed to get serious.

"Dee, I love you. I'm still wearing the silver crucifix you gave me. I just wanted to thank you for it. It's given me the strength to get through this. I feel like I'm the only one left who believes in anything."

Perdita didn't reply. In the silence, Maren could hear her friend dragging on a cigarette.

"You there, Dee?"

"Yes."

"You sure you want to do this?"

A pause for a moment and then: "I don't know what to do." Perdita sobbed. "I'm scared. I'm all alone. I need my Dad..."

"Dee, wait there. I'm coming to get you."

"Don't." Perdita cried. "If your Mom sees you here she'll kill us all."

"She can't hurt me. I can protect you."

"You can't – no one can. God can't even stop her. Just stay away. I'm scared – we're all scared. That's why we're here."

Maren's heart was breaking. She didn't know what to say.

Perdita tried to catch her breath in between her gentle sobs. "How could the real God let something like this happen?"

"I...I don't know." Maren was crushed. Alone and hurting, she desperately needed a friend right now.

Perdita tried hard to compose herself and took another drag of her smoke. "Your mom can read our minds, M. She'll know we're talking about her. The people here are frightened. I don't want to die, not like this."

"Stay put, I'm going to get out there somehow."

"Don't. You'll end up getting us all killed. There are children here – people with families. They're scared shitless, and so am I."

"Please help me, Dee. I need your friendship. Think of your mom and dad."

"Fuck you!" Perdita screamed into the phone. "Don't play me like that! You're always trying to play me like that – I'm going now."

"Dee!" The call ended. "Dee!" Damn.

Maren had been traveling by bus for days trying to stay one step ahead of her mother. Regan was randomly stopping at gatherings of her followers in a number of locations, but no one knew exactly when or where. The followers camped together, praying that the Savior would bless them with a visit, holding their sick children above their heads in anticipation of their healing. Maren planned to kill her mother before any other innocent citizens were hurt. Maren purchased a bus ticket to Texas. The gathering in Belton was a large one, over 200,000 people, just big enough to lure her mother's ego.

78

Did you find your sister?

Her mother's voice rang loudly in Maren's head.

"You know I didn't. Why are you even asking me that." Maren thought back.

I thought you'd try harder. How can you just leave her?

Maren sat at the back of a Greyhound bus headed for Texas. She tucked her long, dark hair underneath a hat and wore sunglasses in an attempt to disguise herself. The people on the bus were talking amongst themselves about the terror that her mother had reigned upon their lives and homes.

"Why don't you try harder? Can't you read people's minds?" Maren said telepathically. "Someone must know where the hell she is."

They're hiding their thoughts, I can't seem to break through. I'm feeling unfocused.

"Too busy murdering people?"

They started it, they were trying to kill me first. I am just defending myself.

"They're scared, mom. They don't know what else to do. I had to watch a woman break down after you murdered her brother on live TV. Do you know how horrible that was?" Maren asked.

He shouldn't have been coming to kill me. I'm just trying to help people, and this is how they repay me?

"You know how easy it would be to end this? Listen to me. Just stop this madness. You could hide out somewhere. With your power, it would be so easy to do".

"You know I can't do that."

Maren nearly jumped out of her skin. A small girl about six years of age suddenly appeared in the empty seat next to her. Maren pulled her shades off and looked down at the girl.

Mom?

"You wouldn't understand Maren, and I'm glad you don't, not after what I've been through. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I was given this gift for a reason. I will use it to its full potential."

"To kill people? They don't want your help. Leave them alone."

The girl turned and looked up at Maren. "That's what I don't understand. Maybe you can enlighten me with your infinite wisdom. Billions of people all over the world believe in a supreme being, one with the power to perform miracles, heal the sick and bring the dead to life. Yet, there's no proof a supreme being even exists. Then I come along with real powers, and no one believes in me – they cast me aside as a threat. What the fuck is wrong with everyone? Here I am in all my glory, Maren. I will bring the wrath upon the non-believers."

A passenger, over hearing the conversation, looked back over her seat at the two girls.

"Keep it down." Maren scolded. "You're going to give yourself away."

"Who cares? They can't do anything about it."

This was it – the perfect opportunity had arrived. Maren could reach over and quietly strangle the girl, ending her mother's reign of terror upon the world. How easy would that be? Maren cracked her knuckles and tried to steady her hands from shaking. Yes, she would wrap her hands around her throat. She had to do it now, no hesitation.

Now... 1... 2... 3...

"I know what you're thinking." The girl whispered in a tiny, soft voice – big blue eyes looking up at Maren. "How could you? Your own flesh and blood – your own mother?"

Maren gritted her teeth until you could hear them scraping together, watching the landscape roll past her.

"You know, I've always been scared of you. I've never felt comfortable around you. Do you know what that's like?" Maren addressed her mother without looking at her. "I've never had that nice feeling, you know, where I could cuddle up in your lap and feel safe. When I was smaller, I just wanted to crawl inside of you – I wanted a haven. But you were never open, your defenses were always up, you never let me in. But now, I'm not afraid of you anymore. I've had to replace that feeling of distance with something else – I don't even know what exactly."

Maren turned and looked down at the girl. Regan turned her head away. What an apropos moment: Maren declaring her feelings to her all powerful mother, who at the moment was a defensive little girl. The roles had reversed.

"I never knew that." Regan declared.

"It's true. I never had you there when I needed you most. Why is that? Why are your defenses up all of the time?"

"I have to stay on top of the totem."

"I don't know what that means."

Regan turned to her daughter with tears in her eyes. "I have to be at the top where no one can hurt me. They can try and claw their way up, but at the top, they can't get me. I'm safe – I'm safe there."

Maren leaned over to wipe the tears from the girl's cheek with her sleeve. "What happened to you to make you like this?"

"I don't want her to hurt me anymore."

"Who, Mom? Who's hurting you?"

"The one that's always inside of me."

Maren couldn't believe her ears. What in the hell was she talking about? Maren looked at the little girl with the tears flowing down her face – there she was all along. Her mother had never been a strong, powerful woman, but only this scared little girl – all along. Maren's eyes were opened for the very first time, her mother was hurting and frightened.

"What did they do to you?" Maren asked.

"It was a gift. I needed that, to learn my lesson." The girl wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Now look at me – I'm a God. No one can touch me. I've been rewarded with ultimate power for enduring that hard climb to the top."

The bus started to slow down. It was the middle of the Texas flatland, no stop was anywhere in sight. The passengers peered over the tall seats to see what was happening.

"Tell me what happened, Mom" Maren asked.

"Look, Maren. This is what I'm talking about. Here they go again, trying to knock me down! Why can't they just leave me alone?"

Maren peered up towards the front of the bus. The passengers were buzzing among themselves. A convoy of military vehicles had set up a roadblock. Unknown to Maren, the military had been tracking a bug in her cell phone the entire time. The bus came to a halt. There were hundreds of soldiers pointing automatic weapons, surrounding it from every side. The passengers became tense and started looking at each other. Who were they there for? Why had they stopped the bus?

"Jealous!" Regan screamed. "Look at them with their fucking guns. I know where they want to put them. I know they would get off on that!"

"Mom, calm down. We can get out of this."

"They want to hurt me! They want to hurt you!"

"No, don't hurt anyone, please! I can get you out of this!"

It was too late. The fury unleashed itself as Maren knew it would. Her mother stood up in the aisle of the bus, put her arms out to the sides and let out a deep, horrifying scream at the top of her lungs.

"YOU WILL NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN!!"

Maren tackled the girl and held her down in the aisle. "Don't do it! Stop it!"

Regan struggled to escape, kicking at Maren's chest. The little girl glared at Maren with dark, black eyes. "Get down..."

Shit! Maren tucked her head down between her legs and put her hands over the back of her head. A shock wave tore through the bus. Maren felt the pressure drop so fast that she thought her head would explode. She covered her ears. A giant reverberation knocked her back so hard that she flew from the bus, and rolled violently down the pavement, knocking the wind out of her. She held her body as tight as she could into a ball, and rolled over and over again down the asphalt and into what felt like gravel and brush before coming to a stop. Something warm covered her back and head.

The noise was deafening. It was like being inside of a giant kettle drum that pounded her chest until she thought her ribs would crack. She couldn't get a breath; then silence. Maren lay balled up on the ground until she felt safe to look up. A warm, gentle breeze blew through her hair. In a brave moment for Maren, she pulled her hands from over her head and stood up. Her mother was gone. Everyone was gone. Maren stood on the highway alone.

There was no bus, no tanks, no soldiers. She looked down at her sleeves. She was covered in blood – and guts, excrement and other unidentifiable puss from the vaporized humans. Body parts lay waste all around in every direction, smoke rose gently from the pieces still smoldering. Regan had blown everyone literally into tiny pieces – everyone: the soldiers, the passengers – men, woman and children. There had been no screaming, except for the one Maren let out just then.

