Chasing the Prophet Page 10

  David realized it was a dream that had woken him. This wasn’t the first time. Deep sleep often offered him important insights that woke him. This time, he felt that a significant discovery was involved, but he could not remember what it was.

  “Damn.” He sighed. He felt warm and kicked off the blanket, which landed on Max. The dog froze with his head suddenly covered, and after a moment began to try and escape from under it.

  “Max the ghost dog,” David muttered and stared at the window in front of him. His eyes began to get used to the darkness, and now he noticed a soft light penetrating through the shutters.

  Max got tired of the blanket. He opened his jaws, closed his teeth on it, and tossed it off.

  David decided to get up, wash his face, and take Max for a walk. The dog, as usual, seemed to have read his thoughts and jumped down. He stretched for long moments and yawned. Then he looked at David and wagged his tail.

  ***

  David was surprised by the intense cold outside. He rubbed his hands vigorously and blew on them for warmth. Max ran around him happily. They both enjoyed those nightly walks in which Max was allowed to roam freely.

  The roads were empty of traffic, the air was clear and it seemed as if the street belonged only to them. David was careful to have Max always remain in sight. Sometimes he felt embarrassed for being so overprotective, but there was a reason for it. He was still disturbed by the memory of last year’s incident, when Max had gotten lost.

  David blew on his hands again and looked at Max. In a single year the small puppy had grown to become the impressive dog that now leaped about him with ease, marking every tree on the street. David wondered, same as he had many times before, how much of it was due to the way he had cared for the dog. Whether in some other house, with some other family, would Max still have matured to become the smart and loyal dog he was today? He had never trained Max. There was never any need. He simply gave his furry friend the thing he craved most of all: long walks.

  Max stopped next to a tree and sniffed it with concentration.

  “Go,” said David in a low, commanding voice and nodded. The dog looked at him, and in reply raised his leg and peed on the tree.

  David chortled quietly. He had once heard you could train your dog to urinate on command and came to realize it actually worked. One only had to choose a word and repeat it every time the dog peed anyway. Over time, a new conditioning is formed and could be used accordingly.

  And yet, David rarely used that command, simply because he felt uncomfortable about depriving his friend the pleasure of deciding when and where to do his business.

  David filled his lungs with cold air and exhaled slowly. He looked at the cloud of frosty steam as it slowly vanished and wondered if there was anyone as close to him as Max was. After all, he hardly had any friends, other than Eric.

  He suddenly stopped, realizing the dream that had woken him had something to do with Eric. Something had been bothering his redheaded friend in the last few days. Eric seemed restrained, angry, and rarely even smiled. Even when he joked around, David felt a deep sadness under the thin layer of humor, a certain tension that had not been there before.

  A few days ago, Eric had gotten upset when someone had mentioned the prophet. What was it exactly? David started walking again and tried to remember. One of the girls in the class had said that they needed to ask the prophet to cancel their history exam. Everyone laughed, except for Eric, who cried out angrily, “You think that piece of shit will bother to answer that?” David was surprised and wondered what was going on with his friend.

  That very same question now returned to occupy his mind. Everyone knew the prophet did not reply to every question, so why was Eric taking it so personally?

  David stopped again as though thunderstruck when he realized what had happened. It was personal indeed!

  He whistled to Max and the dog immediately showed up beside him. They hurried back home, and David tiptoed so as not to wake his grandmother. He sat in front of the computer, his heart beating fast.

  “Enter Password.”

  He typed the password, then coughed to identify himself as usual and immediately gained access. He went to the search engine and typed “Eric Jones.” He instantly found what he was looking for: the request had arrived two weeks before.

  David took a deep breath and began to read slowly.

  Prophet Website Registered Request No. 382158

  Dear Prophet,

  My name is Eric Jones and I am 14.

  I live in Green Pines, California.

  I am writing to you because I don’t know what else to do.

  My sister Kiky is in the hospital. The doctors said she needs a new liver, but it costs too much and we’re going to be lucky if she even survives that long. There are lots of people who need liver transplants, but they decided to move her to the top of the list because of her condition. I wanted to donate, but she needs an entire liver, so now we’re actually waiting for someone to die so they could give her his liver. That’s not a very nice thing to think, but you know what they say: one man’s loss is another man’s redemption. My mother said that.

  The experts in San Francisco told us about this experimental new drug that could hold back the disease for lots of years, which could really improve Kiky’s chances, but we don’t have any money. Ever since my dad left it’s only mom, Kiky, and me.

  So I tried to call and write all sorts of important people, but nobody even answered. So because I have no other choice, I’m writing to you too, because I want to start working to help pay for the drug, but I’m too young so no one would give me a job.

  So actually, what I’m asking is that you help me find a job. Here in Green Pines, preferably, so I could stay close to Kiky. It’s hard for her in the hospital as it is, because it’s so depressing there, so I go there a lot and try to make her laugh and sometimes I even manage to do that and then she’s happy because when she’s laughing she doesn’t think about how sick she is.

