The Diamond Bearers' Destiny Read online

  Duncan and I say goodbye to my parents and begin our run south. We skirt along the east edge of Sebago Lake and then turn south to I-95, where we run parallel to the interstate, heading down to Boston. Once we enter heavier populated areas, we slow down and jog at a normal pace to blend in. Duncan uses his future sight to determine the best pathway through the city.

  As we travel, I think about the story Duncan told me the day before. I’m left with a lot of questions. I wish I had paid better attention when he told my parents his story about the vampires the night we arrived at the cabin. I don’t want to admit I didn’t listened. I figure he didn’t tell my parents about the actual death scene because that might make them wonder if I went through the same kind of thing. Hearing his account makes me think he thought he could save his wife from her involvement in the evil Healer Clan. Yet, he watched her die. I feel sorry for him, and also realize he probably hasn’t retold this story in a very long time . . . if ever. My respect for Duncan has grown immensely.

  We take the Vineyard Haven ferry to the island rather than run across the open water. Duncan can’t foresee a clear path that will allow us to go unnoticed due to the bright sunny day. Running so fast I can run on water is something I never would have believed back in high school. How things change.

  Once the ferry docks, we head south.

  As we walk along the road past the old-style clapboard homes jammed tightly together, Duncan says, “Maetha doesn’t ever use this home for gatherings.”

  “Why do you suppose she would do so now?”

  “I’m not sure. I can only sense a special purpose.”

  I’ll admit I’m tempted to look for the future, but I resist. Maetha’s words of caution still linger in my mind. We continue walking through the streets until we turn up a private drive that climbs a small hill. The home comes into view, surrounded by a beautifully manicured landscape. Maetha’s home is not a huge house by any means and doesn’t scream wealth, apart from its location on several acres of prime real estate with an unobstructed view of the ocean in the distance. I make a mental note of the peaceful feeling I experience while walking up the drive.

  As we approach the front door, Duncan halts abruptly and reaches out his arm to stop me. “Wait, wait . . . something’s . . . unusual here.” He holds his breath while he mentally scans the yard and home for a moment. Then a warm grin spreads across his face. “Unusual indeed. We’re in for a treat.”

  I feel inside my body for any kind of unusual premonition or sensation like Duncan feels, because I can’t read his mind to find out what he senses.

  A housekeeper opens the door after Duncan knocks. She guides us through the well-furnished home. I’m not surprised to see nearly all of the furniture and decorations appear to be antiques—an antique dealer’s dream come true. The housekeeper silently leads us out the double doors and onto the back patio. Lush thick greenery and shrubs flank both sides of the patio, creating a private sitting area with a breathtaking view of the ocean. Four occupied high-back lounge chairs face away from us toward the sea. I feel inside my body for my diamond and then try to feel for any diamonds in the vicinity. Duncan’s diamond naturally surfaces by my side, as does Maetha’s and Merlin’s coming from the two chairs on the left. The occupants of the two remaining chairs are not Diamond Bearers. The one on the far right emanates a strange force—one I’m not familiar with. The other one next to it gives forth a familiar scent of wood and citrus that reminds me of Chris. The memory of his smell causes my heart to pick up its pace.

  The voices coming from the chairs are barely audible from where we are standing until the person sitting in the wood and citrus chair says, “I’ll go get one for you.” Then he stands and begins walking toward us without looking up.

  Chris!

  His eyes meet mine. He inhales sharply and freezes in place, completely shocked. His mouth opens slightly like he is trying to figure out what to say.

  I’m not any less stunned by the sight of him. He’s the last person I thought I’d see here. He’s the last person I want to see right now. I feel as though tears are going to burst from my eyes at any second. My throat muscles constrict, making it impossible to speak.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here, Calli,” Chris finally says. His mind panics: Oh no! Why is she here? How do I even begin to tell her what happened? She won’t believe me.

  Maetha’s voice interrupts our stare-off. “Better grab three, Chris.” She turns to me and says, “Come join us,” motioning for Duncan and me to sit down. I break eye contact with Chris and walk coolly past him. We pull two more chairs and place them perpendicular to the female stranger and sit down with Duncan positioned near the woman.

