Unexpected Gifts

Unexpected Gifts

by

Bj Gold

Smashwords Edition

* * * * *

Published by Bj Gold at Smashwords

Unexpected Gifts

Copyright 2012 by Bj Gold

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For Eric, who believes

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Woman Inside His Head

Chapter 2: A Thief Changes His Mind

Chapter 3:An Introduction With A Handshake

Chapter 4: Spyware

Chapter 5:A Gifted Movie

Chapter 6:Movie Analysis

Chapter 7: A New Kind of Test

Chapter 8: Personal Admission

Chapter 9: A New Partnership

Chapter 10: Zera Zea's Gift

Chapter 11: DNA

Chapter 12: Mission Specialists

Chapter 13: The Getaway

Chapter 14: Baggage

Chapter 15: Personal Mission

Chapter 16: A Kidnapped Reunion

Chapter 17: Disappearing Act

Chapter 18: Oil Spill

Chapter 19: Lizard Lids Goes Upstairs

Chapter 20: Gerald Receives A Gift

Chapter 21: Up In The Air

Chapter 22: Grounded

Chapter 23: Friendship

Chapter 24: A Combo of Gifts

Chapter 25: Break -Out

Chapter 26: When No One Answers

Chapter 27: New Perspectives

Chapter 28: Messages From Above

Chapter 29: Grenades and Gifts

Chapter 30: Skills of a Different Kind

Chapter 31: Crossed Signals

Chapter 32: Night Watch

Chapter 33: A Test of Gifts

Chapter 34: Whisperings

Chapter One

The Woman Inside His Head

Late August and San Francisco was baking. And it wasn't it's famous sour dough bread that was steaming, it was Theodore B. Scott, riding all over the city with his mother, delivering boxes of Scott junk to needy charities. His tee-shirt was currently melted into the leather car seat of their old brown Volvo.

For the hundredth time that day, Theodore's ear buzzed with a kind of nonsensical static. He shook his head and used his palm to rub the outside of his ear. He was really annoyed that maybe a bug had gotten into his ear canal and now he was hearing something like tiny pieces of fragmented conversations—from dozens of people.

. . . Theodore, look at me, demanded his mother.

Jocelyn Scott peered anxiously at her only child. You've been rubbing your ears all day, do you have an earache?

No, it's nothing, mumbled Theodore, wishing his mother didn't get all bent out of shape and worried about every little thing.

I can get you into the doctor this afternoon if you have an earache. You can easily lose your hearing if you don't take antibiotics soon enough. She automatically reached and swept some of his auburn hair away from his face.

Knowing better than to keep on the subject of ears or mother's treating their sons like they were babies, Theodore said, I thought you were going to buy Dad some croissants.

Jocelyn immediately looked away from him and at the bakery door. She smiled, I won't be long. She gathered up her purse, the ever-present empty shopping bag and pushed the car door open. She swung back and said, I want to know the minute your ear begins to hurt.

His eyes automatically followed his mother in the rear view mirror, as she rounded the back of the car and headed for the bakery's bright yellow door. Her white pants were still without a smudge from their day's worth of lifting and toting.

"Please, please don't let him. . ." a woman's pleading voice filled his head.

Theodore froze. This wasn't a fragmented chattering of voices. This was one clear voice. He swallowed. It wasn't his mother's voice. This is what you could call hearing a voice . A voice asking, pleading for help. His help.

He jerked his head and looked around at empty sidewalk. His mother was pushing open the bakery door.

Theodore unbuckled his seat belt, flung open the car door and sprinted to catch the bakery door before it could close. His mother turned and smiled at him, as though she had expected him to follow her into the bakery.

The old wooden floors gleamed with the afternoon sun hitting their hundred year old layers of wax. Someone must have turned the audio volume to high, as all he could hear was the oldie's radio station blaring Wake Up Little Susie.

"Don't leave, please don't leave," pleaded the woman's voice.

How could he have heard a woman's voice with the oldie's radio station roaring so loud in the bakery? He carefully turned his head in all directions. He didn't see anyone. Slowly he raised up on his tip-toes to lean over and look behind the wide bakery counter. This was not the time to be the shortest kid in sixth grade.

He glanced over at his mother. He didn't think she was hearing anything other than Susie being awakened on the radio. She craned her head to see around the stacked loaves of bread behind the counter.

Theodore turned to his left, toward the darkened old area of the bakery. From long ago, the bakery had made a big arched opening into the one room building next door. Built to save on bricks, the old buildings only had common brick walls separating them. By smashing through one wall, you could be in a whole other building. The bakery never used the old area, expect at holiday times.

"Oh please, someone help me . . ." pleaded the voice. Theodore spun around and looked out the big glass store front window. Maybe the woman was outside of the bakery. He turned back to see his mother, looking at the swan-topped cream puffs and shaking her head.

Mom, did you, ah . . .hear anything? asked Theodore.

She shook her head and said, I can't imagine where Evelyn may be. She's always here.

As soon as Susie ended, the bakery was filled by Mack the Knife, with his mother mouthing the words.

