The Living Blood

  Jessica paced the room, scanning the files and newspaper articles that David and Teferi had already found. She had to look away from photographs of her family on the front page of the Miami Sun-News, which were so overblown that they shocked her, as if they were the faces of an assassinated royal family. She understood why the headlines and photos were so disproportionately large; she had known those writers and editors, and they had probably been reeling. She’d never seen any of them again, not even to say good-bye. Jessica hadn’t even seen that particular story—her mother and Alex had been good about hiding most of the newspapers from her back then—and she’d never had the heart to try to collect them herself. Now that she was glancing at the terrible headlines about Mr. Perfect again, a bilelike taste crept into her mouth. This felt like a macabre homecoming, even in a stranger’s house. She felt her skin go numb. What had Dr. Shepard wanted from her?

  She remembered Moses’s angry insistence that the scientist wasn’t involved in the violence at her clinic, but that poor kid could have been wrong. Dr. Shepard may have saved Moses’s life, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t hired the gunmen in the first place and then panicked when the armed theft got out of control. The zealous researcher hardly fit the profile of a man who would orchestrate that kind of ambush, but how could she be sure? The other alternative was that he’d been there only by coincidence, and that kind of coincidence was almost too hard to believe.

  Jessica examined the plaques and framed commendations on Dr. Shepard’s wood-plank wall—the Lasker Prize, National Medical Association Special Commendation, Alternative Healing Consortium’s Lifetime Achievement Award. She noticed a photograph of a lanky, fair-skinned black man smiling and towering above Bill Clinton, probably taken at some kind of political function, and another of the same man with a half-grown beard and filthy tropical clothes, surrounded by people who looked like South American Indians. No signs of cruelty or madness.

  Next, she noticed a framed eight-by-ten photograph of the same man with his arm around a dark-haired white woman whose smile was wan and distracted. Between them was a boy who looked about six. The family was standing under the trees in front of their house, where Jessica and Teferi had stood a moment before. She removed the photograph from its small hook on the wall and held it, studying it. The boy’s face, full of childlike innocence, reminded her of Kira. In her Internet search, she’d read that Dr. Shepard’s wife had died—was it true that his son was dying now, too? If so, maybe that was all the evidence of madness she needed.

  Jessica found a matching dining-table chair and sat in front of the prisoner, still holding the photograph. She leaned forward to stare into his eyes. He was breathing evenly, in heavy, deliberate breaths. “Sir . . . I know you’re frightened, and I’m sorry for all of this. I promise, we are not going to harm you.”

  As if to dispute that, the man’s eyes shifted quickly to Teferi.

  “I’m sorry if you were handled roughly. They didn’t like your gun.”

  The man remained silent. He didn’t look comforted, but what could she expect? “I know Dr. Lucas Shepard is your friend, and he went to Africa. Did he tell you why?”

  No response, except that the man’s eyes seemed to clear slightly as he listened.

  “I had a clinic in Botswana for sick children. Dr. Shepard heard about me, and he came a long way to find the clinic. He wanted to save his son. Is that right so far?”

  Bright-eyed, the man nodded nearly imperceptibly, as if it were against his will.

  “Well, something happened while he was there, sir. I was away, and only my sister and my nurse were present. There was some violence, and people died. Now, my sister is gone. And we can’t find Dr. Shepard either.”

  The man was trembling slightly now, although he was taking great pains to hide it.

  Jessica pressed on, keeping her tone as unthreatening as she could despite the sudden anger she felt. “I think my sister refused to give Dr. Shepard the medicine he was looking for. And I think maybe he got desperate, that he decided to take it by force.”

  “That’s bullshit,” the man said, speaking for the first time in Jessica’s presence. She heard his thick Southern twang.

  “How do you know that, sir?”

  “Because I know him, and that’s not like him,” the man said in a strained voice. “He’s been saving folks his whole life. Why the hell would he start killing people now? He wouldn’t do that even for his son.”

  “Then what do you think happened, sir?”

  The man’s eyes went steely. “Don’t use that ‘sir’ crap on me. I don’t think you know who you’re fucking with, lady. I work for the goddamned governor. This is breaking and entering, assault and unlawful imprisonment. If you’re smart, you march out of here right now and let me holler until somebody comes in here to let me go. Then you better get away from here fast.”

