When it was over, Mariah breathed a sigh of relief. She could now look forward to her next interview because she would get to meet one of her idols, Oprah Winfrey. Of the dozens of celebrities who wanted an exclusive interview, Mariah was thrilled when Ms. Winfrey called and left her private callback number.
They chatted on the phone for fifteen minutes. Mariah was delighted that, like Tom Brokaw, the person she saw on the television, and heard so much about through the news media, was as funny, sensitive, and intelligent as she appeared.
She flew out to Chicago. The two women spent an hour in the studio before the camera, and chatted like old friends. Millions of people got a chance to see Mariah as a normal person who’d been thrust into an uncomfortable spotlight, bewildered by the “miracles” she continued to perform. They were charmed by her sincerity and humor, captivated by her expressive face that changed from joy when she talked about the rescue of the children to anger at the legal system that let these repeat offenders loose, and finally fear of the crowds and media sharks that dogged her day and night.
Even though it would have given her the opportunity to explain what happened from her point of view, Mariah was not allowed to discuss the impending Everett Hinckley trial.
She watched the interview on DVD several times. Objectively, she appeared calm and self-assured. However, she still felt like a pariah, now even more than ever with what happened in that motel room.
It was apparent that Mariah Carpenter was developing new “talents” with every child she found. Though the general population knew psychic charlatans abounded, the evidence before them was beyond reproach: she was the genuine article. The Joinings were accepted if only as a matter of interpretation. The two ministers and Agent Manzetti’s description of what happened were considered credible based on the similarity of their experiences.
The Healings were another matter. Most accepted her ability to heal those who collaborated in the Findings just like they accepted everything else. However, to those steeped in the practical sciences, this new dimension smacked of mysticism, spirituality, and hysteria. They were frustrated and dubious, unable to measure with proven technological instrumentation.
General unease permeated the discussions about the transformations to her body. Her exceptional health was evident, as was the reversal of previous conditions, and the added height. They had nothing to compare her to. She was “unique,” a word that made them uncomfortable.
Sensationalistic press would hint that Mariah Carpenter was dangerous, that she would turn her psychic ability against them. Mind control became the topic of many paranoiac discussions. The seed of fear was planted and had begun to germinate, aided by the manure from the tabloid press. If she had “inadvertently” projected her image in front of Everett, had scared him so badly that he had a heart attack and died, then what would happen if someone else made her angry? Fueled by the increased readership, the media vultures continued to speculate.
Did she have control over her emotions? What would happen if she sold out to the highest bidder, got paid to either manipulate people—as she had done with George Malchelosse—or, even worse, kill them? Or was taken against her will and forced to cooperate with threats to her loved ones? Vague and unanswered questions stimulated conjecture.
The decision to move out of her apartment and take up residence in Frannie’s “safe” house became a necessity one night on her way home from choir practice.
She stayed late to rehearse her solo with Peter Martin for Sunday’s services. Walking toward her car, her mind on the music, she never noticed a shadow detach itself from the section of the building where there were no floodlights.
Mariah was nearly to her car when she was shoved from behind. Falling flat on her stomach, her breath was knocked out of her. A high whine escaped from her lips as she gasped in pain, trying to draw oxygen into her deflated lungs. Before she could get a full breath, she felt a prick on the side of her neck, and the sting of fluid entering her body.
Lethargy spread swiftly, numbness rapidly attacking her extremities. Mariah’s head reeled as she tried to focus her thoughts, but her brain seemed to be floundering in molasses while everything swam before her eyes in slow motion. Unable to offer resistance, her arms were yanked behind her back and handcuffs snapped on her wrists. Dizzy, disoriented, she was hauled to her feet by two assailants and dragged, stumbling and nearly collapsing, to a black Mercedes SUV that had suddenly appeared in the parking lot.
The luggage compartment door sprang open. Mariah, pushed again from behind, fell forward. Her legs were lifted, and she tumbled further into the back of the vehicle. When the big door slammed shut, the two attackers dove into the passenger seats and the SUV spun around. Its tires squealed as it headed out of the lot.
She was paralyzed, terrified, and at first unable to concentrate due to the powerful narcotic. As the SUV careened down the darkened streets, she was flung toward the left side, only to be rolled to the right.
With every beat of her heart, she felt herself succumbing to the paralysis. She felt like she was drowning as the edges of her mind closed down into unconsciousness.
But something beat beneath her stupor, A gift that had been given to her the morning of the Visitation. It forced itself into her thickening thoughts as if she’d been slapped.
All the changes to her body from the Findings, Healings, and Joinings began to coalesce in her core. She felt every fiber of her essence fighting the drug in a microscopic universe.
Sensation in the form of pinpricks began to return to Mariah’s limbs and her head stopped spinning. A sudden surge of adrenaline raced down her arms, causing her fingers to spasm into fists. Her ears detected the rending sound of metal as the handcuffs twisted apart where they were joined. She felt her lungs expand as oxygen forced its way through her nostrils. Her eyes, previously shut, flew open. Her vision cleared immediately.
As her strength increased, so did her fury.
The two in the front were conversing with the one sitting behind the driver. It sounded like an Asian language. Mariah felt heat engulf her body as a snarl erupted from her throat.
The three men started to gasp as they clutched their throats and clawed at their necks. The SUV began to swerve and buck on the deserted road, finally slamming into the curb on the right side.
Almost before the vehicle came to a complete stop, the luggage compartment door sprang open and Mariah jumped out. Her pupils were dilated extravagantly as she shook her head, all conscious thought obliterated by a never before felt rage, and an even more unfamiliar emotion ... revenge.
She moved around the vehicle until she stood in the middle of the road, a humorless smile tugging on her lips as she stared at the SUV.
The air around her suddenly became animated. Small trees nearby were bent at a forty-five degree angle; loose soil from flower beds erupted twenty feet into the air; and swimming pools geysered water in a sudden tornadic event that became a rain shower in several back yards. Lavender light, wispy and ethereal, swirled around Mariah as electricity in houses lost approximately thirty percent of their output.
All the doors of the black SUV flew open. The would-be kidnappers fell out, writhing on the ground, coughing and vomiting as air abruptly returned to their lungs. Mariah hugged herself, a grim but pleased expression on her face, her eyes wide and staring.
With a whoooof! the engine caught fire. Flames licked the inside of the vehicle, under the carriage, and shot straight up into the air, igniting the lower branches of the nearest tree. Lights came on in the houses close to the blazing vehicle as the residents were alerted by the explosion and the smell of burning metal.
Mariah walked toward her prospective abductors, her right foot rearing back as she prepared to kick the driver in the face. However, the unnatural light died in her eyes, the air calmed, and she brought her foot back to rest on the ground.
In the distance, sirens began to wail as Mariah squatted down. Her voice, while low, sounded like crushed gravel. “Listen carefully. Leave. Me. Alone. Go back to whoever sent you, and tell them that if they try anything like this again, or go near anyone I even remotely know, I won’t be so forgiving. I will find you, and destroy you and them, and everyone associated with all of you. Trust me: you don’t want to piss me off a second time. Do you understand?”
Still gasping for air, the driver squeaked, “Yes, I hear, yes.”
She sauntered away from the conflagration as the fire department truck came barreling down the street, followed closely by an ambulance and a squad car. In the ensuing cacophony, a tune popped into her head, a song she had not heard nor thought of in a long time. She began to hum it, the melody uplifting and jaunty:
Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head......