TEN

“PLEASE, HAVE A SEAT.” DR. BRADFORD STOOD, SPORTING A DESIGNER SUIT WITH HIS TARNISHED SHACKLE. HE PULLED A CHAIR OUT FOR RAY ANNE, AND SHE STARED AT ME LIKE SHE’D SEEN A GHOST. I DIDN’T BLAME HER. THIS MAN’S SON HAD SHOT AND NEARLY KILLED HER. SENTENCED HER TO INFERTILITY.

No wonder my mom had hoped I’d leave Ray at home. I wished she’d said something, but shocker, she chose to be inconsiderate.

Ray Anne sat, but I still stood there, trying to come to grips with how my mother was in the same room with this man —an evil fake with a major affinity for the satanic world.

“What are you doing here?” I sounded disgusted because I was.

Dr. Bradford gave my mother an affectionate look that made my skin crawl.

“I asked him to be here,” she said.

I looked between Mom and him and scowled. “Aren’t you a married man?”

My mother waved her hands, nearly knocking over her glass of water. “He’s my doctor, Owen —nothing more.”

Dr. Bradford nodded in agreement, but the way he looked at her seemed to contradict that. It was a glance that I would have called charming and tender if it had come from anyone else. “I’m here professionally, Owen, to help facilitate a sensitive conversation. But if you must know . . .” He cleared his throat, gazing down from behind his chair into the empty seat. “My wife has left me. Dan’s actions have put an immense strain on our marriage.” He turned to my girlfriend. “Ray Anne, I’m so very sorry for what Dan has put you through.”

“Don’t talk to her.” I wasn’t a kid anymore and felt no obligation to show respect to undeserving adults.

“Son . . .” My mom pleaded with her eyes for me to go along with this. How naive could she be?

“Your parents were his beloved mentors, Mom. You know —the ones who abused you?” I still hadn’t told her I knew she’d been raised in the occult, but Bradford’s close relationship with my grandparents should have clued her in that she needed to keep her distance from this man.

Dr. Bradford had the nerve to walk over and grip my shoulder. “Owen, your mother and I knew you’d have reservations. It’s okay —have a seat and let’s talk.”

I knocked his hand off. He’d manhandled his son, but I wasn’t going to let him touch me.

“Owen!” My mother was barely strong enough to put her fists on the table.

“It’s okay, Susan.” Calm and confident, Dr. Bradford strode back to his chair beside her. “Don’t allow him to upset you.”

Me?

He smiled serenely at me. “Owen, you should know, I’m not the man I used to be.”

I huffed. “That’s the exact line Dan used to feed Jess.”

Bradford sighed and lowered his chin like an innocent, misunderstood child. My mom placed her frail hand on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “I doubt I’d be alive right now if it weren’t for Brody.”

I didn’t want to know Dr. Bradford on a first-name basis.

“Your mother is extremely ill,” he said. I’d already figured that out, but it was still hard to hear him officially say it. “Sit down, and we’ll explain.”

I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, much less seated at his table, but I needed to hear this. I sat, but my legs stayed tense.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Dr. Bradford said. “I’m sorry to tell you, your mother has cirrhosis of the liver, a chronic condition where the tissue —”

“I know what it is.” I also knew it was deadly. All my life, I’d feared Mom might suffer something like this.

I wasn’t willing to ignore the obvious. “So, I guess being an alcoholic has taken its toll, Mom.”

Ray Anne kicked me in the shin under the table.

Dr. Bradford placed his hand on my mother’s back, between her bony shoulders.

Is that how doctors touch their patients? I wondered.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Dr. Bradford said, “and sometimes we pay dearly.” He focused on Ray Anne again. “My son is in prison, where he belongs, but he was my only child, my one hope of ever having grandchildren.”

Ray flashed me a look. Did he not know about Jess’s pregnancy? That he was already a grandfather? And was he really making himself out to be a victim?

“Owen.” He leaned in toward me, like he really cared. “Are there any questions I can answer for you about your mom’s diagnosis or treatment?”

It was too dim in the restaurant for me to study his eyes, to search for the dark stirring of evil I’d seen inside them before, but I still knew not to trust him. “No. She and I will discuss it.”

He had the nerve to start rubbing circles on my mom’s back. “I’m ensuring Susan gets the best treatment possible. Access to specialists she’d never have otherwise.”

Yeah, right. I couldn’t pinpoint his motive for being this attentive and thoughtful toward my mother, but I was sure it was selfish. Had to be. This same man had tried to lure me into a mentoring relationship as a guise for instructing me in satanic practices —my grandparents’ twisted legacy.