  “When’s the last time you heard from Dr. Shepard?” Jessica asked, ignoring his threat despite her quickly pounding heart.

  Cal pursed his lips tight, still glaring. Epithets were in his eyes.

  “Three days ago,” Teferi answered suddenly, with ease. “Dr. Shepard missed a scheduled call. You waited until dawn to hear from him. He never telephoned.”

  Now, Cal’s eyes moved to Teferi. The loathing had transformed into something else.

  “Is that true, Cal? Has it been three days?” Jessica asked.

  Cal didn’t answer, but she could see the truth in his face. He’d last heard from Dr. Shepard three days ago. The time of the clinic attack.

  Suddenly, Jessica felt as if she were floating into oblivion. She’d needed Dr. Shepard to be involved, she realized. If he wasn’t, then there were no other leads. Her all-encompassing ignorance felt so crushing that she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  “Who the hell are you?” Cal said, the bravado stripped from his voice. His shoulders sagged slightly, making him look more like an ordinary middle-aged man with a beer belly, and one who was frightened. “What’s happened to Lucas?”

  Jessica blinked, keeping any disappointed tears at bay. “I want to know what happened as much as you do, probably more,” she said, leaning closer to Cal. “Can you think of anyone who might have followed Dr. Shepard to Africa? Anyone he could have met there?”

  But Cal was in no mood for helpful conversation. His eyes were back on Teferi. “You son of a bitch. How do you know when Lucas was supposed to call?”

  “A black telephone,” Teferi said dreamily, before Jessica could decide what they should say next. “You waited beside a black telephone until you fell asleep.”

  At that, Cal began bucking furiously in his chair, yanking at his binds. The chair jumped, whining sharply against the bare floor.

  “Stop it,” Jessica said. “That’s not going to do you any good, Cal. I told you, we’re not here to hurt you. We just need to find out what happened.”

  It took Cal another minute to decide to give up his fight: the tape wasn’t budging, thank goodness, and he was stuck. By now, he was breathing hard, his chest heaving. “You’ve been doing surveillance on me! What the hell is this about?”

  Teferi looked as if he was about to speak, but Jessica held up her hand to cut him off. Teferi was too careless with his words, and she didn’t want to frighten this man any more than necessary. But what should they do now? Then, Jessica remembered the photograph in her hands. “Where’s his son? Is he still alive?” Jessica asked softly.

  This time, the man didn’t even look at her. Jessica sighed heavily. She raised the photograph to his face, and Cal looked away as if it had scorched him.

  “Cal, Lucas went all the way to Botswana to get some medicine from me for this boy. And it might have . . .” She paused, girding herself, because she was talking about Alex now, too. “It might have cost him his life. But if this child is still alive, and if he still needs help, then I can help him. Do you understand?”

  Maybe it was a long shot, she thought, but the boy might know something. The leads
were thinning out, but at least the son was left. She hoped so, anyway. This kid might be the only one who had any clues about what had happened to her sister. When Cal refused to answer her, Jessica looked up at Teferi. “Is he still alive?”

  Teferi squinted slightly, concentrating. “I . . . think so. But not long. There are machines maintaining his organs. He’s worried the child will be dead by the time Dr. Shepard returns.”

  Cal’s features seemed to flatten out. “Jesus Christ, he’s just a boy,” Cal said, a whispered plea. “Leave Jared out of this.”

  Jay-Red.

  “His name is Jared?” Jessica said, her heart thudding.

  “Yes,” Teferi said.

  The same name Fana had been murmuring in her sleep! Fana might not know how to explain it to her, but that had to mean something, Jessica thought. She was about to reach into her purse for her cell phone when she remembered that David was at the hotel, and he would not approve of her trying to use Fana as a bloodhound. He was already angry that Fana had been brought on the search at all. And maybe he was right, she thought; the toll on Fana so far was obvious.

  She would have to use Cal, then.