79

A sea of bodies littered the land as far as the eye could see. In every direction for miles, campers lined up neatly in rows across the plains and meadows just outside of Belton Lake. Around the perimeter were makeshift tent cities where tens of thousands of people from all over the southwest had made camp in anticipation of seeing the Savior. Would she even make an appearance? From the air, the crowds looked like a mosaic of colors in a beautiful painting. A mass of humanity estimated by the state police at nearly a half of a million, they gathered to worship the new God. The dawning of a new age had begun. Helicopters buzzed above in a hapless attempt to maintain order. In the Era of Regan, only a few short months in existence, there had been no peace, whatsoever. The government had lost the game. She controlled it all.

In the history of mankind, from Alexander to the Internet age, no single person on earth had ever exerted complete control over all of society – a stranglehold on technology, politics and even our very thoughts. People throughout the world were laying down before her. Belton was one of the smaller gatherings. In Egypt, they awaited her presence. In France, they gathered and prayed. Africa, Brazil, Nepal – everywhere they gave up the ghost. Regan had, in a matter of a few weeks, dissolved the concepts of organized religion, state borders and structured government. For the first time, one person transcended every societal identifier, bringing every man, woman and child to their knees. History had always predicted a time such as this: sci-fi stories dreamed about a unified existence exempt from lines of distinction, and for years popular songs had issued the praises of a people undivided. From a scene right out of John Lennon's Imagine, we were now one world. But the brotherhood of man so eloquently piped by Lennon was, in Regan's world, one forced together by fear and confusion – a loss of hope and self-worth. As people gave up the belief in themselves and their strengths, her power grew even more immense. The wrath of God, once relegated to ancient tales and a believer's imagination, was now a reality. We were no longer able to think freely, or even question our actions for fear of actual punishment by death. Regan was everything wrapped up in one: God, politics, spirituality, love, hate, power, weakness and imagination. She was a package wrapped with a bow of charm and sex appeal, yet guided by a childhood trauma-induced psychosis so profound, that it rocked the foundations of humanity. Her power was softening the glue that held the Universe together – and the God of Old was nowhere to be found.

80

Maren showed up just outside of Belton Lake tattered and worn, looking for her best friend Perdita. She no longer disguised herself or worried about using her cell phone. The feds gave up trying to assault Regan in any conventional sense; they had quickly learned that the upper hand was no longer theirs. Force was no longer an issue in their negotiation with the new God, something else would have to be discovered. Maren called her friend from the outskirts of the camps.

"I told you not to come here." Perdita said. "If she knows you're here it will ruin everything."

"She already knows I'm here, and believe me, she can't get any more pissed than she was two days ago."

"You sound like shit. Have you eaten? Have you slept?"

"No and no." Maren said with exhaustion. "Where are you? Meet me out at the south gate to the park. I don't have anywhere to go, and I don't know anyone here."

"Ok, I guess I can do that. But if your mom starts gettin pissed, I'm kickin you to the curb, got it? I'm not going to be smashed like a cockroach, or have my tits torn off, or whatever fucked up things she's been known to do."

"Whatever, Dee, just come get me."

Perdita introduced Maren to the rest of the group she had been camping with, but did not tell them who she actually was. "If they find out you're the Savior's daughter," Perdita warned her friend, "They'll rip you to shreds, for good or bad, accidentally or intentionally."

"It's nice to meet you, Cathy."

Maren took the woman's hand. "Nice to meet you, too."

"I'm Barbara, and this is my husband Hank. This is Honey, my eldest, and Noah, my baby."

"Thanks for taking me in, it's very nice of you." Maren said to the family.

"You must be hungry my dear, you look like you have been on the road for days."

"I have. I've been through a lot in the past couple of weeks."

"Just to get here – to see the Savior? How awesome and dedicated you are to her!" Hank said.

"Oh yea," Maren snarled. "I am soooo dedicated."

Perdita grabbed Maren around the shoulders and gave her a hug. "Yes, Cathy and I go way back. She's the most in love with the Savior of anyone I know."

"Well, I doubt that." Barbara said. "My love for the Savior knows no bounds. I would give my life freely for her – even the lives of my children if she asked me to."

"What the fu...?"

"Well!!" Perdita interrupted her friend. "Let's rustle you up some grub, as we say here in Texas!"

"Sure thing!" Hank said. "Let me get you a plate of beans, darlin. I just made 'em, and they're still hot."

Perdita took Maren aside and scolded her. "What on Jesus' throne are you doing? Quit playing around."

"I can't believe these people." Maren said. "What drugs are they on?"

"It's called fear. They don't want your mother to vaporize them or their family. Keep a lid on it or you'll have to go."

"That crazy bitch was going to sacrifice her kids – and I thought my mom was nuts."

"Well, that's not the first time someone was willing to sacrifice their kids for the love of their Lord. Read your Bible and you'll see that." Perdita replied.

"That's where we all have fallen down."

"Whatever – when did your mom say she would be here?"

"She didn't say anything. She was too busy exploding a bus full of innocent children's guts all over me."

"Yea, we heard about that on the radio. I had no idea you were on that bus. I wondered what all of that dried goop all over your sweater was. Did you get hurt?"

"I felt nothing at all, really. No matter what she does, it doesn't affect me." Maren said.

"Oh, it affects you, just not physically. Maybe she's protecting you. You know, you've really changed since we met."

"Yea, I know. I thought I couldn't take much more before I cracked, but I almost feel as if I have a second wind."

"Food's up! Come eat little ladies." Hank appeared from the camper, and beckoned the girls and his family to all have a seat around the fire pit. "I know it's not much, but..."

"It's perfect." Maren interrupted, touching Hank's hand. "I really appreciate your kindness."

"You know, we've been camped here for two weeks now. My family can't believe how lucky we are that the Savior will come here to see us. Can you imagine?" Tears welled in Hank's eyes. "For thousands of years, God only appeared to a select few. Ever since I was a boy, I thought how incredible that would be – to see God."

"I'm getting breathless just thinking about it!" Barbara beamed. "Isn't this exciting, Cathy?"

Maren looked down at her plate, keeping her feelings hidden as best she could. "I guess I'm more curious than anything else."

Honey, the Collins' daughter, touched Maren on the knee. "You look familiar, Cathy. Have we met before?"

"Who me? You may have seen me on Dancing with the Stars. Ha-ha."

"No, seriously." Honey pressed. "Have you been on the news or something?"

"With that mug?" Perdita laughed. "Actually, she was on one of those starving children infomercials. I mean, look at her eat!"

"I think you look very familiar too." Hank said. "But we're glad you're here with us on this momentous day. Let us pray."

The two girls joined their friends around the fire ring. The Collins family held hands, beckoning the two young women to join them. Maren prayed all right. She prayed for answers that she knew she would never get, to a God that had been effectively replaced. As the numbers of people who believed in Regan grew, the more powerful she would become, her ego being fed by their imagination. As we gave up the belief in ourselves for yet another deity, the responsibilities of men to make their worlds their own became null and void. No longer the masters of our destinies, no longer our brother's keepers, Regan was taking complete control over the fabric of our existence and we were allowing her to do it.

81

Maren wiped the tears from her eyes. The God of Old had been an example of what we could be as a race – an extension of who we honestly were. Maren's mother was the Almighty of Nothing. Regan was pure ego run wild, an infant with a bazooka. It's true – God's power isn't defined by the miracles, but in his ability to love something as small as us.

Regan was a cheap, dime-store imitation – a secondhand God. She propped herself up with her gifts; a crippled, broken shell of a woman who should have turned the miracles of healing upon herself most of all. Now the people were handing her their future, their freedom, and Regan sucked their essence up like a vampire to feed the gaping holes within her soul. Maren picked up Hank's Bible that he set down beside him as he prayed. 'And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

So God created man in her own image, in the image of God created...

"It's the Savior!" shouted Barbara. She violently grabbed Maren's arm and pulled the girl to her feet." Cathy, get up! Rise! It's the Savior!" There was a bustle in the crowd and people began to push each other.

"Here we go..." Perdita mumbled and lit up a cigarette. "This shit's stressing me out."

"Where is she? Where is she?" Hank and his children pushed their way through the crowd to get as close as they could. There was a light bearing down onto the crowd in the distance, perhaps a hundred yards away. Even in the late afternoon Texas sun, the light was bright enough to make Maren squint. She just stood there. Frenzied followers ran past, bumping her in the shoulders, nearly knocking her down – but she held fast to the ground. This display of insanity was just another in a long chain of events that made Maren numb. She felt no hatred, no sadness, no fear – just numb. Perdita stood behind closely with her arms wrapped around her friend's chest, nuzzling her face into Maren's hair. "I have a bad feeling about this."