  Maetha speaks telepathically to me: Calli, you will have the opportunity to learn his side of the story. Just be patient.

  Why didn’t Duncan tell me Chris would be here?

  Because he didn’t know. I didn’t even know until he arrived.

  Yeah, well the last time he arrived unannounced, Neema died!

  I know, but this situation is different. Try to relax, Calli.

  Why is Maetha so calm? I need answers—and what’s up with the strange reverse-magnetic force I feel from the woman to my left?

  I glance over and look her up and down. I try to read her mind or feel inside her body but can’t do either. If she isn’t a Diamond Bearer, I should be able to do both. This woman is definitely a person of powers, but not a power I have come across before. She looks to be in her late forties and is rather plain looking. In fact, she looks like a save-the-earth hippie type who drives an old Volkswagen van covered in peace signs and multiple colors of paint. She has long, straight brown hair and tanned skin, and wears a sleeveless sundress over her thin frame. She wears zero jewelry or makeup and has no discernible scent. Her sandals look like they are a hundred years old and made of all-natural materials, like the ones I can find at Aura’s Organic Clothing shop near my college dorm.

  Chris comes back outside with three tall glasses of ice water. He serves Maetha first, then Duncan, and then me. His proximity to me awakens strong emotions. I need answers! My anger and confusion intensify by the second. His hand shakes as he presents the glass to me, and I am careful not to touch his fingers as I take the glass. I look up into his deep blue eyes and say politely and quietly, “Thank you.”

  His mind says, What can I say to get her to understand?

  Maetha says, “Chris sit down. Calli, you are spot-on with your assessment of our guest.”

  “What?” I half-laugh, half-choke on my response. She read my mind? I guess I haven’t blocked well enough.

  Maetha continues. “She’s a person of powers, although she doesn’t own a VW. Calli, I’d like to introduce you to Crimson.”

  My eyes shoot back over to the woman, who now looks familiar to me. She’s still wearing the same clothing and has the same appearance, but now I recognize her. She is the lady who taught me how to read lips when I lost my hearing in middle school. I remember her as if it was yesterday. JoAnn Jones, or Jo Jo, as she liked to be called.

  “Jo Jo?” I laugh, mainly because I don’t really know how else to respond. Jo Jo is Crimson . . . The Crimson . . . I can’t believe it! She smiles at me, but doesn’t speak. I notice Chris is amazed to realize I recognize Crimson.

  Chapter 2 - Through His Eyes

  Chris exclaims, “She was Jo Jo to me too, Calli! She lived down the street from me when I was a young boy.”

  “She taught me how to read lips when I lost my hearing when I was younger,” I say, almost competitively.

  Merlin speaks to my mind. Calli, Jo Jo has been in all our lives at one time or another before we became Diamond Bearers. She rescued me from the ocean after my ship sank off the coast of France. I sailed with her for three months before she took me home. A few years later I became a Diamond Bearer and met her again.

  Maetha speaks aloud. “Chris’s father has been under surveillance for years now, and by way of association, Chris has be
en watched as well.”

  Crimson sits forward in her chair and crosses a slender leg over the other. She addresses the group in a soft, serious voice. “Time is of the essence. The threat is greater than ever before, and every moment spent here is one less used to resolve the issue. Calli needs to be brought up to speed, and then we need to be on our way.”

  Maetha stands and says, “Yes, I agree. Let’s leave Chris and Calli alone so he can catch her up on current developments.”

  I glance nervously over at Chris. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and wrings his hands while he stares intently at me. If she doesn’t break my neck first. The others wander away, leaving only the sounds of the rustling leaves and chirping birds. I can’t believe she saw the whole thing like Maetha said. She would have seen the ring too. She’ll probably never accept a jewelry box from me, not after seeing what happened to Neema. He rubs his face with his palms and says, “Calli, I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Why did you do it, Chris? How could you do it?” My heart races within my chest and threatens to explode.

  He stands and says firmly, “Come with me.”