Ray Anne dug her nails into my arm, prompting me to look up. A Creeper came charging toward our table and stopped behind Dr. Bradford. I couldn’t read the gashes on its face in the candlelight, but it was easy to see it strumming through the cords hanging from the back of Dr. Bradford’s scalp, now roused to life and contorting in its hand. It examined my mother’s cords too.

Ray Anne stood, no doubt about to attempt to drive the monster away with her light. But I gripped her arm, determined to have the situation play out another way. She sat as I came out of my chair.

“Mom, I want you to leave with Ray and me, right now. I understand you’re in serious need of medical care, but you can’t trust this man.”

“Owen . . .” Her eyes pooled. “I need Dr. Bradford —can’t you understand?” She cupped her mouth and sucked in air.

“For once, Mom, trust me over what some man is telling you.”

She shook her head.

I took some slow breaths to ease my rising temper. I’d never told her everything I knew about this man, and clearly, it was time. “Leave with me now, and I’ll explain everything to you.”

That must have made Dr. Bradford nervous. He stood and glared at me. “Your mother is very ill —she doesn’t need this kind of stress, Owen.”

I narrowed my gaze. “Then maybe she doesn’t need me in her life to begin with.”

Ray Anne gasped and clutched my fingers. “Don’t do this,” she whispered.

The frustration of years of enduring my mother’s willingness to trust everyone except me was reaching a breaking point. I spoke loudly. “We’ll find other ways to get you the treatment you need,” I assured my mother. “Don’t let him manipulate you with that.” I reached my hand out. “Please, Mom, come with me.”

She winced, then turned her face away from me and clung to Dr. Bradford’s arm.

I shook my head. “Fine.”

I grabbed Ray Anne’s hand and pulled her up. We left my mother sitting there, being accosted by evil alongside Dr. Bradford.

Ray Anne scolded me the whole way home. “Did you hear what your mother said as we walked away? Dr. Bradford pulled strings to get her onto the transplant list. I’m not saying he’s a good man —I’m saying your mom is really, really sick, Owen.”

I couldn’t care anymore. She’d been ill my whole life, in lots of ways. I was tired of it. Weary of watching men take advantage of her —because she allowed it.

Ray’s lecturing didn’t stop when she pulled into her driveway. “Do you know the last thing I said to my brother before he died? I told him to shut up and get out of my room. Trust me —you don’t want to say things you’ll regret. Tell your mom you’re sorry and —”

“When are you going to stop telling me what to do?” I’d never copped an attitude like that with her. Or exited the car and slammed the door that hard. But I didn’t appreciate being bossed around like an incapable child. Like my opinions were dumb and irrelevant.

She slammed her door too. “I’m trying to help you, Owen. Don’t you see? You’re making a mistake.”

My frustration grabbed the reigns of my tongue. “Stop. I already have one mother too many.”

Ray Anne gaped at me for a second, then spun away from me. She rushed up her driveway and locked herself inside her garage apartment, even with me on her heels apologizing, begging her not to go.

I dragged my feet to my motorcycle. Ray Anne wasn’t mad at me very often, but when she was, my whole world felt off.

It was two o’clock in the morning, and I had yet to fall asleep. I was desperate for the sun to hurry up and rise so I could go beg Ray Anne again to forgive me. She wasn’t returning my texts.

I guess Daisy got sick of me tossing around on my mattress; she’d hopped down and settled for the floor. Lying on my back, I pressed my eyelids shut, willing myself to get some rest.

Even with my eyes closed, I could tell my night-light had flickered off. I popped up onto my elbows. Another burned-out bulb or . . . ?

I couldn’t see a thing. I was reaching toward my cell on my nightstand when I felt the lower corner of my mattress dip, weighted down by something I couldn’t see.

I sat straight up and pulled my knees into my chest, my heart thumping so hard beneath my sternum, I could feel it against my legs.

“Come.”

The sound of the dead man’s voice made me feel like my stomach was full of ice, like old times. My mattress sprang back up, then came the soft, swishing sound of the man striding out of my room. I fumbled to grab a candle and get it lit, then held it by my chin. I took one small, reluctant step at a time into the hallway, tormented by the thought that I might bump into him.

What would he do if I didn’t follow? I was as scared to defy him as I was to obey.

I made it to the living room, trying to mentally piece together that verse out of Luke, wondering if it would work on a ghost and make him leave. But when my candle’s flame extinguished without a gust, my concentration derailed.

“Give your eyes time to adjust, and you’ll see me.”

