Part 26 (1/2)

We had fun with it.

”It's a blockbuster, I tell ya! Think G.o.dzilla meets Scarlett O'Hara!”

The conversation came to mind as I tried to think of what I'd say to the professor about his ma.n.u.script. It's Screwtape Letters meets Lord of the Rings, I thought, referring to two popular books on college campuses. Think Screwtape and his nephew Wormwood in an adventure with a band of Hobbits. The emphasis, of course, was that both of these works were entertaining, but fictional.

The trick would be to tell him this without sounding derogatory.

On the other hand, some religious writers were finding success publis.h.i.+ng their particular brand of theology as fiction. Some of the books were even bestsellers. If the professor was interested in having his ma.n.u.script published, I was prepared to offer to write a letter of introduction to my publisher's fiction editor.

It was still early when I arrived at Heritage College. Cla.s.ses hadn't yet started. A few students milled about half asleep and carrying coffee cups as I made my way to the library. The sign in the library window indicated it wouldn't be open for another thirty minutes. I found the door ajar.

The scene that awaited me was reminiscent of my first meeting with Professor Forsythe. He was seated in the back at a table next to the wall of windows overlooking a desert garden. He sat at the end of the table in his wheelchair. He wasn't alone. A figure with broad shoulders sat with his back to me, just as he had that first day. The two men were hunched over the table, their heads together, speaking in whispers.

As I approached them another figure off to the side caught my attention. Sue Ling stood alone between the bookshelves, her arms folded as though she was cold, or afraid. The room was warm.

Since neither of the men had paid any attention to me, I altered my course to greet her first. She shook her head, directing me toward the professor. The look in her eyes disturbed me. It was all business with a touch of fear, the same look you'd see on the face of a person called to a meeting with IRS auditors.

The professor noticed me. He looked up. Didn't smile.

Without turning to look at me, the man with the broad shoulders stiffened noticeably.

”You're expecting me?” I said.

The professor spoke to the other man. ”Abdiel, I apologize for the deception, but I feel it's important that Grant meets you.”

It was clear this wasn't the meeting I thought it would be. Was the ma.n.u.script just a ruse to get me to the library? I shot a glance at Sue Ling. It was she who insisted I read the ma.n.u.script. It was she who had set up this meeting.

Her eyes were wide with fear.

”I told you no!” the man thundered.

”Abdiel-”

”NO!”

His chair tumbled backward as he stood. His voice made the ground s.h.i.+ver, books fall from shelves, tables tremble.

”NO!”

A surge of energy rippled through me, like the force of an earthquake through solid rock, and he was gone. Not walking-out-the-door gone, but gone gone. One second he was there. The next, he wasn't.

The professor shrugged apologetically. ”We need to talk,” he said.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything. All I could do was look at the empty s.p.a.ce that moments before had been filled with a man the size of a professional football lineman.

A hand touched my shoulder. Sue. She put her arms around me and laid her head against my chest and held me. I don't know which of us needed the hug more.

This wasn't the Sue Ling I knew yesterday. This was a different Sue. Something had happened to change her. She was trembling.

She stepped away and looked up at me, and that's when I really became frightened. She had the same look in her eyes that she had had earlier-the look of fear.

She was afraid of me. Or for me. But her fear was unmistakable.

”Students will be coming in soon,” the professor said. ”Walk with me.”

On any other day I would have found humor in a man in a wheelchair saying, Walk with me. But at the moment, nothing was funny.

”Did you feel that?” I exclaimed. ”That jolt of energy when he . . . when he . . .”

Two coeds pa.s.sed us walking in the opposite direction. They greeted the professor. Their perfume billowed around them like a cloud, a nice scent, but definitely overdone.

With other students within earshot, I whispered, ”. . . when he disappeared.”

The professor led me on a circuitous route through campus hallways so that I had no idea where we were until we emerged in a s.p.a.cious quad with a desert garden at one end. We had come a complete circle and were on the outside of the library windows. ”We can talk here,” the professor said, pulling to a stop in front of a slatted wooden bench.

I sat facing him. In spite of the events in the library, the morning showed promise. Everything was fresh. The sky. Spring colors. The air. It was shaping up to be a nice day.

”Tell me you felt it,” I said, ”that surge of energy, wasn't that something?” I felt invigorated, like I could run a marathon and not be winded. And I hated jogging.

The professor looked at me with sad eyes. ”No, Grant, I didn't feel it.” I must have looked at his paralyzed legs, because he added, ”And neither did Sue Ling. Only you.”

”What are you saying? How could you miss it? It's like saying you didn't feel an 8.0 earthquake.”

It took him a moment to find the words. ”Do you remember when you first came here, and you told me what you'd experienced in that teacher's office . . .”

”Myles Shepherd's office.”

”Do you recall what I said then? I said, 'Why you?' ”

I remembered, and I told him so.

”I know the answer to the question now,” he said.

Why did I think this wasn't going to be a good thing? Possibly because good news is shouted, it isn't something shared in some out-of-the-way garden by someone with the expression of an undertaker.

”From that look on your face I wasn't selected because of my natural wit and charm.”

Despite himself and the apparent weight of the news, the professor smiled. ”Grant, you were selected because you're one of them.”

I waited for the punch line.

There wasn't one.

I said, ”Professor, I don't even believe in angels.”

”Despite what you just saw? What you just felt?”

He had me there. I just saw a grown man vanish. I just felt the equivalent of a carton of energy drinks.

”To put it in understandable terms, you have angel blood in you. You're part angel. One quarter to be exact. Your grandfather was . . .”