The light grew more intense. Maren could not make out what was happening, the crowd was going wild. She didn't see her mother anywhere. The masses began chanting something Maren couldn't make out. "What are you going to do?" Perdita asked.

Maren wiped the beads of the Texas heat from her forehead. "I don't even know why I'm here. I had the chance to kill her – and I didn't take it. I just want to see her, the real her. I think I just miss her."

"Maybe we should just go." Perdita said.

"Go where? There's nothing left for us now. Our world is gone; we're castaways in our own reality. How can we ever fit in with this? I know I can't." Maren turned to her friend. "I thought you were scared? I thought you wanted to worship her?"

"I don't feel scared anymore. I feel safe here with you. I think we're going to be ok." Perdita wrapped her arms around Maren tightly and kissed her deeply on the lips. "Watashi wa eien ni anata to issho ni narudeshou..."

"What's that mean?"

"I'll never let you go..."

Maren held her friend in her arms. She had never felt a love like this before. The bond she and Perdita had created reached its most critical juncture. The butterflies ran through Maren's blood as she held her friend so tight. The love for her gave Maren the strength to go on. In the corner of her ears, she heard screaming, barely registering in her mind. The crowd began to shift. She glanced up for just a second as a bright light, the most intense she had ever seen, lit up the sky. The roar of a mighty wind began to rumble the desert floor. The brightness illuminated Perdita's soft, dark face – tiny suns reflected in her lover's beautiful brown eyes. She felt Perdita violently snatched from her embrace.

82

Maren stood in a dark room. It felt as if there were no air to breathe. The atmospheric pressure tightened in on her head like a hyperbolic chamber. Everything had instantly vanished – the crowds, the light, the noise –and Perdita. Transformed so abruptly to this lurid place, her arms were still outstretched before her where just seconds earlier, she had embraced her friend.

"That was a close one. We almost didn't make it."

Maren turned to where her mother's voice was coming from. She squinted into the darkened corners of where ever it was she stood, trying to make anything out. "Mom?"

Regan began to glow ever so gently until she came into view. Her mother was beautiful: her skin radiated a sheen like the finest china, her hair was almost as white as paper with golden strands, her face pulsated with pink and blue iridescence that seemed to breathe on its own like the gills of a jellyfish. Her eyes, however, were still as black as coal.

"What happened? Where are we?" Maren asked.

Regan looked around and sighed. "We're nowhere. Literally – nowhere. This place doesn't exist. We're beyond the world, beyond the universe, beyond all physical matter. I come here to cool off." She looked her daughter in the eyes. "I come here to hide."

"Why are we here? What happened to the crowd?"

"They're gone – they're dead."

Maren's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Yep. Some religious nuts drove up to the crowd in a van and set off a nuclear bomb. Can you believe that? Just to try and kill me. What's wrong with people?"

Maren's head started to spin. What was her mother talking about? "A... a bomb?"

"I grabbed you just in time. And I mean barely in time. Good thing I was there or you would've been toast." Regan looked down at her feet and shuffled them a bit. "I mean, I guess it was my fault you were almost toast. I didn't think you'd show up, but I felt you when I arrived."

"They're all... dead?" Maren whispered.

Regan reached out and touched her daughter on the cheek. "I'm sorry, Maren." She pulled away from her mother's touch. A sinking feeling slammed through Maren's gut nearly doubling her over as she began to weep. She fell to her knees. "That's it." she cried. "It's all over – we're done."

"We've only just started." Regan said.

Maren looked up sharply and hastily wiped the tears from her face. "Why couldn't you stop it!? Why didn't you help!? All those people are dead, and you did nothing!?"

"What's the point? They'll never stop trying to kill each other. They'll never stop trying to kill me. I can't manage the whole human race. These people are fucked up, I've told you that – now look what's happened."

"Bring her back!" Maren jumped up and grabbed her mom by the hair. "Bring Perdita back! Go fucking find her!"

"Stop! Let go of me! I can't do that!"

Regan got a hold of Maren's hands and pushed her away. "This wasn't my fault. I didn't do this to her."

"Where is she!?" Maren screamed.

"I don't know. She's gone – vaporized. I can't help her now."

You could smell the fumes of anger rising from Maren's head. A look of pure hatred wore deep on her face. She wished she had a knife, anything she could use to take this woman out right now. "All those people..." she growled beneath her breath. "Perdita, entire families – dead. They didn't do anything wrong."

She slowly inched towards her mother. Regan backed up, showing her fear.

"This is your fault, all of it. The greatest gift on earth wasted on the likes of you. So you could kill, so you could cheat, so you could slowly torture people like insects."

"I... I was just trying to..."

"Shut the fuck up." Maren demanded. "You're not a God – you're nothing. You have ruined everything."

Maren lifted her hand to her mother and slapped her violently across the face nearly knocking her down. Regan stumbled a bit and then steadied herself. A look of shock wore on her face; her eyes widened, jaw dropping open. She wiped her face with her hand and looked down to see it covered with blood. Her daughter had torn a gash across her cheek with her nails.

Regan held her arms out to her side and bowed her down in the usual fashion just before she let loose her pent up fury. She let out a terrifying scream at the top of her lungs. A shock wave ripped through the darkness of the 'nowhere' area and landed the two women back onto the Texas desert. The skies were swirling like a typhoon and ground dust kicked up enormous, choking dirt-devils that ripped shrubs from their roots. A blast of heat tore through Maren's skin. Regan had taken her back to the aftermath of the bomb blast. Regan stood firm in her fury, the primal scream still on the top of her lungs. Bodies littered the desert by the thousands, lumps of flesh smoldering with the stench of death. A giant crater emptied the Texas floor, debris cast out for miles in every direction. The atmosphere literally sparkled with nuclear heat like glitter falling from the heavens. Maren was able to hold her ground. The intense heat was not harming her. She held her hand above her brow to shield her eyes from the swirling dust storm. She forced her way up to her mother, still at the top of her bellowing, and slapped her hard across the face again.

Regan fell to her knees, head knocked to the side, white blonde hair flying up over her face. Everything fell silent. The storm halted its rage as Regan held her hand to her face in shame. Maren stood above her mother with hands raised, ready to strike her down again. Regan froze in place beneath her on the ground, holding her head in her hands. "Please, stop."

83

Reality became unglued around them; day and night flickered rapidly back and forth. The scenery around them undulated into thousands of different arrangements a minute like a bad movie reel with hundreds of random splices. Regan had been holding the entire universe together in her mind, as she saw fit to do. Maren had knocked her mother for a loop, spilling Regan's sense of reality across the landscape like a bag of jelly beans hitting a wooden floor. In one sense, Regan was a God, holding the entirety of creation together in her mind, and on the other, she was a bitter and dejected little girl slapped silly by her own daughter.

The two were trapped in a silence that seemed like an eternity. Regan finally stood up, still holding her hand to her cheek. Maren eyed her every move with the stance of authority.

"You see?" Regan said. "It's my world – all of it. Reality no longer exists without me. I'm God. I always have been, I just didn't know it until now. These people's lives? They're mine... I own them – all of them. You aren't alive; you aren't dead. You're only what I believe you to be."

Maren knew it was true. Her mother was holding the entire fabric of reality together in her mind. Her power now so vast and incredible, whatever she believed the world to be, the world became. God's creation had finally reached its end – her mother now had complete control. There would be no way to stop her – there would be no way to kill her. Without Regan, the universe would simply cease to exist.

"I own it all. You can't stop me. If I die, I'm taking the universe with me; you, them, everything. They'll have to worship me for eternity because there will be no other choice." Regan wiped the blood from her face and on to her white dress. "You're not immune to my powers like you believe. I chose not to hurt you. While you've spent the last few months trying to find a way to kill me, I've been protecting you."

Maren's gut ached. Her mom could have taken her out at any time. She looked down at her hands, she had stood up to her mother for the first time in her life. She had stood up to the most powerful human being who had ever lived.

"I wish you hadn't brought Auri back to life." Maren said.

Regan was shocked. "Why? How can you say that? Don't you love your sister? I did what a God should have done."

"That's the thing. I love her too much. I don't want her to live in this world – your world. Just like me, she'll be aware of the terrible things you've done even if no one else ever will. I wish she was still dead – I wish I was dead too."

The tears flowed down Regan's face. "I can't believe you'd say that. I love you both. I've done nothing but try and make the world a better place."

The end of the world was at hand. In fact, it had already happened. The end of our world as everyone had known it was over. Only Regan's world existed now. If the only version of reality were your own, would anyone really even still exist? Wouldn't they just be figments of your imagination – like a dream? Maybe we have been a figment of God's imagination all along.

"There was nothing wrong with the world." Maren said. "People don't need fixing, they just need to be loved. You've taken their freedom – the freedom to make their world the way it has to be... for them. It's not your say; it's not your call. It's no one's except ours – each of us."