  “Cal . . . whatever you’re afraid is happening is wrong,” she said in the same soothing tone, trying to keep his frantic eyes focused on her. “Dr. Shepard tried to find me because I can do things other doctors can’t. He knew I could help his son. But I need your help to do that.”

  Cal’s lips were quivering. He just didn’t know what to make of them, Jessica realized. She would have to give him information she knew David would not approve of.

  “Tread carefully here, Jessica,” Teferi said, knowing. “Remember the Covenant.”

  “I was never bound by that, Teferi, and I doubt you are either. Not anymore,” Jessica reminded him sharply, glancing at him. Teferi looked hesitant, but had no answer for that.

  Jessica turned her attention back to Cal, whose eyes had been following their exchange. “Your friend Dr. Shepard believes in the unexplainable,” Jessica told him. “And since you know him so well, I hope you believed in his work. I hope you believed in his calling. Because he’s right, Cal—there are powers that can be used to heal. He was right to look for me.”

  “Oh, lemme tell you, lady—you’re good,” Cal taunted. “Now I know why Lucas went scurrying over there after you. You prey on the hopeless, that’s more like it. You and all the other magic-wand-twirling bullshit artists out there getting rich off the sick and dying. Fuck you.”

  Jessica was irritated, but she didn’t allow her face or voice to change. “If I can do something here tonight that you cannot explain—something that can only be explained by pure magic—I want you to trust me, Cal. I want you to believe that I have it within me to save your friend’s son. I want you to do what you know your friend would want you to do if he were here. Let me help his child.”

  It was smoke and mirrors, of course. Even if she wanted to show him her blood, the only proof of its potency would be to injure herself, or Teferi, and that would take hours to heal. So, all they really had to rely on was Teferi’s limited mind-reading skills, which had nothing to do with healing. And they would have to dazzle Cal with knowledge they couldn’t have gotten any other way, or the whole thing would backfire.

  God, please let this work, Jessica thought.

  “Think of a number between one and one hundred,” she instructed Cal carefully.

  Cal only glared. When Jessica glanced at Teferi, he shrugged, shaking his head.

  Damn! Suddenly, Jessica was nervous. What if they couldn’t do this? What if the search really had to end here, if she just had to accept that Alex was gone?

  “Cal,” she said after a deep breath, “you have to at least try.”

  Cal suddenly renewed his efforts to loosen the tape around his wrists. His arm’s muscles bulged as he strained, and Jessica wondered what they would do if he did escape. Would they be forced to hurt him, or would they have to let him go?

  “What’s he thinking now?” she asked Teferi.

  “It’s . . . a bit cloudy, I’m sorry. He . . . wishes his back hadn’t been turned. He wants his gun. He’s sorry he gave Lucas . . . the Atlantic. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Atlantic Monthly. It’s a magazine,” Jessica said, encouraged. Yes! They must have found the same sketchy magazine article that had brought David to her in South Africa two years ago. Maybe Dr. Shepard had tracked her down that way, through the South African authorities, and only connected her to the Mr. Perfect murders later. That made sense.

  Sure enough, Cal’s struggles ceased suddenly. He glanced at Teferi askance.

  “Go on, Teferi,” Jessica said. “What else?”

  “Nee-ta warned him not to give it to Lucas. She said it would cause him hardship. He wishes he’d listened to her. He misses her.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Cal roared, trying to leap up. “How do you know that?”

  “More, Teferi,” Jessica said.

  Teferi closed his eyes, his face knit in concentration. “I’m sorry, Jessica, there’s so much . . . it’s hard to find one thing. I see . . . images. A bottle of beer, spilled over. I see a child’s crib, built of wood. A baby is coming soon.”

  Now, tears were streaming down Cal’s face. “You bastard,” he whispered.

  “We haven’t been spying on you,” Jessica explained. “He knows your thoughts, Cal. He can see the images in your mind. He knows what you feel. That’s only a small part of what we can do. We can also heal.”