  In short, I decided to write to you after all, because if there’s a chance it might help save my sister, it’s worth a shot.

  Trust me, my sister is an amazing girl and you’d fall in love with her in a second if you could only meet her.

  I don’t know how you decide who to help and who not to, so I’m attaching a photo of Kiky. It’s from a year ago, when she was still healthy and she’s swimming in the pool with floaters and pulling this funny face. That’s the real Kiky, not like she looks today, with her skin a little yellow and her face sad. So please do whatever you can.

  I trust you!

  Yours,

  Eric Jones.

  David stared at the screen.

  Eric—his best friend who was always so careful to put on a smiling, optimistic “business as usual” face—actually had to deal with such terrible concerns.

  David had met Kiky countless times, and she always seemed so happy and full of life with her blazing hair, even redder than her older brother’s. David loved her contagious laughter, her energetic, enthusiastic nature. Now he realized why Eric had stopped inviting him to his house. He didn’t want David to know.

  “You moron,” David muttered.

  If Eric would have only said something, David would have done weeks ago what he was about to do now.

  He moved the mouse cursor to the button marked “Instructions to the Prophet’s People.”

  20

  A Picture Postcard

  Paul sat in his rented car and waited outside the house of Donna and Raphael Greene. He had to get to the bottom of the confrontation that had taken place yesterday at the schoolyard between David and the man with the fedora.

  David had seemed very upset during and after the confrontation. Paul knew that David was now with his psychologist, a guy called Harrison, which allowed him to clear some time for this current assignment. His objective wa
s clear: he had to understand David’s relationship with Greene. Was the man in the tracksuit threatening the boy?

  A faint scent of cigarettes hung in the car. Cigarettes had always made him feel nauseous, especially during the mornings. How come he hadn’t noticed that disgusting smell yesterday, when he had picked up the car from the rental agency?

  And so, despite the cold weather, the vehicle windows were wide open and the heater blasted at a maximum.

  He sipped coffee from a disposable cup and listened to the radio.

  It seemed that all stations, without exception, were busy covering the terrorist takeover of the Green Pines factory. Commentators brought up various theories regarding how the kidnappers could have taken over a secured factory so easily.

  One of the kidnapped students’ mothers went live. She cried and pleaded with the security forces to intervene. “Please, do something—save my son!”

  A cold shiver crawled down Paul’s spine and he reached for the radio. He’d had enough. He identified with the concerned parents. He couldn’t even imagine what they must be going through, but he had to stay focused on his mission. Besides, there was nothing he could do to help. He sighed and searched for another station until finally finding one that played a classic rock song.

  “Born to be wild…” he hummed the words of Steppenwolf’s immortal song while scanning the house in front of him one more time.

  Raphael Greene, the man whose life seemed to have been taken out of a perfect picture postcard, might pose a threat to David. What possible connection could he have with a young high-schooler? Why had they argued on both sides of the school fence?

  “I’ll find out everything about you soon, Mr. Greene,” hissed Paul.

  He glanced at his watch; he had been waiting there for almost an hour. A few minutes before, the woman had left with a baby stroller. Through the open door, he managed to see her husband as he kissed her goodbye. He wore shorts and a tank top.

  “An ideal couple,” muttered Paul.

  He took a sip of his coffee. A pain still troubled his ankle, but he continued his job.

  The doctor had told him he had a sprained ankle and instructed him to try and rest and refrain from walking for two weeks. He had wrapped an elastic bandage that allowed him to walk. If Paul was not able to do his job, he would be putting David in danger. And David was a young teenager who had never harmed anyone in his life, a boy that the prophet himself had decided to take under his protection.

  Paul also knew that unless he provided his new employers with the high level of performance they expected, he would be risking his new job and the new financial security that came with it. True, an elastic bandage wasn’t the ideal treatment, but he had no choice. With all due respect to the doctor, he wasn’t the one paying the bills. He lowered his eyes to a cane resting beside him and patted it appreciatively; fine sturdy aluminum, surprisingly light.

  The song on the radio had ended and the program moved on to cover the second subject on everyone’s minds.

  “No one knows what the Russians might do. We have never faced a tangible threat such as the one posed by their recent statement an hour ago,” the news reporter said, sounding deeply concerned.

  Paul frowned and increased the volume.

  “Satellite images clearly depict missile battery movements in the Balkan States. The movements have been identified in recent hours in what appears to be a launch calibration update. The spokesman for the Department of Defense confirmed that the missiles are indeed directed at the western European countries and the United States. At this time, the security cabinet has convened to conduct an assessment of the situation and possibly update the civilian safety instructions…”

  The phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from Kate. He touched the screen and a picture of the twins instantly appeared, along with the message.

  Kate: It’s only been two days, but we miss daddy already.

  He smiled and typed a reply. Paul: Daddy already misses you more.