The entire scene around them flickered uncontrollably. Reality was slowly dissolving away into oblivion. "I don't know how to control it." Regan said. "I can't stay focused, my head hurts."

"Maybe you should learn to let go; just let us all go." Maren whispered. "You can't fix this. Maybe it's our time for the world to end."

"I'm not letting it go. You people can't take care of yourselves. Look at what happened at the gathering today; are you saying that your friends should die like that at the hands of zealots? I'm headed west. I'll rebuild the world into a utopia for all of us. I just need some time to get my head on straight."

Remembering Perdita and the others at the gathering, Maren fell to her knees and cried: "I don't want to live here, without my love. I don't even know where my sister is anymore. I can't reach dad on the phone. I don't even know if he's still alive." Maren sobbed into her hands. "Just kill me, mom – please."

Regan put her hand on her daughter's head. "I'll see you soon." She quickly vanished away into the frenzied sky; clouds swirling, night and day flashing like a discotheque. Maren seriously thought about taking her own life, unable to make sense any longer of her purpose.

She had no idea how to stop her mother. She was afraid of killing her, lest the world simply disappear with her. All of humanity's purpose – all of our destinies – had become unraveled. Her mother's imagination superseded everyone's reality; we had lost all of our connections to each other, untethered from our love, respect and honor. We would bump aimlessly into one another, souls blending in and out without meaning until our entirety dissolved completely away. As soon as her mother realized that she had no real control over creation, the world would quietly end taking everything with it: our history, our memories, our existence. It would be as if we were never here.

84

Over the next few days, Regan moved from town to town trying desperately to glue the pieces of reality back together. She seemed to stabilize some parts of the day, but failed miserably at others. People's lives were scattered in her wake, and they would attempt to do the things they always had – go to work, go shopping. But just a few minutes into it, they would lose their way, wandering aimlessly about without a plan. As past and future confusingly blended in and out, citizens bounced around like toy boats in a hurricane on the open seas. Mankind's sense of time and place vanished as Regan struggled to find meaning in all of the confusion. How did God manage to keep it all together? How much was our decision and how much did He control? Was Maren right? Did mankind even want to be saved? The more lost Regan became in her thoughts, the harder it became to keep the world moving in one direction.

The military still tried to kill her despite never even getting close. Many of the world's leaders took their own lives in frustration, knowing that Armageddon was unraveling on their watch. Families huddled together the world over, turned on their gas stoves and died without a sound – still in embrace. Most people had no idea that anything was happening at all, and went about their lives wandering around in circles. Regan transported herself with no direction, trying to piece together all of the scattered connections; building something here, destroying something there. It was total chaos. Her power tingled throughout her body aching to be set free; she no longer had any idea of the complete picture – that harmonious, well-oiled mechanism called life. She truly felt out of her league.

Maren decided to follow her mother on her quest for answers. With nothing left of her world now to keep her at any one location, the girl still believed that she could make some kind of a difference. Maren thought about time better spent looking for her sister or even reuniting with her dad, but she didn't want to let her mother out of her sight. Over the last week, Maren believed that she had possibly made some kind of breakthrough with Regan. Her mother had shared moments of candidness that she never knew existed. Her mother was a broken, scared child still reeling from a terrible trauma. Could she be made to see things differently? Destroying Regan physically was out of the question. What was left of the world was still held tightly in her mother's frightened mind. The last hope for mankind's salvation lay in Regan's transformation from beast to angel. Was God fully mature in His decisions at first? Or did He learn how to love like the rest of us? Was God really the first creator or did He experience love first hand, by someone who loved him unconditionally?

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I love you more than life itself. My wish is to see you as soon as possible, to hold your hand in mine again." Maren took the silver crucifix that her best friend had given her, wrapped it over her dark hair and laid it upon the dusty ground in the spot where Perdita had last stood. "If I had to do it all again, things would be different. I feel as if I've grown throughout this ordeal. I wish I had been a little older, a little more mature – I could have fixed this."

Maren buried the crucifix in a tiny pile of brown dirt. She wiped the tears from her eyes, reaching out to caress her friend who she imagined standing there for the last time. "I can still feel you there, Dee. I hope you're with your Mom and Dad now, and free from that pain. Enjoy this time with them." Maren looked around at her surroundings and up towards the skies. A million realities tossed about like leaves in the wind cascaded across the horizon. Maren could see them now. Through a rip in space and time that her mother conceived, she witnessed the trillions of strands of energy that tie each one of us together. They wound back to the beginning, to the center of our Universe glowing a halo blue – like electrical wires during a lightning storm. Each strand carried the thoughts and dreams and emotions of each person that had ever existed; affecting each and every one of us simultaneously. Love, pain, beauty, fear – why hadn't she seen this before? It all suddenly seemed so easy...

We are all one, living as one breathing being – inseparable. Just beyond the next moment of reality is this fragile, yet hidden, world. As soft as a baby's first breath, Maren gently pushed open the tear in her veil revealing that world and who she truly was. Love creates all the other moments in our lives that we deem most valuable. It's love that allows us to create our worlds together. No man is an island – God is not an island. God is the focal point that holds all of our realities together. Anger and hate and the Ego that builds the walls to protect us are what drove Regan Roberts to create the world as she saw fit.

She left a song for Perdita written on a tattered piece of notebook paper and placed under a rock on top of a mound of dirt:

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85

"One kills a man, one is an assassin; one kills millions, one is a conqueror; one kills everybody, one is a god" \- Jean Rostand

"Good morning, dear. How are you feeling today?"

"I'm well, thank you."

"Here, I brought you some fresh orange juice. We have a lot to do today; you'll need to get your strength up."

Auri reached out and took the glass. "Thank you so much, Dr. West."

"Sure, dear. I'll be back in a bit to check up on you."

Dr. West scanned her palm to open the secure metal doors that led outside from Auri's room. She met with some other doctors in a conference room adjacent to the girl's quarters. Cameras monitored Auri's every move.

"Progress?" A man in a dark suit asked West.

"We're right on track. She's responding well to the therapies."

"So the formula is working?"

"Absolutely. She has healed completely in every way."

"Good, because we're running out of time."

West looked over some notes in a flip chart, penciling in comments here and there. "For someone who was burned to death, she's recovered quite remarkably. She's a strong little girl."

"What about her mental state?" the dark suited man asked. "Are we able to keep her set along the parameters we discussed? We can't afford for her to slip through the cracks."

"Everything's a go." another doctor in a white lab coat added.

"She has a delicate nature about her, but we are playing it very carefully." West reassured.

The suit looked up at the monitors watching Auri. "Are you sure she hasn't exhibited any of the same powers as her mother?"

"Negative." West said. "We can tell if anything unusual happens in that room. We're recording every second of her life here, every move she makes."

The suit turned towards the doctors and leaned against the conference table. "But how would you really know? She could manipulate us to the point where we could already be dead, and we wouldn't even know it. Are you sure she's even still in that room?"

The doctors looked at each other with a bit of confusion.

"We're using the same technology on the girl that we use to track her mother and her sister. We're alerted when any strange activity is detected. But so far, the girl hasn't shown any type of special gifts like her mother."

"Oh, and what about the other daughter? Why hasn't she been brought in? Are we even tracking her?"

"Of course we are." West replied. "Every time we try and get close, her mother comes to her rescue. Over a thousand good men have been killed trying to apprehend the eldest daughter. She hasn't shown any special powers either, so we letting her go for now. Our concentration is on Auri."

The man collected his papers and tucked them into his briefcase. "Well then, let me know when we're ready. The President wants this situation under control as soon as possible. I'll expect a report by 1300 hours tomorrow."

Dr. West entered Auri's high security 'room' and sat down next to her on the bed. "How was breakfast? To your liking?"

"Yes, ma'am." Auri replied.

West looked down at a paper she held in her hand. "Auri, do you know where your mother is?"

"No, ma'am. I don't."

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes. To protect me from my mother."

"And why do you need protection from her?"

Auri looked down and shuffled her feet. "She is insane and is trying to kill me."

Dr. West placed her hand on Auri's head and caressed her beautiful blonde locks. "You'll be able to leave here very soon, Auri. Would you like that?"

"Yes, ma'am. Very much."

86

Regan arrived in Bishop, California just outside King's Canyon. A large structure in the woods held the members of the Legion of Abishai, the cult responsible for the nuclear attack on the gathering in Belton. The bomb was carefully assembled in a shed in the back of the complex, and transported across the western desert to Texas where the cult vaporized over 30,000 innocent men, woman and children in probably the largest terrorist act in the history of mankind. And for no other reason than to try and kill Regan.

Just for laughs – her own obviously – she disguised herself as a little boy, about twelve years old, begging for food. She knocked on the door of the building.

"Yes? What is it?" a man asked of the boy through the intercom.