  Teferi spoke suddenly: “You’re remembering Jared’s dreams. Jared was having terrible dreams about . . . his father. And the dreams worried you, because you’d had dreams like that once, too. About . . . Hank. You dreamed about your brother. You waited by a black telephone for Lucas to call. You waited all night, but you knew he wouldn’t call, because that was what Jared had dreamed.” Teferi began to speak more rapidly, as if he had tapped into a strong stream. “Your dreams about Hank were prophetic, too. The man who came to your mother’s house was wearing a green raincoat, as you’d seen it in your dream. He was from the army. He brought the news. Your mother tripped over the doorstop when she ran outside in the rain—”

  “Stop it,” Cal said, and this time a sob nearly strangled his words. His face was wrenched in disbelief, drained of color. Jessica had never seen anyone look so white. “You can’t . . . know those things. I’d forgotten that raincoat . . .”

  “We’re not trying to hurt you, Cal,” Jessica said. “We’re only trying to help you believe in the same power your friend believes in. It’s real. We’re trying to prove to you that we can save Dr. Shepard’s son.”

  “It frightens you,” Teferi said to Cal. “You do believe. That’s why you gave Lucas the magazine. But believing frightens you. You had an encounter at your friend’s house, in a . . . sweat lodge? When his wife was sick. You felt it touch you there.”

  “That wasn’t healing I felt,” Cal said, entranced, his voice gravelly. He couldn’t control the trembling of his jaw. “That was something else. I knew it wouldn’t let her get better. I knew Rachel would . . .”

  He stopped suddenly, and Jessica could nearly see the shift under way in his mind, locking into place. His jaw’s trembling became less pronounced and his eyes grew dewy, calm. “All right,” he said, sounding more in control of himself than he had since she’d arrived, as if he’d made an important decision. “We’ll do that number thing, like you said.” Cal stared straight at Teferi. “You tell me what number I’m thinking of right now.”

  Please don’t screw this up, Teferi, Jessica thought, forgetting again that he could overhear. Teferi cast her a wounded look, then gazed back at Cal. “One hundred seventy. That was your wife’s weight the last time she visited her doctor. She was most distraught.”

  Cal’s eyes widened slightly. “Again,” he said, whispering. “What number now?”

  “Thirteen,” Teferi said quickly. “Dan . . . Marino? He wore that number as an . . . athlete. A
quarter . . . back?” Teferi scowled, confused.

  Cal gave an involuntary start, his knuckles tightening against the armrest. “Sweet, holy Jesus,” he whispered, staring up at Teferi with newfound wonder. “I’ll be goddamned . . . Jesus H. Christ.” He bucked again, his muscles tightening.

  “Let us help Jared, Cal,” Jessica said softly, trying to reel him back from his stupor. “Please.”

  It worked. Cal’s head whipped toward Jessica. “Jared’s in a coma, on life support. Can you really help him, even that far gone?” he whispered. His face was expectant, the way Fana’s might be.

  Jessica put her hand on Cal’s knee, as tenderly as she knew how. “Yes, I’m pretty sure I can help Jared.” Jessica felt her eyes misting. Could this really bring her closer to Alex? God, she hoped so. But even if not, it was the right thing to do. “But I need you, Cal. Can you take us to the hospital tonight and get us into Jared’s room? We don’t want to be seen.”

  For the first time, Jessica saw something like mirth spark in the shaken man’s eyes. “Are you kidding? I told you, I work for the governor.”

  Jessica smiled, giving his knee a squeeze.

  43

  Mommy and Daddy were arguing. Daddy thought she was sleeping and didn’t know, but Fana always knew things people didn’t think she did. They were talking on the telephone. Fana had awakened when the telephone rang, even though Daddy picked it up right away. It was Mommy! She knew that. Daddy listened for a long time, and that was when the arguing began. Daddy’s voice was low and soft, but he was mad.

  “You seem to have no idea of the risk involved. What if you’re detained?” Daddy said.

  Mommy was going to help Jay-Red! She was telling Daddy she was on her way to the hospital with a man who was going to help them make Jay-Red better. Why should Daddy be mad about that? She wished she could go, too. Jay-Red was her friend, after all. Well, maybe he wasn’t a friend for true-true, like Moses would say, but she felt like she had known him a long time. No, that wasn’t it—she had only seen him once or twice, in the not-real place—but she would know him a long time after. She would know him many, many years, she thought. She would see him grow up to be a man.