  Reluctant at first, I follow him as he walks to a covered swing further away from the house, where it’s more private and secluded. He stops in front of the swing and invites me to sit. I do so, and he sits beside me, but not close enough to touch my leg with his.

  I can’t get the image of Neema being gunned down out of my head. I feel the same feelings of astonishment and disappointment I experienced that day not so long ago. The pain is still raw inside my mind. Images of Chris dancing seductively with Kikee in Alaska flit through my consciousness and fill my mind with jealousy and distrust. I had compartmentalized his actions in my mind, thinking he wasn’t in control of his mind. Now I realize that once he betrayed my trust by killing Neema my suppressed feelings have surfaced with a vengeance.

  Chris waits for me to speak. After several long drawn-out seconds pass, he speaks quietly, “Calli, I give you permission to extract my memories. I won’t resist you. You need to know the truth.” He reaches for my hand.

  The truth? What truth could he possibly tell me that would erase my feelings of betrayal? Fear prickles along my spine. I pull my hand away from his slightly. I’m not ready to forcefully yank out his memories. From what I remember of the events the last time I used the power, I felt like I had performed something wrong and extremely selfish. Justin Macintyre’s mind extraction had happened by accident when he grabbed me in anger, and I wasn’t aware of my actions when I extracted his mind. However, when I used the memory of the Healer, Andrew Stuart, to satisfy my selfish need to see Chris alive, I knew exactly what I was doing. I felt bad afterwards.

  My concerns are lessened by the fact Chris has just given me permission to perform the extraction, but I’m not ready.

  Chris says, “We’ll wait till you’re ready then.”

  “What?” Did I just project my thoughts into his head?

  “We’ll just talk, all right?” He lays his hand back on his lap and stares ahead out to the distant water where a sailboat slowly drifts by. “When you and I had our talk on the airplane after everything went down in Alaska, you told me something that’s been stuck in my head ever since. It’s why I volunteered to go back and work for my dad. You told me you ‘saw a bigger picture’ and that it didn’t include your short existence. Your words hit me hard. You also said you’d seen a vision of our grandchildren. That blew my mind, honestly. Your revelation cleared out all my depression and helped me come back to my senses. The fact that the vision I had been shown about you healing my broken legs actually came true helped me realize we just might still have a future, and I needed to look for the bigger picture you already possessed.”

  Oh, dear. Duncan’s words about misread visions meander through my head. I quickly dismiss them.

  Chris turns his head and looks me straight in the eyes. “Calli, I see the bigger picture now. My world has been chaotic and full of government tests. I was unaware of it, but my mind has been regularly read to interpret what was going on inside my father’s facility. Crimson watched me closely all that time, even playing the part of one of my neighbors while growing up. Like I told you, I thought her name was Jo Jo up until last week, when she told me her real name.”

  He successfully piques my curiosity. “Last week? Before or after Neema—” I can’t finish.

  “Before. This would be a lot easier if you would just take my hand, Calli.”

  I move my hand forward, and he takes hold, interlocking our fingers with a gentle squeeze, then he places his other hand on top. His hands are warm and comforting. I feel his rapid pulse through my fingertips, followed by his emotional energy. His mind blossoms like a stop-motion film of a rose slowly opening every last velvet petal. I close my eyes and let my mind sift through his memories. He had said Crimson was one of his neighbors, so I look for that first.

  I begin to see a pleasant neighborhood with large broadleaf trees lining the road. The limbs stretch across, overlapping in the middle. The homes are older but well maintained. I can smell the flowering bushes nearby and feel the warm breeze on my skin. I’m amazed at the detail I can visualize through this mind-extraction session. However, I sense the distinct difference—the limitations—within Chris’s mind when compared to how I perceive the world with the full power of the Sanguine Diamond.

  A small group of boys toting skateboards surround me. They are laughing. Because Chris knows them by name, I do as well. They are Chris’s same age: eleven.

  A woman I identify as Chris’s mother yells in his direction, “Chris, have you fed Ms. Jones’s fish yet today?”