"I was hoping to get some food and a place to sleep, sir."

"We're not a fucking hotel, go away."

"But I heard that you help those in need. I was given directions here by a man in town. Please, spare a little food and I'll be on my way."

"Get the fuck out of here. Can't you see there is a national emergency in progress?"

The little boy began to cry. "My... my name is Marcus. I really need help, please. I lied. I want more than food; I want to join your group. The evil woman who thinks she's God killed my family. I have nowhere to go. I want to join your group and help you stop her."

A buzzer went off. The door unlocked. A man with a scruffy beard opened the door slowly, looked around outside, and let the boy in.

The man led the boy to a dining area where other members, about twelve men and women, sat around a large table with papers and markers drawing up plans.

"Everyone, this is.... what did you say your name was again?"

"I told you, Marcus."

"He wants to join our group to help slay the demon. Welcome him."

Another man who looked just like the first one, scruffy beard and all, looked the child over. "We don't need him. Don't answer the door again, Jeremiah. You're going to call attention to us. We don't need that right now! Get him out of here."

"Please sir, can I at least get a bite to eat? I haven't eaten in days."

"We were just about to eat lunch." a young woman said to the second bearded man. "Can he join us?"

"Ok. Eat something quick then get the fuck outta here."

"I'm Mary, little one. This is Gabriel and Jeremiah. Please, take a seat."

Marcus joined the others at the table, and some young women served up beans and hot dogs to the group.

"What you guys working on?" Marcus asked.

"That's none of your business!" the bearded man exclaimed.

"I really wish I could join your group. That woman killed my entire family."

"That's terrible!" Mary said. "How did that happen?"

Marcus took a few more bites and wiped his mouth with a cloth. "We were at a gathering in Texas, and a giant bomb went off. My whole family was burned to death."

The members glanced at each other quietly, trying not to give away their guilt.

"It was horrible. I had left my family behind to go into town for supplies. I rode to a supermarket with another family and on our way back, we witnessed the huge fireball in the sky. I walked around for hours looking for my family. It was the most terrible thing I had ever seen. People were crying, children were holding pieces of their parents in their arms – heads, legs, still smoldering from the heat." Marcus explained. "After a while of searching I found my father's body." Marcus started to cry.

Mary held her hand to her face, red with angst and guilt. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

"His head was missing, but I recognized his clothes." Marcus cried. He was still holding his Bible against his chest, and when I pulled it from him, his hands were flipping me the bird. I thought to myself: God damn... really, Dad? You have to be a dick even after you're dead?"

Jeremiah went for his pistol that he carried in his jacket.

"Uh, uh, uh... I don't think so." Marcus waived his hand. The man cried aloud as he struggled to keep from pointing the firearm on his self, bringing it to rest against forehead. He gave one last desperate shriek for help as his brains decorated the wall behind him.

"Shit! Shit!!" Gabriel screamed. "It's her! It's her!!"

"I can't move! Help me!" Mary cried out.

No one at the table could move an inch. They were frozen in place where they sat. The only thing that still was in motion was their mouths.

"Oh, God! Please don't hurt us!" Gabriel begged. "Let us go, and we'll join you! We'll help you take over the world!"

"I don't need help with that. A couple of more of your bombs should do the trick. Maybe I'll take a few of them with me."

"Please don't hurt the children!" Mary pleaded. "They weren't involved in this. They had no role!"

"I have the perfect job for them, then." Marcus said. "I'd hate for them to be left out."

The members struggled violently to break loose. They thrashed about in their chairs knocking over the drinks on the table. Three of the children, a boy and the two girls that served lunch, suddenly rose to their feet like marionettes on strings. They cried out loud in fear.

Marcus faked a yawn as if he were dying from boredom. The three children screamed for help as they grabbed up large carving knives from the dining room table, and proceeded to walk up behind each person at the table. The children sobbed horribly as they lifted up the heads of their parents by the chin and pulled the blade across their throats. The screaming died down slowly as each member of the group, one-by-one, slumped over onto their plates in a pool of blood. When the children were finished with their grisly deeds, the same blades found a home upon their necks.

All was quiet. Marcus looked around, stretched and yawned again. "Geez... what a mess."

As he exited the building, it burst violently into flames. The entire complex was charred to the ground in a matter of minutes, along with the evidence of his transgression.

87

It was the most total, yet the most gently quiet destruction ever witnessed. It was if whole cities were made of fine sand, and Regan held an enormous electric fan in each hand dissolving them away as she floated past. Buildings, homes, vehicles – men, woman, and children – vanished instantly in her wake. An immense power flowed from her hands creating a silent shock wave that laid waste to everything in her path. Regan was lost in her emotions, strung out on anger. It would be so much easier to level the entire planet to the ground than deal with its problems. Such is the privilege of God.

She walked slowly from town to town, seeing each new city as a nest of roaches to be exterminated. People held fast in their homes waiting for the end to come. Some citizens, suffering from Regan's dismantling of reality, couldn't recall if they had been alive in the first place. As far as complete annihilation goes, it was a quick and calm operation. A bare, cracked earth where life once flourished, not even the vultures had anything to pick at. No one dared try and stop her; no one confronted her, except one. As Regan softly disintegrated half of the town of Provo, a man stood directly in her path, awaiting his end.

"Well, little one. You've been a busy girl lately."

Regan's heart sank to her feet, she couldn't catch her breath.

I don't believe it! She ran to the stranger and held him in her arms, buried her face into his chest and wailed like an infant.

It was Benson Conley, her friend from her parent's commune. He had aged to about seventy, but still had that vibrant twinkle in his eyes. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and led her to a swing on the front porch of his quaint home where they sat for a moment.

"Is it really you?" she asked, touching his face as if she were dreaming.

"Yes, little lady. I've been watching you for a while now, on TV and in the news. You've really made a name yerself."

Regan looked down and swung her feet like a little girl. "Yea, I guess you could say that." she replied coyly. They sat a moment in an awkward silence. Regan really didn't know what to say to him.

"You know, I guess I'm not the one to say, and God knows I don't want to piss you off, but it's horrible what you're doing now."

"They were horrible people. They had it coming."

"Maybe, maybe." Conley said. "But tell me this, little one. Do ya feel better?"

Regan looked around shyly and bit her lip. "Not... really."

"I know you're just defending yourself, and you want to set things right, but you really made a mess of things."

"It's a lot harder than it looks, you know, being God and all." Regan said, reverting back ever so slightly to her soft Virginia accent. "I guess I fucked up a little."

Conley sighed and gave her another kiss on the forehead. "You're not God, but just as special in your own way."

Regan pulled back a bit from his hold. "What's that mean? I'm God. Everyone knows it."

"Actually little one, you're something far more unique than that. Something I've known the entire time I've known you."

"And what's that?" Regan said defiantly.

"You're a woman. A woman like anyone else. You were given the greatest gift of all... your full potential."

"I don't understand."

"We're all Gods little one. We just don't know it yet. But we will, soon enough." Conley stood up and took Regan's hand to help her up as well. "The power you have resides in all of us. You have shown the world what we can be. That's something that God was never able to do. You know, we're so busy worshiping and bowing down to idols, that we've delegated ourselves to obscurity. But not you, boy oh boy, you found the power within you and just went for it."

"But people worship me." Regan whispered like a child.

"Mistaken identity, little one – mistaken identity. That's what people are used to doing. Being a god's too easy. Show them how special they really are, an example of what they can be. That's far more than any god's willing to do."

Regan burst into tears and buried her face in his chest again. "I was just trying to help. I was just trying to make the world a better place."

"The world's just perfect just the way it is because it's ours."

"That's what my daughter Maren said to me."

He smiled at her. "Must run in the family. You know – all those smarts."

Regan looked around a bit confusingly. "I don't know where my daughters have gone. My head hurts -- I'm so frazzled."

"I got a feeling they're not far behind you, little lady. If they're anything like you, they're trying to make things right as well."

Regan held Ben in her arms again. "I love when you call me that. You know, 'little lady.' I've missed you so bad. And no, killing people doesn't make the pain go away. I learned that in the barn that night."

"I know, little one. I know. Sometimes I just want to take people and strangle them, one-by-one. We're only human, and yes, I mean you too. But no matter what happens to us, it was meant to be. Experiencing life makes us who we are, right or wrong. It's the gift we give to each other. It's the ultimate show of love."

"I tried to end the suffering because God doesn't care; he just let the pain go on and on."

"He cares." Benson said. "He cares enough to leave us alone, to make the mistakes that teach us who we really are.

"Do you honestly believe that, Ben?"

Conley took Regan's hand and held it tight. Tears welled in his eyes. "I have to believe it, little one. I have to believe it for Dustin."

Regan looked Ben in the eyes. "Dustin!? Your son? How is he? I remember you saying that you would go back to be with him! You promised me that when I was a kid, remember?"