It took half a minute and a lot of blinking, but his form came into focus in the pale blue moonlight pouring in around the blinds in my window. He was seated on my sofa, on the corner farthest from me, a breathing shadow.

“Your heart is heavy tonight.”

“Yes,” I admitted. It was like I was living a nightmare. Or had been sucked into a scary movie where there was no way to distinguish special effects from reality.

“It’s your mother. And Ray Anne as well. You’ve hurt and angered them both.”

I swallowed hard even though my mouth was dry as chalk. “How do you know?”

“I know you well.” He stayed completely still. “I’m often with you, even when you’re unaware.”

That’s when I started trembling. There was no way a spiritual being could get near me without being seen. But I also couldn’t deny the plaguing sense I often had that I wasn’t alone.

“Come, sit with me.”

I didn’t want to, and he knew it.

“You’ve been warned to stay away from me. Those people have good intentions, but they’ve been taught to fear what they do not understand. Don’t be like them.”

That didn’t sit well with me, the idea that I shouldn’t aim to be like Gordon or Ray Anne. “Out of everyone I know, I admire them the most,” I admitted.

“So much that you would surrender your destiny to their mere opinions?”

I would have needed time to come up with a rebuttal for that.

“I mean you no harm,” the man said, beckoning me again to sit near him on the sofa. “I’m one of several messengers the Source has sent to you.”

“The Source?”

“God, as you call him. Have a seat, Owen. Relax.”

I wasn’t about to sit next to a dead guy, but I did muster the courage to lower myself onto the edge of the lounge chair across from him. His silhouette was visible in the dark, but hard as I tried, I couldn’t make out any defining features.

“Ask me anything,” he said. “I’ll withhold nothing from you.”

Frightening as the experience was, I liked the sound of that. “What’s your name?”

“As it is written in Isaiah 62, when we die and stand before the Source, he gives us a new name that far exceeds that bestowed by our parents. The Source calls me Faithful.”

I felt like I was hallucinating, like I was strung out on mind-altering drugs even though I’d never taken any. “When did you become a ghost?”

“No, Owen. I’m not what you think of as a ghost. I’m spirit, made in the image of the Source, as are you and all of humanity.”

I was still nervous but no longer shaking so noticeably. “How did you escape hell?” I was testing him. There was only one right answer.

“I surrendered to the Source —to the Cross —just as you have.”

Correct. Slowly, I eased back into my chair, relaxing just enough to rest my fingertips on the armrests. “Why don’t you have light?”

“Oh, but I do.” Beneath his feet, a golden aura grew bright as fire.

I shielded my eyes. Then all went dark again.

“I have no need to bear light continuously like you do. I’m one with the Source now, untouchable by forces of darkness.”

My heart was racing again, but mostly with invigoration. I’d prayed for answers, and I was getting them in heavy doses now, however unexpectedly. “What’s the Source like?”

“Ahh . . .” He seemed to savor my question. “Powerful beyond description. And more forgiving than you can possibly comprehend. And the Source is self-contained, Owen, and has no need nor desire for love the way people do. Humanity craves love. Focus on extending compassion to mankind, and all you give and sacrifice will be reciprocated back to you.”

There was no uncertainty in him, no vagueness or dodging my questions. So I asked more —many more. He was a patient listener, empathetic yet quick to correct my misconceptions. “Don’t believe the lie that your mother is no longer worthy of your love,” he instructed at one point. “Stop judging her, and you’ll discover that the Source has placed an endless reservoir of mercy inside of you.”

Over time, I’d developed a bond with Gordon, but this . . . this was a connection all its own. A whole other level. At no point was there any hint in this man of selfishness, impatience, boasting, arrogance —none of the negative qualities that sabotage relationships and appear on peoples’ cords. I didn’t claim to fully understand his existence, but as sunrise neared, I’d settled at least one thing: his motive toward me was good.

I could hardly believe it when the morning’s first golden-orange hues pierced the windows. How had time passed so quickly? The man and I sat still, content to be quiet for a while. I wanted so badly to see his face, and finally, as black shadows lifted to gray, he began to come into focus. Dark hair. A defined jawline. Strong, young-looking hands.

The more the darkness surrendered to the light, the more intently he stared back at me. I got the feeling he was trying to tell me something, only not with words. As I beheld his face, becoming increasingly visible every minute, it was like an out-of-body experience. Like his heavenly realm had completely engulfed mine.

I became lost in the moment, suspended between the duality of the living and the departed. I was no longer aware of what day or time it was. I couldn’t have told you much about anything in that moment, I’m sure, except one thing. The only thing that mattered.

I recognized the man sitting across from me.