  “Oh, shoot, no. I’ll go do it right now.” The memory fills my head as if it were my own, as if I am saying the words and experiencing the events first-hand. A wave of concern floods my body as I worry Jo Jo will be upset that I have forgotten about her fish while she is on vacation. I hop on my skateboard and hurry down the sidewalk to Jo Jo’s home. Using the key from the secret plastic rock in her flower garden, I enter through the back door. Once I am inside the house, Jo Jo’s fish greet me by bobbing to the surface in anticipation of their meal.

  Chris’s memory jumps ahead to a date when Jo Jo is home. She’s serving cookies and lemonade at her kitchen table. Jo Jo looks the same as she does today. I feel . . . or should I say Chris feels . . . relaxed in her company. She passes Chris postcards, telling about her recent trip to Greece.

  I wonder in my mind about the events that unfolded when Chris’s running power emerged. A new scene opens up in Chris’s mind. He’s twelve years old. His hand reaches forward to grab his baseball mitt as his body experiences some uneasy sensations.

  I find it extremely interesting to be in Chris’s mind, experiencing his past, feeling what he felt—like the ultimate virtual reality—yet unable to alter his actions or heal his ailments.

  Chris’s stomach flips and rolls with nausea as he slips his fingers inside the stiff leather. He doesn’t want his father to know he’s not feeling well. That would show weakness, and Chris knows his father doesn’t accept weakness. Besides, Saturdays are the best day of the week: the day he and his father play catch. I’m not going to be sick today, Chris thinks in his mind.

  “Got your mitt?” Chris’s father, Stanley Harding, asks. He’s wearing a white tee-shirt and pair of tan military pants tucked into his lace-up boots.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, let’s go.” Stanley opens the door for Chris. “Wait,” he puts his hand in front of Chris to stop him. “Tuck in your shirt. You look sloppy.” Chris takes the mitt off and pushes his blue button-up shirt inside his jeans. Chris stands straight and tall, awaiting his father’s approval. Stanley looks him over, steps aside, and extends his arm toward the door. Chris leads the way to the empty lot beside their home.

  “Why don’t you stand by the sidewalk, Chris? I’ll take the back fence today.”

  “But what if I miss the ball? It might hit a car
or roll down the road.”

  “Then you’d better not miss.”

  Chris’s sick stomach clenches again at that thought. He forces a smile and waits for his father to take his position and throw the ball. The muscles in Chris’s legs begin to shake slightly. He tries to hold still but soon gives up. Instead he shakes one leg at a time, as if he’s limbering up or getting ready for an intense session of catch with his father.

  “You need to remind your mother to get your hair cut soon,” Stanley says as he gently tosses the ball to Chris.

  The ball lands effortlessly in Chris’s mitt. “Okay.” He takes the ball, winds up, and throws it back to his father.

  “Good. Next time follow through with your whole arm and shoulder.” Stanley throws a faster ball back to Chris.

  The slap of leather on leather, and the immediate stop of the ball inside Chris’s mitt, brings a slight jab of pain to his palm. He grasps the ball as an intense wave of nausea flips his stomach. I refuse to be sick! He pulls his arm back, takes a step forward, and launches the ball in his father’s direction, making sure to follow through with his arm and shoulder.

  “Whoa, where did that come from?” His father chuckles as he removes the ball from his mitt after catching it. “I’ve never seen you throw like that before. Do it again.”

  Chris’s mouth begins to water in anticipation of vomiting. He sees his father wind up to throw the ball back to him but is too slow raising his mitt to catch it. The ball deflects off the top and flies sideways, bouncing down the sidewalk. He hears his father let out a sigh and doesn’t wait for the order to go get it. Chris swallows hard and runs after the ball, now two houses down the block. A burst of painful energy electrocutes his legs and he bolts forward at an uncontrollable rate of speed. He passes the rolling baseball, zooms beyond Jo Jo who is trimming her roses in the front yard, and crashes through her next door neighbor’s hedge. Chris rolls a few times and comes to rest on his hands and knees. Shaking uncontrollably, he hurls his breakfast out on to the perfectly trimmed grass.