"I did little one, I did. After the incident on your parent's farm, I realized I couldn't leave him alone. I had to be there for him. My heart ached until I found him again in Texas. I raised him to adulthood, and my life has never been the same. See? You were teaching people by example even way back then."

Regan smiled. "I almost want to start crying! How is he?"

Ben's wrinkled face grimaced a bit, and he looked down so she wouldn't see him cry. "He's gone. He's, uh.... he's in Heaven with his momma." His voice cracked.

Regan pulled herself away. "What? What happened?"

He looked down and put his hand to his forehead. "He was killed in that bomb attack in Belton." Ben started to cry. "He was there to worship you. It was all he could talk about. He waited and waited to see you. He loved you so."

Regan fell to her knees. Her world spun around in her head. She couldn't speak. Ben tried to regain his composure, but had a hard time catching his breath.

What have I done?

"I'm sorry." Regan cried. "I should have stopped the bomb."

"Shhhh... " He wiped his tears from his face. "Any one of us would have made the same mistake. That's why you're so special. You've shown us what we can be. Gods – who make mistakes. I just miss him so bad."

Regan sat down for a minute on the porch step and took a couple of deep breaths. They both reveled in the silence, not saying a word, just tossing pebbles into the road like back in the day.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Regan asked quietly.

"I had my suspicions. People are funny like that."

"I wish I could have seen it coming. The accident, the miracles, all of it. All I can think is that I would have been better prepared."

"No one's truly ready for the responsibilities that get dumped on us. When you look at it, it's surprising at just how great we handle it."

Regan chewed through her thoughts a bit longer. She sighed deeply and learned her head on Ben's shoulder. "She really hurt me, you know."

He leaned his head on top of hers. "I know little one. I know she did."

"I thought I could handle it, you know, learn to accept that things happen and move on. But there was always this fear... I can't put it into words. She took everything from me."

Benson rocked her very gently back and forth, his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"It made me fight. It made me want to fly above everyone else. I didn't do what I did because I was angry; I did it because I was scared." Regan put her hand over her face trying to push the tears back in. "I just wanted to scare them back, you know?"

He held her a little tighter.

"There's been a cloud over my head since I was a girl. I've never been able to outrun the storm." Regan whispered to him.

Ben kissed her on the head. Her haired glowed as white as an angel. "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass," he said. "It's about learning to dance in the rain."

Regan looked up at her friend and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "The storm needs to end, the one that I've created. I realize now what happened to me under the ice."

88

I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain "Move from here to there" and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.

Matthew 17:20

The gathering at Broken Top Mountain in Oregon braved the cold and wind of this natural wilderness. They gathered there in hopes of attracting the Savior to them, unafraid of any attacks by religious zealots or terrorists.

"The Savior would never allow that to happen again." Mary Walker, Oregon housewife stated. "We are the chosen ones. We are showing her that we are not afraid, our faith will never be shaken. And for that, we will be rewarded."

The gathering had no idea where Regan was. They only believed that their collective wishes would bring her forth. News organizations from all over the world gathered near the base of Broken Top, in hopes of not only seeing Regan, but to capture footage of the usual disasters that followed her. Would there be another bombing? Or military strike? What miracles might she perform if she were so inclined to appear there? It was a field day for the media in advance of any of these situations.

Maren had made her way slowly to Oregon to be with the gathering. She knew her mother would track her down and follow her wherever she went, despite the fight that they had back in Texas. She knew her mother genuinely loved her and would always try and protect her. The gathering would make excellent cover for Maren to try and talk some sense to Regan; possibly her mother could be convinced to bring harmony to her vision, the world could be repaired. It wasn't too late to try. In the days since the bombing attack in Texas, Maren could see the desperate realities trying to weld themselves back together, directly affected by her mother's emotional states waning back and forth. These brave men and woman on this Oregon night stood firm in their belief and unconditional faith. This didn't have to be anywhere close to the end of the world – it was the perfect time for a new beginning.

Maren called her father to let him know where she was. Victor had been institutionalized since Auri's death and rebirth. But he had healed and was ready to see his family again.

"I'm here to convince Mom that she can change her ways. I know I'm the only one who can stop her. I know she'll be here." Maren explained to her Dad. "I'll end this madness, I'll find Auri and bring our family home. I'm an adult. It's my responsibility and I know I can do this. Hold on, we'll only be a couple of days, we'll be home in time for Christmas."

Victor blessed her and told her that he loved her like no other. He trusted that she had the power to do anything she set her mind to do.

The authorities in Bend kept a firm, but unassuming posture as the crowds grew to over 100,000 strong, according to the best police estimates. There was literally nothing they could do to stop the influx. Local authorities were left abandoned by the national government as the infrastructure teetered on Regan's whims. Scared and vibrant, confused yet confident, she was singularly the most powerful human that had ever lived. History would be changed and re-told for centuries, idols would be worshiped, and obelisks erected for eons in homage to this once frightened little girl. We as a people, as a culture, were now witness to how legends were made. We missed the rise of Jesus, we missed the reign of Alexander. History taught us of Columbus and Magellan; Noah and Hitler. But this once unassuming mother of two drew more power and influence from her people than all of these figures combined. And it was happening right before our very eyes.

Tents were scattered across the peaks and forest for miles in every direction. Helicopters circled over the area by the dozens hoping for any clue to Regan's whereabouts. People cheered and they drank, they celebrated, and they prayed. They huddled together to stay warm as they sang the praises to their Savior. Maren begged food from tent to tent, but tried to keep a low profile. The chill that ran up and down her spine alerted her that Regan was near. Earlier at a truck stop just outside of Bend, Maren had seen the report of the Legion of Abishai's destruction and knew that her mother was responsible. The reporters never said that directly, but she knew. Maren tried to forgive the incident in her mind, her mother could still be shown the light, or possibly Maren was just numb to the horrors that her mother continually committed. There was no way her mind could possibly digest that much terror and still function. But still, she held out hope.

89

December 20, 2012. It had been just over a month since her mother had claimed she was God and progressed on her path of terror. The entire face of the world had changed since then, and it all had seemed to come down to this lonely and beautiful place – the ultimate showdown of salvation. As the campers took Maren in from the cold, they pointed towards the north at the gorgeous peaks in the distance, the Three Sisters (also known as Faith, Hope and Charity). What an apropos name. It reminded her of Auri, Perdita and herself snuggling from the chill, laughing and playing together back in Avalon Hills. Those moments, Maren thought to herself, may have been the last time she had smiled, but she couldn't be sure. It had been so long, the journey so twisted.

But today she did smile, alone with strangers sipping a steaming cup of hot chocolate. December 20, 2012 – it was Maren's birthday. She was now sixteen years old. Only eight months after her mother's accident, she had aged far more than she ever thought she would. Mankind, especially Maren, would never have thought the last eight months could have been possible. Her eyes were wide open. Besides being another year older, she would be the catalyst for showing the most powerful person in the universe one of its most delicate notions: a frail and modest young girl would teach God how to love. Now that's a concept.

Maren watched the sun set slowly beneath the treetops. She took a walk to the edge of a tall forest, bringing a flashlight with her that she borrowed from a camper. The peace was welcoming, and the silence was deafening in this gentle grove of tall pines. Startled, she spied a figure dressed in a dark jacket and hood sitting quietly on a fallen tree.

"Uh – hello?" she announced pointing the beam of light at the stranger.

The figure did not move nor make a sound.

"Are you ok? Are you lost?"

Maren walked cautiously towards the person and touched them on the shoulder. The stranger slowly pulled her hood down from her head – it was her mother.

"Mom!" Maren cried. "I knew you would show!"

"Of course. These people need me. You need me. Things are going to be different from now on."

"I thought you'd make a more grand entrance than hiding out here in the woods." Maren hugged her mother once more.

"Look, Maren. There isn't much time. I have to try and fix the things I've done wrong. I'll show these people the truth. But before that, I have to tell you something that I've never shared with you."

"I don't understand."

"An incident that happened to me as a child, on my parent's farm. I've been carrying this burden inside of me ever since. It created an anger; a confusion that I couldn't seem to shake. I've been constantly building my armor my entire life." Regan dabbed her eyes. "When I fell through the ice, I felt at peace. I wanted to die that day. I wanted to be free from the pain. One of the last things I remember was saying to myself: Thank God. But when I woke up in the hospital with this power, I thanked God for another reason. He gave me what I really wanted all along – the ability to reach the top where I can't be touched. I believed it was a prayer answered; a gift to punish the wicked and to make the world right. I felt totally justified in everything I've done."

Regan leaned in to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "I know what happened to me under the ice. I've awakened the power that we all possess. I'm not God; I'm a human being – the most powerful thing in the universe. We are the universe. We're the creators, in control of our realities. We can't look outward for power, but only within ourselves."

