Chapter 20: Renunciation
The next day was all about dressing changes and prescriptions. Cain was there for every moment of visiting time and I don’t think he went far when they closed the ward outside of those hours. In the afternoon he got a text message from Owen asking us to come see them at Gaunt House when I was out of hospital. Cain looked worried as he read it aloud to me.
“What do you think he wants?” I asked.
He didn’t reply for a moment, reading the text message over to himself again. “I’m not sure,” he said at length. “But I don’t know if I trust them, Francesca.”
That threw me. “You don’t trust them now? Why not? What do you think they might do?”
“They’ve been trying to convince me to abandon you and to find another place to meet so you can’t find me.”
I bristled. “I’m the one who’s been trying to get you to do what’s right. I told you to leave me. And they’re worried I’ll try to find you?” I hmphed for emphasis and Cain smiled.
“I am doing what’s right,” he reminded me. “But they’re afraid. They’re worried my visions won’t come back. I’ve told them I’m sure we’ll be back at full power before we know it, but ... they’re not cool with it.”
I didn’t need more guilt trips―from Owen or anyone else―but maybe he had something important to say. “I suppose we’d better find out what they want.”
“You’re not well enough yet.”
“The problem won’t go away if we ignore it. Or delay it.”
“Then I’ll go,” he said. “Alone. I’ll tell you what they want.”
“No. Reply to Owen. Tell him we’ll come next week. What can they do to me, Cain? Bump me off?” Cain’s face blanked and I stared at him in astonishment. “That’s honestly what you think? That they would dispose of me to get you to do what they want?”
“No,” he said, but I could see it was close enough to what he thought.
“That’s insane,” I declared. “Maybe Nadine would be up for that but Owen wouldn’t allow it. Liz wouldn’t allow it. Jude wouldn’t allow it! He’s known me since I was in kindergarten.” I trailed off as I remembered Jude coming to Uncle Max’s and trying to physically drag me away so I could help them find Cain. How far were they willing to go to look after their own? “Okay, if that’s really what you think, tell Owen he can come see me in here. He’s hardly going to murder me in a hospital full of witnesses.”
I won. Cain replied to Owen, who turned up early in the evening with a fruit basket, of all things. Cain murmured to me to shout out if I needed anything and gave Owen a cautionary glance before leaving the room to sit in the hallway, still in my line of sight.
Owen drew the armchair up to my bedside. “I need to talk to you, Frankie.”
“Go on.” I awaited the exhortations I’d just stopped making to myself.
“Jude and Nadine have been talking about your saints idea. It got them thinking you could be right. Nadine was skeptical but scared. Jude just thinks you’re too smart to be wrong. I looked into it, and I’ve got to say, the idea of saints was a great lead in terms of research. I found a lot more information by searching on ‘saints’ than I had by searching on our abilities alone. There’s plenty online about saints who shared the kinds of gifts we have. I was more surprised than anyone, but your idea sort of resonates.”
I didn’t know what I’d expected to hear from Owen but it wasn’t this.
He scratched his chin. “People have been interpreting anyone with this kind of ability as ‘saints’ for a long time now. I even read your dad’s book. It’s quite well-researched,” he remarked, not looking at my face, “but I was more interested in academic work on the topic of saints and their holy gifts. There’s plenty of it. The most informative reads, for me, were the ones that focused on the cross-cultural and cross-religion parallels. I found a reference to one particular book that I wanted to look at, written in the 1960s, but it’s sitting in a university library in Switzerland, which is a long way to go just to read a book.”
Was Owen trying to bamboozle me with information? Maybe he thought he could build up a strong case for chucking me out of the group if he talked about all this stuff. All it did was confuse me. He kept talking.
“It so happens I’ve been hanging around some online forums on mysticism and clairvoyance. There’s plenty of hokey rubbish said on these forums, but also some people seriously trying to understand their extrasensory abilities. I posted a question about the book and I got a reply. There’s a guy in Canada who’s actually been to that library and seen the book. He seemed to know something about people with our kinds of abilities. I asked him a few questions and we took the conversation private. He eventually came right out and asked me if I had psychic abilities. I said I believed I did. I figured there was no harm in saying so since so many people across the world claim to have clairvoyant talents. But this guy, Léon is his name, seemed to really get what I was talking about. Eventually he admitted he also has abilities, and friends who share them. Their gifts seem a little different to ours but there are similarities, right down to the gift being switched on by a life-changing event. And even better, Léon had scanned a copy of the book I wanted from Switzerland. He emailed it to me and I’ve read it. It’s mostly the author spouting off about the purpose psychic abilities serve in the grand scheme.” Owen paused, a frown crossing his face briefly.
