priest with suspicion.
“No, I guess I’m back to normal,” Oliver said.
Greg stared at him—fear and caution written across his face.
Oliver was coming down from his high, and as the exhilaration began to fade, reality crept back into his mind. “Just before you touched me, I was somewhere else. I mean . . . I saw . . . except I more than just saw . . .” Oliver struggled to put the experience into words. “I was in a car driving down a road. It was only for a moment, but I got the distinct impression that it was near here. I wonder if it was Amanda. We were talking about her just before it happened.”
Oliver watched as Greg’s entire appearance changed with the mention of Amanda. He suddenly became aware of just how physically threatening the police detective was and a hint of fear crept into Oliver’s mind.
“It wasn’t Amanda,” Greg said, barely contained anger coloring his terse words. He quickly got to his feet, and his chair skidded to the wall. “I have to go.” He began to edge his way around the priest.
“Greg, I didn’t mean to . . .” Oliver stood and reached for the retired detective.
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed, recoiling from the small man. Greg was red-faced. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you stay away from Amanda.”
Oliver stepped aside and gave Greg a clear path to the door.
“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Greg. I had no control over it. Please don’t leave like this,” Oliver pleaded.
As Greg opened the door, the sounds of the awakening church invaded the sanctuary. He hesitated and turned back to face the priest. His emotional energy now spent, Greg seemed to sag back to his usual size. “I need time to work this out, Father. It was bad enough with Amanda.”
“I understand, but there’s something you need to know. If it was Amanda driving down that street, she urgently needs help. I can’t be completely certain, but I think she’s come here with the intention of killing someone. She’s sick. I felt the illness inside her.”
“Amanda would never intentionally hurt anyone,” Greg declared defiantly.Greg was a bad liar, and the flash of concern that crossed his face was plain to see. “I’d like to help,” Oliver said simply.
Greg stared back at the priest, and Oliver could tell that Greg was appraising him from a new perspective. “I’ll talk with Amanda,” he said and then left quickly.
Phil awoke with a start; certain someone was in his room. He clicked on the light but found no tall, dark, deformed man looming over him. His heart was thundering in his chest; it had been a rough night after a rough day. The waitress had caught him staring down her blouse; he had hallucinated a fairy-tale monster brazenly knocking down a woman and then disappearing; and finally, he had alienated the entire office by demanding that he be left alone. Now, after a night filled with tormenting voices and dreams about invisible phantoms, he faced a day filled with menial tasks and a sullen staff. Phil couldn’t relate to his staff any better than to the rest of the world, but their emotional states mattered to him, if only at a professional level. He needed order and consistency in the office, and it was his secretary and the rest of the staff who created it. He would have to make amends today. He would apologize to a few, and to others he would find an excuse to praise some trivial accomplishment, all for the sake of his own inner peace.
He rolled over and found that he still had eight minutes before his alarm would go off and officially start his day. Eight minutes of solitude. He breathed deeply and tried to let his mind float free. It was an ability he was trying to develop, but with little success. It should have been simple, a natural thing; but to him, it was anything but simple or natural, and it never had been. Even as a child, perhaps especially when he was a child, he had never been able to simply sit and daydream. There were the rare
“No, I guess I’m back to normal,” Oliver said.
Greg stared at him—fear and caution written across his face.
Oliver was coming down from his high, and as the exhilaration began to fade, reality crept back into his mind. “Just before you touched me, I was somewhere else. I mean . . . I saw . . . except I more than just saw . . .” Oliver struggled to put the experience into words. “I was in a car driving down a road. It was only for a moment, but I got the distinct impression that it was near here. I wonder if it was Amanda. We were talking about her just before it happened.”
Oliver watched as Greg’s entire appearance changed with the mention of Amanda. He suddenly became aware of just how physically threatening the police detective was and a hint of fear crept into Oliver’s mind.
“It wasn’t Amanda,” Greg said, barely contained anger coloring his terse words. He quickly got to his feet, and his chair skidded to the wall. “I have to go.” He began to edge his way around the priest.
“Greg, I didn’t mean to . . .” Oliver stood and reached for the retired detective.
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed, recoiling from the small man. Greg was red-faced. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but you stay away from Amanda.”
Oliver stepped aside and gave Greg a clear path to the door.
“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Greg. I had no control over it. Please don’t leave like this,” Oliver pleaded.
As Greg opened the door, the sounds of the awakening church invaded the sanctuary. He hesitated and turned back to face the priest. His emotional energy now spent, Greg seemed to sag back to his usual size. “I need time to work this out, Father. It was bad enough with Amanda.”
“I understand, but there’s something you need to know. If it was Amanda driving down that street, she urgently needs help. I can’t be completely certain, but I think she’s come here with the intention of killing someone. She’s sick. I felt the illness inside her.”
“Amanda would never intentionally hurt anyone,” Greg declared defiantly.Greg was a bad liar, and the flash of concern that crossed his face was plain to see. “I’d like to help,” Oliver said simply.
Greg stared back at the priest, and Oliver could tell that Greg was appraising him from a new perspective. “I’ll talk with Amanda,” he said and then left quickly.
Phil awoke with a start; certain someone was in his room. He clicked on the light but found no tall, dark, deformed man looming over him. His heart was thundering in his chest; it had been a rough night after a rough day. The waitress had caught him staring down her blouse; he had hallucinated a fairy-tale monster brazenly knocking down a woman and then disappearing; and finally, he had alienated the entire office by demanding that he be left alone. Now, after a night filled with tormenting voices and dreams about invisible phantoms, he faced a day filled with menial tasks and a sullen staff. Phil couldn’t relate to his staff any better than to the rest of the world, but their emotional states mattered to him, if only at a professional level. He needed order and consistency in the office, and it was his secretary and the rest of the staff who created it. He would have to make amends today. He would apologize to a few, and to others he would find an excuse to praise some trivial accomplishment, all for the sake of his own inner peace.
He rolled over and found that he still had eight minutes before his alarm would go off and officially start his day. Eight minutes of solitude. He breathed deeply and tried to let his mind float free. It was an ability he was trying to develop, but with little success. It should have been simple, a natural thing; but to him, it was anything but simple or natural, and it never had been. Even as a child, perhaps especially when he was a child, he had never been able to simply sit and daydream. There were the rare
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