Maren didn't know what to say, but she knew exactly what her mother had meant. No one single person is more powerful than any other, but sometimes one has the ability to shine the truth for all to see – a lighthouse in the darkness of our fears and confusion.

"Playing God was a mistake. I have to give humanity back their power" Regan continued. "I'm going to perform the greatest miracle ever seen – being the living example of what we all will soon become. That's being God in its truest sense. The world's a mighty big place, I will show people the truth in due course, however, it always starts with just one."

Regan took her daughter's hand and held it tight. The heat from her mother's hand was intense. Maren felt a surge of light flow through her.

"Happy Birthday." Regan whispered.

"What did you do?"

"You are fully awake. You'll know what it is to be truly human. I have given you the gift."

"I... I don't...."

"I have to go." Regan stood up. "We'll be together later tonight. The people are waiting for me. I'll show them the ultimate display of power -- I'll show them what they can be."

"Mom, wait!"

With a quiet flash and a warm whip of wind that flowed through Maren's hair, she was gone.

Maren stood in the complete darkness and cold, alone. She stared down at her hands -- they glowed with just the slightest golden hue. She rubbed her eyes to see if the glow would vanish, but it only became brighter. She held her right hand out, palm up, and a tiny flame rolled itself into a ball. The ball grew larger until it fit her entire palm perfectly. The grove of trees echoed the warm light, an orange glow danced beneath the canopies of pine needles.

Oh my God...

In the distance, near the rugged base of Broken Top, a beam of light appeared. It swirled and undulated and kicked up a soft, warm breeze. The campers emerged from their tents and RV's to see what was going on. "It's her! It's the Savior!" Television cameramen and news reporters ran as fast as they could towards the light. The people pushed and shoved each other violently to get as close as possible. The helicopters overhead circled around the light, keeping their distance in fear of the beam knocking them from the skies.

90

Maren ran as fast as she could towards where her mother was appearing to the crowd. As she got closer to the light, it became more difficult to push her way through the masses. At one point, she couldn't get any closer, being blocked altogether by a wall of spectators. She was close enough, however, to see her mother descending slowly down the light shaft towards the ground. Her body was immersed in golden brilliance and fire. Her hair blew elegantly around her head like the flickering of a candle; her gown was a soft white. She was truly an angel from Heaven.

She came to rest on a small ledge flat just above the spectator's heads, and like a scene from DeMille's The Ten Commandments, rose her arms above her head with flames spewing forth around her. It was quite the show. Regan turned towards the mountain range, back against the massive crowd and waived her arms around her in a swirling motion. A colossal shroud of light beamed from the heavens illuminating the entire mountain range in the distance as far as the eye could see. Regan lowered her hands and put them by her side, bowing her head. The wind tossed her long white hair around with a fury. The ground shook and rumbled beneath the feet of the massive crowd. People bowed down in prayer, some ran fleeing for their lives. Dust billowed up in a tremendous cloud that rose into the skies, the undulation increased its fervor, but Regan was as still as a statue. From Maren's vantage point, she witnessed the most incredible sight – the entire mountain range was moving – twisting itself in an arrangement ninety degrees from where they once stood. The vibration shook the crowd to their knees; some fell flat on their stomachs and put their hands over their heads. They clutched desperately to the grass and soil around them trying to hold on. The noise was literally deafening. The helicopters struggled to maintain position, warbling to and fro from the violent shock waves that pounded through the dense air.

Maren climbed over body after body to get closer to her mother, shielding her face from the wind and debris. People were screaming, some were crying, others were frozen in intense awe. Television cameramen braced themselves against trees to keep from being knocked down from the shaking ground. At that moment, it was the most watched event in the history of modern media. The entire mountain range, the Three Sisters, came to a slow halt and settled into place in their new home. Ten thousand feet tall and millions of years old, Regan moved trillions of tons of earth from one place to the next as effortlessly as blowing out a candle. Her powers of God were – in a word – miraculous.

As the crowd's minds reeled from seeing the greatest miracle of all time, it wasn't over yet. Regan turned toward the crowd and lifted her arms up to the heavens, then looked up with eyes wide open. Maren took this chance to try and regain a foothold to reach a vantage closer to her mother. She literally inched her way up the base of the rugged cliff in an effort to get as close as possible. She heard a collective gasp from the mouths of the people, and in the corner of her mind she could see them looking up into space. Chills ran hard through Maren's muscles, and her stomach dropped to her feet in fear. She didn't want to look, but she held her breath and bared her soul. What she saw knocked that same breath from her lungs.

Every star in the dark of space – all 250,000 or more visible to the naked eye – went supernova. The heavens instantly transformed into a mosaic of glorious beauty unseen by the likes of any creature in the universe. Regan controlled it all, going back to the beginning of time. The entirety of reality created by God and ourselves had transformed with no more of an effort than thinking a single thought. In the immensity of this majestic moment, Maren reveled in how wonderfully silent it was. The death of billions of stars, all at one time, made no sound at all. Gone were the constellations, gone were the galaxies, gone were the trillions of civilizations built around that life-giving warmth. All that remained – a beautiful collage of novae creating a layer of golden-white iridescence like a pile of spilled pearls on a dark floor.

91

No one could say a thing. 100,000 plus souls perfectly silent in their shock, a feat unheard of in the history of man. Regan held firm to her spot on the ledge, bowing her head in respect of the many worlds in the universe that had suddenly and violently succumbed to her will. Maren pressed hard to get as close to her mother as possible. The mass of followers couldn't take their eyes from the skies, the Savior's power had fully manifested in the psyche of her flock. Reporters were in shock; people were crying into their hands, men were lifting their children in praise of the new God. Maren passed one reporter who could barely contain his elation. He was almost speechless. That's incredible news on its own. But he did manage to collect his wits for a moment and blurt out something interesting. The temperature was dropping fast, he was noticeably shaking, but not from the cold.

"I have seen something I could never have thought possible! On this day, the history of mankind has been changed forever. Gathered here at this mountain in Oregon, the world has been taken aback by the most incredible display of miracles performed by one time enemy-number-one of the state, Regan Roberts. She appeared here to... to... forgive me a moment." He wiped the tears from his eyes, his voice cracked.

"She came to show this crowd of thousands, albeit the world, just how powerful she has become, laying no doubt in this humble reporter's mind that Mrs. Roberts is indeed God herself. This is truly a display of biblical proportions, and I know that my life and the lives of many others will never be the same."

Maren bumped into the reporter who had now broken down in tears, as she grappled the rocks and crags to reach her beloved mother. The girl had reached a plateau to rest for just a moment when off in the distance, she saw a large man working his way through the crowd. He was wearing a special military type outfit made up of layers of black cloth, deep hiking boots and a helmet. He held a small girl in his arms that he set on the ground near Regan's perch, and commanded that the crowd pass the child up to the Savior. In the roar of the crowd and dust from the helicopters he quickly disappeared into the night. The small child was wrapped in an overcoat and shroud, holding a teddy bear in her arms. An intense chill ran through Maren's entire body.

It was her sister.

"Oh my God, Auri!!" Maren screamed, but the girl could not hear her. Regan looked down at the crowd passing the small girl hand-over-hand to get her to her mother. The followers began cheering and hollering at the top of their lungs, people were singing and chanting and crying – it was deafening. Maren pushed with all of her might to reach her mother and sister, the crowd now pushing and shoving like a tsunami of bodies out of control.

Regan reached down to the crowd and pulled her baby up to the ledge. She held Auri tight to her chest and cried.

Regan stared into her baby's face, a face just like her own – the image of an angel – and kissed her on the lips.

"I've missed you Auri! We've been looking for you everywhere!"

"I've missed you too, Momma."

Regan fell to her knees. Her mouth fell wide open. "You... you're speaking?" She couldn't believe her ears, and with the roar of the crowd, she almost thought she had imagined it.

Maren was climbing over people to get to her family. Her heart was racing, and the adrenaline pumped hard through her brain.

"Auri! I'm coming! Hold on!"

Regan sobbed like no other time in her life. The greatest of all miracles had indeed happened that night, but it wasn't one that she had performed. For the first time in six years, a mother heard the priceless ring of her child's voice. It was the greatest gift she had ever received.

"I love you, Auri!" Regan lifted her voice to Heaven. "I've always loved you so much. I'm so sorry!"

"You're not God, momma." Auri said into her mother's ear. "You're no different than anyone else."

Regan looked at her daughter in the eyes. "What was that, baby? What do you mean?"

Regan took Auri by the shoulders and hugged her tight, bringing the child close to her body. Then with a look of surprise, Regan held Auri out from her a few inches and looked down at the child's overcoat. Something wasn't right.

Regan ripped Auri's overcoat open with a single yank, exposing the two pounds of dynamite strapped around the child's waist.