“So?”
“The author, Serge Theraud, was a self-styled mystical guru with quite a following in Europe. He had some weird beliefs but he seemed to know something about people with gifts. Gifts associated with, well, holy people, I suppose you’d say, but for want of a simpler term, saints. He encountered a group in Argentina on his travels as a young man. This group of people saw scenes from the future and used their abilities to rescue people they deemed worthy. They considered themselves guardians of the deserving. In his book Serge doubted their claims of divinity because he thought they were playing God, not doing God’s work. You know? Because they judged whether people deserved saving or not. There was one woman in their group―a Polish Jew―who’d taken refuge in Argentina during the war. She told Serge she was a Holocaust survivor and she knew people with those gifts were not godly or divine because she’d seen the very same gifts used for malevolent purposes. She’d known a Nazi commander who had the ability to sense others’ emotions and motivations. Fear, panic, secrecy, rebellion ... you name it. He used his ability to find hidden Jews and detect sympathizers to the Jewish cause. There was nothing saintly about him.”
I stared, aghast. But Owen had more. “Serge even found a history of a group in the time of the French Revolution that used its abilities to loot aristocratic homes during raids on the nobles. His book was basically about how these abilities could be exploited for selfish gain. Unfortunately, Serge was also kind of nutso. He thought we needed to capture all psychics and keep them in a safe environment so they would have nothing to want for. He thought if the psychics were kept safe and comfortable they would have no need to exploit anyone with their powers. Then they could use their powers for the good of humankind. Interesting theory, I guess―kind of a communist mysticism.”
I shook my head slowly. “Are you saying saints ... guardians, psychics, whatever, can be corrupted?” Owen nodded. “And I guess you now want me to do the right thing and save Cain from corruption by not being his selfish desire, right?” I looked down, gripping the hospital bedsheet. “You know, you really should be telling this stuff to Cain. I’ve tried to leave him over and over but he insists he knows what he’s doing.”
Now Owen shook his head. “Up until yesterday, I thought it would be better if we separated you from Cain. From us. But now I’ve read the book I’ve realized that’s the wrong way to look at it. I’m not asking anything like that of you, Frankie.”
“Well, what the hell are you asking?”
“Frankie.” Owen waited until I looked him in the face. “My point is that your saints are fallible. Cai
n is not a saint. We aren’t saints. We are mortal, imperfect humans with extraordinary abilities, and how we decide to use them is up to us. We can use them to help people or help ourselves. Maybe there are things you’re seeing that make you believe we’re messengers of your Catholic God but that’s just how you see it. You’re seeing it all through the lens of your upbringing ... and causing yourself unnecessary pain.”
I pressed my open palm to my temple. “But I need to understand it! It scares me. I have to know what it means!”
“We all want to know,” he said, his face earnest. “I guess it’s going to take time for us to understand. But this information has been a breakthrough for us and I have new breakthroughs every time I do more research. As recently as this morning I found information on another group like ours in India. I still don’t know where you fit into the picture but, I have to say, it’s pretty convenient that you’re so good at deciphering our visions, don’t you think? Almost a little too neat? When you were involved, the process of decoding the visions was faster and more complete than ever before. I think you’ve got your own purpose to contribute.”
I was frightened to hear this but in some deep, inner realm I felt a surge of delight.
“Maybe you’re in transition, too,” he mused. “Cain says he didn’t see your face in his vision but I wonder if that necessarily means you’re not part of us. You’re like a keystone in a Roman arch for us, the one element that makes everything stay in place and holds the structure together.”
I had a sensation growing inside me so quickly that I would soon be in danger of bursting with joy and hope. For the first time there was a real possibility I was not dangerous to the man I loved and, what’s more, I might be necessary to a shared higher purpose. Maybe I wasn’t messing about with things that could get me and Cain damned to Hell after all. A crushing weight lifted off me, like a demon sitting on my chest had tired of his game and flapped off to hassle some other unsuspecting devout.
Without much more conversation Owen left. He knew I probably had things to discuss with Cain. It turned out we didn’t. One look at my face and Cain knew I was finally at peace with us. He snatched me into his arms, forgetting my poor shoulder, and squeezed me fiercely until I squeaked with pain. Then he apologized, tucking pillows beneath my arm. I felt drunk on sheer, exquisite happiness as I watched him fuss about me. This truly was, and always would be, the deepest, most inevitable love of my life―and there would be no more hiding from it.