He rubbed his ears with the palms of his hands. As much as he wanted his brain to give him a break and just sort of go on mute mode, he also wanted to know if there really was a voice inside his head. A voice that sounded desperate. A voice that he was not going to be able to ignore.

Theodore felt that old, familiar lump of fear as he swallowed. He knew from years of experience that he was able to read people's feelings better than anyone he knew. He had even wondered if he imagined hearing people's thoughts before. He had always thought it was his imagination working overtime. But not now. He definitely heard a woman pleading for help. It was not his stupid imagination. No way.

His mother walked up to the counter and rang the little bell, but it's ring quickly evaporated into the loud music.

Maybe he needed to quit reading about ESP and everything to do with the metaphysical. To be a normal kind of kid, he should ignore any voices he heard inside his head. Shouldn't he?

"Oh Lord, this isn't happening . . ." He slowly went around in a full circle, trying to see where the woman was that was talking to him. He didn't see anyone. His eyes darted everywhere, seeing the flitting afternoon shadows as possible suspects or worse, zombies.

His mother patted his shoulder and he jerked.

Are you alright? she asked, her voice raised to be heard over the music. Her eyebrows were in that mother position of saying she was getting ready to quiz him for headaches, fevers, and if he had eaten anything she didn't know about.

I'm fine, mouthed Theodore. He tried to smile, but his muscles wouldn't cooperate, so it looked more like a grimace. He quickly turned and looked at the case of cookies, hoping that the bakery lady would appear and distract his mother.

Of course he knew about CARMO, Crystallized and Refolded Momentary Optimism. But that only let him send his poetry to others. To change their minds. But never before had anyone actually inserted their words to him. And since he had never told his parents about his attempts to learn and use CARMO, now was definitely not the time to try to educate his mother. Besides, the website that taught him about CARMO, never said anything about his hearing voices. He glanced at his mother. She seemed totally unaware of anything other than savoring the bakery treats lying just behind the glass wall of the counter.

"He's going to kill me . . ." screamed the woman.

Theodore spun around and looked back at the street.

It couldn't have been his imagination. He really did hear a woman's voice! Something bad was happening somewhere. But where was somewhere? He would think about hearing voices later, but right now he had to find the woman that was about to be killed. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Goosebumps ran down his body.

He looked at the four steps down to the arch way that lead round the corner to the old section of the bakery. It was like an old museum, with a player piano, a really old cash register and several ragged, ancient settees and tasseled lamp shades. These days the bakery only turned on the lights and used the old room during special holiday times. Before he had grown up, Theodore had liked it when they put up all the lights, had the player piano cranked up and he got as many free samples as he could smuggle under his mother's watchful eyes.

Well this is intolerable. Evelyn should be here, said his mother, scanning the corridor that lead to a closet and bathroom..

Did you hear some woman? He wanted to whisper, but the loud music made him almost yell at his mother.

Theodore the only woman around here should be Evelyn. I don't see anyone else, Jocelyn answered in a similar loud voice. She reached out and brushed his auburn hair off of his forehead. You have such a wonderful imagination, maybe not an architect or a lawyer . . .hmm . . . I think you might grow up to be a great writer someday. Still smiling, she began to look closely at the rows of perfect pastries that were presented under the long glass display counter.

Theodore closed his eyes and focused on listening.

Suddenly Jocelyn Scott stiffened and then whirled around to face him. Her eyes seem to penetrate right through Theodore's head. Are you hearing voices?

His mother's tightened face with a frown line between her eyes made her look angry. Theodore felt her fear.

She pulled his chin up with her forefinger, forcing him to look at her. He took a deep breath and silently shook his head. And like, POW, he was hearing his mother's thoughts! He swallowed and tried to force himself to breath normally. First the scared woman's pleadings, and now his mother's thoughts about him. His chest heaved with pumped up adrenaline. He not only felt his mother's fear, but also heard pieces of her thoughts; "no, not like his . . .no it can't be happening . . ."

Jocelyn crouched down and looked directly into his eyes and flatly demanded, I need to know if you are hearing voices.

No Mom. I'm not hearing voices, said Theodore, who hated to be treated like a child. If he ever got a growth spurt his mother might have to look UP to him to ask him questions. Being less-than-tall did not help anyone think he was almost twelve years old.

You would tell me wouldn't you?

Yes, Mom. If I hear voices, I'll let you know, said Theodore, who tried to sound as though he was already a tall teenager, who thought his mother was nuts. He wasn't really hearing voices. Not voices. A voice. One lonely, scared woman's voice. His mother's thoughts didn't count as an unknown voice. Did it? An unknown woman pleading for help—that was the voice that he was worried about. Theodore had read about hearing voices. This was not the kind of hearing voices when someone was mentally ill. This voice was not saying nasty things to him or telling him to do something, to hurt himself or somebody else. This voice didn't even know he was listening in!

Today was the first time that he actually heard a voice that went with someone's feelings. Today was the first time he had actually heard his mother's thoughts. Most kids could guess what exactly their parent's were thinking, but this wasn't guess work. He had actually heard what his mother's thoughts were. Weird stuff. He would have never guessed she would be thinking that he might be mental. But heck, he was thinking he might be mental.