Time stopped dead for Maren. Her blood ran from her head. Auri pulled a small, red detonator from her pocket and squeezed the trigger in her tiny palm. Regan looked her daughter in the eyes and gave her a smile. I love you, Auri.

It was over.

Maren was suddenly surrounded by darkness.

92

Maren couldn't breathe.

She was in total darkness immersed in some kind of liquid. She thrashed about violently panicking, looking for any way out. It's like that feeling when a giant wave breaks on you, and you get tossed around and caught in the undertow – suffocating – unable to break free. Kicking your legs in every direction, silently screaming for help, you never know if you'll ever surface. Sometimes you trust yourself, and you end up bobbing up to the surface at the last minute. Often, time itself stands still, and you get your head in order, knowing the end is near.

Maren was in between time and space, trapped in a nothingness. A place where reality doesn't yet exist – just a mere millisecond before we create it. It's the blank canvas of our world that lies just beyond the construct of our imaginations, a void where our minds create our masterpieces ahead of us as we go. Regan had created the universe for her very own. As a people, we set our creative abilities aside to bestow that power onto someone else. Our race simply gave up the ghost, surrendered all of our miraculous intentions, and let a Savior build our world for us. It's no different than what we'd been doing all along – in God, we trust – to create our universe for us. When a car headlight illuminates the area before it, how do we know the area ahead of the light even exists? The next second of our existence isn't actually there until we light it up with our minds. It's in this darkness of the road ahead that Maren now lay trapped.

But God never died. We kept Him alive, thus keeping our universe intact. Regan, however, was just a human being. As we put our faith into her hands, our responsibilities in her pocket, we gave up the essence of who we are. We gave Regan carte blanche to make our world her own – as she saw fit. Now she was gone... and she took the entire universe with her.

Maren silently prayed – she didn't even know to whom. She simply thrashed around like a mouse in a toilet bowl – no up, no down – nothing at all. The liquid of absolute nothing choked the life from her bones. She felt her mind slipping away. This is what it must have been like for my mom.

She was about to give up. She was just about to throw herself away. A light shone very faintly in the distance, far to the deep end of the nothing. She had no other choice than to swim towards the light – a small round hole to the outside world perhaps? As she swam harder and faster, she could feel the darkness pulling on her body. The netherworld was happy – it now had company – it didn't want to let her go. She kicked her arms and legs fiercely, the hole slowly grew larger. She wasn't sure if she would make the distance, but she had to try. In her panic for survival, there was nothing else to think about than the world she had left behind. She thought of her family, she thought of her friends. She imagined the entire planet full of people and all the rich history that defined it. The sadness, the lives lost – the happiness, and the dreams.

The hole grew gradually larger.

She wasn't going to make it. Maren's mind began to black out. Just a few more feet – maybe, just a few more inches – just a few more...

Maren reached the bright opening, a portal to the outside world. A beautiful golden glow delicately reflected on her face – and through the strands of her dark hair – suspended like corn silk in the liquid. What or who was out there? Would she be completely alone?

She reached her dainty hand through the portal of light – it was dry and warm on the other side. She pushed her other hand out and grabbed the sides of the portal and wormed her body through the narrow opening and into the world beyond. She lay naked and wet in a room of the whitest nothingness.

This was her canvas.

The canvas of our universe.

Her mother had given her a birthday gift just an hour earlier, and now it was time to use it. She gently closed her eyes, and started to paint.

And even if only one person still believes...

That's all it truly takes.

93

The snow was finally tapering off a bit. It was nearly a foot and a half deep just below the front steps to the office where Cindy stood, huddling from the bitter cold and smoking her last cigarette of the day. She glanced at her watch, it was 4:58 and she was ready to get out of there. Dr. Woolworth had been with his patient, Ms. Roberts, the entire day. It was very unusual that he would clear an entire day for one patient, but every other appointment had canceled due to the weather.

Maren reached down into her purse, grabbed a tissue to blow her nose. She had teared up a bit in the doctor's office and fanned herself with her hand to dry them up. "Excuse me, doctor. It's been a long time since I've told anyone that story."

"Quite all right, Ms. Roberts. I'm glad you shared. It was a very fascinating tale to say the least."

"Well, I needed to get it off my chest. I appreciate you listening to me."

"That's my job. I find quite a few interesting metaphors in the story such as...." Cecil flipped through his notes, going back a few pages. "The girl with the 'brain cancer' as you called it -- Katie was her name. Cancer. That's a very creative word I've never heard used before. The way you explain it conjures up a vision of mold growing on bread."

"Well, not exactly." Maren said. But then she paused for a moment. "Now that you think about it, that's not a bad analogy."

"Do you believe that's what's happening to you?" Cecil asked.

"I don't understand."

Cecil flipped back to the beginning of his notepad and scribbled down something in pencil. "I'm going to write you a prescription, nothing too strong. Just something to help you focus."

"You don't believe me, do you?" Maren sighed.

Dr. Woolworth looked up from his notes and chewed on the end of his pencil. "It's not that I don't believe you." he explained carefully. "If you believe it then it has some validity."

"Well, that's the funny thing about faith." she said. "You can be the only one who believes, and it still works just fine. It's only the ego that's concerned whether everyone else believes or not."

"Would you say that you feel alone in the world? Or helpless?" Cecil asked.

"Well, I have a tough time getting my groceries up three flights of stairs these days, if that's what you mean."

"Not exactly what I meant." Cecil paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "The whole concept that you talked about earlier -- that a human being could exhibit the powers of God. Would you say that may be a cry for help? That you feel powerless?"

"Quite the opposite, Doctor. We feel powerless when we constantly put our faith in something greater than ourselves." Maren touched on a smile. "But there is nothing greater than us."

"You mentioned your mother had an obsession with a need to be at the top of the totem pole – so she could feel higher, and protected. Do you believe you need to be up there as well? To feel protected?"

"We're all on the top of the totem pole." Maren explained. "We're at the bottom, as well – and we're every face in between."

Dr. Woolworth smiled at his patient. "You're an interesting woman. Can I be candid for a moment, off the record?"

"Of course."

"Stop recording." He commanded to his computer. Cecil took off his glasses and bent over to get closer to Maren. "You realize none of the things in your story ever happened."

"Not that you can recall, at least." she whispered.

"There's no history whatsoever of the events you described. Think about it, Ms. Roberts. Don't you believe the world would have remembered something as important as your mother taking control of the universe?"

"You're right. In this world, it didn't happen. The world is what we make of it. Take today for instance. I woke up having a great day and you woke up having a bad one. It's the same day for us both, right? ... or is it?"

"Why do you believe I was having a bad day, Ms. Roberts?"

"You wear your bad days like a wrinkled suit. You can see it a mile away."

Cecil looked at his watch. "Our time is up, Ms. Roberts. I'll tell Cindy to put you down for the eighth of February. That's in three weeks. Is 10 am good for you again?"

"I won't be back in three weeks."

"Oh?" Cecil looked surprised. "Are you taking leave?"

"You could say that. Finally, I can get some rest. You're ready now – this will be an exciting time for you."

"Ready for what, Ms. Roberts?"

Maren grabbed her purse from the office floor and lifted herself up with a grunt having sat there so long. She bundled herself up into her oversized coat and waived a warm goodbye to Cindy as she passed the receptionist's desk. Like a snow globe, the wind blew the last few flurries of the day's blizzard into the office foyer as Maren opened the door to leave. Maren looked up at the sky above her from the steps of the building and smiled.

It was a great day, indeed.

She walked alone down the Washington sidewalks, the deep snow crunching beneath her feet, until she disappeared from sight.

"What a day, huh?" Cindy asked.

"Yes, it certainly was." Cecil whispered.

"You were with Ms. Roberts a long time. Will she be setting another appointment?"

"No, no... I believe we won't be seeing any more of Ms. Roberts."

"Any big plans for weekend, Dr.C?"

"I think I'll take Marion out tonight – spend some quality time together. We haven't done that in a while."

"You're going out to dinner in this weather?" Cindy was shocked to hear him say that.

"Sure – I'm kind of getting used to it now. Goodnight, Cindy."

"Goodnight, Dr. C. Have a great night with your wife."

He smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. "I think I'll do just that."

Cindy disappeared quickly to her car and headed home. Cecil tidied up his office a bit, tucked away some notes in his file cabinet then turned out the lights. He pulled the furry collar of his nice winter coat up over his ears and gave a shiver as he stepped out onto the front steps of the office building, dropping his car keys as he fumbled with his coat pocket. As he bent down to pick them up, a bright red rose laid next them on the step.

How did a rose get here in a snowstorm like this?

He looked both ways down the street for anyone who could have dropped it there, but no one was in sight. He held it in his hand – it glowed with a soft light and blossomed fully before his eyes.

It is now our time.