  The large video screen at the intersection in front of him flickered and drew his attention. The headline blazed a bright red: “Tonight at eight: all the latest Green Pines factory kidnapping updates, and also, are we on the brink of global war?”

  He suddenly noticed the door of the house opening. At long last, Mr. Raphael Greene showed up.

  Other than the fedora he regularly wore, the man looked different this time, wearing starched pants, a buttoned shirt, and shiny, bright shoes.

  He locked the door and began to march up the street, whistling a happy tune.

  Paul started the car and began to slowly drive after him. Greene walked up the street, went to a blue BMW two-seat sports car, and took a key ring out of his pocket. Paul watched him getting inside the eye-popping vehicle. A few seconds later the roof of the car slowly folded open, revealing Greene sitting in the driver’s seat, wearing sunglasses.

  Paul thought that opening the roof wasn’t really necessary with such cold weather. He cringed in his seat as Greene looked back and carefully reversed his BMW to the road. Then he sped the car up the street.

  Paul pressed the gas pedal and raced after him. “In a hurry to get to an important meeting?” he muttered under his breath.

  21

  A Smiling Elephant

  “David, are you listening to me?”

  Mr. Harrison’s voice was soft and soothing. David sank in the soft armchair and sipped some warm cocoa. He thought that a pleasant voice must be an essential quality for any psychologist. This way, the patients would feel comfortable enough to expose whatever was hidden in their hearts and minds. Pleasant classical music played in the background. David had heard the piece before, but did not know its name.

  “Yes, I hear every word,” he muttered and stroked Max’s ear.

  As always, his eyes were drawn to the display of carved animals on the table.

  When he had arrived to their first session six months before, he was amazed by the collection of artwork adorning every corner of the small office. They densely covered the walls and were neatly arranged side-by-side on the shelves and the wide table. He did not know why Mr. Harrison had chosen to show his patients so many collectibles. Even Max had demonstrated some nervousness during his first encounter with the wooden animals. Some were genuinely lifelike.

  David thought it was nice of Mr. Harrison to allow him to bring Max to the sessions. The small man with the soft eyes had no apprehension at all about approaching the black dog that snarled at a large wood-carved eagle. The psychologist patted Max and spoke to him softly. Max relaxed when he realized it was only a statue.

  David suspected that the numerous artifacts played a part in the diagnosis process: to see which specific piece appealed to each patient. And perhaps this was a clever way of breaking the barrier of silence with new patients. He didn’t care. He loved the unusual colorful richness, and knew that nothing would make him reveal information he did not want to expose.

  Although Mr. Harrison had promised that everything said in the room would remain strictly between the two of them, David still suspected the psychologist reported at least some of it to his parents. This was why he took no unnecessary risks and tried to talk as little as possible. When he absolutely had to say something, he told the psychologist about his mundane experiences without exposing a shred of information about the software. He mustn’t draw attention to himself—he had to stay under the radar.

  David congratulated himself, for the umpteenth time, for the resourcefulness he had demonstrated ten months ago when he had had to undergo an IQ test with the rest of his classmates. He was concerned about being too successful on the test, so he hacked into the school computers to check the results. To his dread, he discovered that the test results defined him as gifted, on the verge of genius.

  David hurried to correct the results to only slightly above average. A few months later,
he began his sessions with Mr. Harrison. Undoubtedly, the psychologist had asked to receive the test results before starting to treat David. He had more luck than sense. The way Mr. Harrison glanced at him from over his glasses was disquieting, as if he knew the boy was hiding something.

  David inspected a large wooden elephant situated on the middle of the desk. If anyone had asked David about his favorite clinic object, he wouldn’t have hesitated. The statue’s color was a deep reddish brown, and it was apparent that every detail was carved with the utmost of care. The trunk rose up in the air, stretching the elephant’s upper lip upward into what appeared like a smile.

  The classical music in the background now reached its dramatic peak as the brass instruments joined the string section. The volume was a bit too loud.

  Mr. Harrison cleared his throat, and David already knew it was a sign of impatience. He returned his eyes to the psychologist, who cleaned his glasses.

  “David, last time you said something about feeling that you don’t really need to go to school?”

  David tensed. Were his ears misleading him? He couldn’t have possibly let slip something like that. Mr. Harrison put his glasses on and leafed through his papers to find the exact words David had used.

  “Here.” He raised his eyes and looked at David. “You said this was all just one big act. That you are trying to appear like an ordinary person.”

  David couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His heart began to race. The cocoa suddenly tasted bitter in his mouth and he carefully placed the mug on the table, trying to buy some time. He searched for the right words to say, but found it difficult to focus: the percussion instruments now joined the crescendo and the music became insufferable.

  Max felt that something unusual was taking place. He raised his head and looked at David.

  “Actually, I don’t remember. What else did I say?” He looked at Mr. Harrison and knew he didn’t sound too convincing.