You are sure aren't you? That wrinkle of worry was still between his mother's eyes.

Yes, Mom, I'm sure. No voices, said Theodore, who shrugged his shoulders, trying to not look crazy or guilty.

Stay calm, he told himself. Think everything through. He thought about the CARMO website , but it had never said anything about hearing voices. So maybe his mother's fears for his sanity were real. Theodore wanted to go home and get on the Internet. Go back to that website that told him about sensing feelings. He had to find out why he was now hearing voices rather than the usual sensing of feelings. He needed to know what he had done to hear his mother's thoughts. Maybe it had to do with sitting in a hot car. Maybe that changed his brainwaves into a receiving mode. One thing for sure, there was absolutely no way he could tell anyone about any of this. No one in this universe would—hey, maybe that was it. Maybe there had been an alien invasion. Maybe . . ."

"Please, please don't leave me alone with him."

Besides the croissants for Dad, do you want anything?

Where was this woman? How far away from the bakery was she? How could he help her?

Theodore?

Ah. . .no.

You sure? His mother had a quizzical look on her face.

He immediately knew she probably couldn't remember the last time he refused something from the bakery. But then, neither could he.

Sure. Theodore smiled to reassure his mother that she didn't need to play the twenty question game about his sanity.

"Somebody please help me . . ." It seemed to be a weaker voice this time. Theodore searched for any sign of a distressed woman, but the bakery appeared empty. Maybe he should go outside, maybe he would get a stronger signal. He had to find out where she was if he was going to help her.

His mother hit the counter bell for the second time. She raised her nose in the air, as if to be able to sniff out the hidden bakery lady.

Theodore, Evelyn is probably in the store room getting something. I'm going to go see if I can turn this music down and let her know that she has customers. She looked up at the suspended speaker and muttered, I can't hear myself think.

But I can hear you think, thought Theodore, as he watched his mother walk down the hallway to the back of the bakery.

The muted sound of the antique brass cash register with big round keys rang in the old candy shop.

"Please don't . . . "

Theodore turned towards the darkened entrance to the seldom used old room. Someone was in that room.

A muffled sniff and then a man's grumbling thoughts of, "Eddie said this would be easy."

Another voice in his head. His feet guided themselves to the treaded stair steps. He started down the steps into the darkened old holiday room. He didn't even think about adding another unknown voice to his list. He just knew that a woman needed help.

And there was Evelyn, the bakery lady. And a man in a ski mask with his finger across his lips, pointing a gun at her.

Chapter Two

A Thief Changes His Mind

Theodore watched as the pink aproned, gray-haired-Evelyn opened the old cash register. The thief's back was to Theodore. His baggy pants sagged on his skinny frame. For one instant Theodore wished he was close enough to give a hard tug. The thief would be immediately imprisoned by his pants handcuffing his ankles.

"Oh Lord, he's going to shoot me".

Quick you old bat. Give me all of it. Lift up the drawer, demanded the masked man in a harsh whisper.

He waved his gun at the cash register and then at Evelyn. There was a fist full of green bills on the old counter.

But . . . but we don . . .don't . . key . . keep mon . . .money in here.

Do it! The thief tried to hold the gun and scoop up the bills on the counter. The more he tried to pick up the money, the more bills fell out and fluttered to the floor.

In his fumbling efforts, the ski-masked man caught a glimpse of Theodore. He immediately stood up and stared a long moment at the red-headed kid who was clutching the bannister.

He swung the pistol and pointed it at Theodore. Theodore sucked air and gripped the banister with frozen fingers.

Don't move!," was the harsh whisper coming from the round hole in the ski mask. The thief whipped back around to the extremely frightened Evelyn.

Theodore thought that the two black ringed holes in the man's mask made him look like he had two two Black Eyes. His almost non-functioning brain gave the thief the name Black Eyes.

With shaking hands, Evelyn tried to show the man that the old cash register didn't have a drawer that lifted up. She pulled out three one dollar bills that were in her apron. She placed the puny-looking wadded up bills on the counter.

That's all there is. You've already gotten everything from the other cash register. Tears were rolling down her blotchy, reddened face.

On the floor!

"I'm dead. I'm dead." Theodore heard her thoughts and his legs weakened. He had to do something. What?

I promise, I won't . . .won't tell anyone. You can have . . .my rings. She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose and face with the back of her hand.

Yeah, yeah. Gimme your rings.

The tearful woman pulled and tugged until she got off her wedding ring. But no matter how hard she pulled, she couldn't get a little gold ring off her other finger.

I can't . . . can't . . she gasped and looked up at Black Eyes.

Oh, forget it. Just shut up and get down!

Laboriously she lowered herself to the floor behind the candy counter. Black Eyes spun to face Theodore, who was still halfway down the short staircase.

If you know what's good for ya, then ya don't see anything, kid. Got that?

Theodore tried to say something, but his lips wouldn't open. He slowly nodded his head up and down.

Do something. You can't let him get away. Theodore's mind was on hyper drive and BLANK. It was like he was a coward, stiff with fear. Everything seemed in slow motion. Like a movie going from frame to frame. It was the narrow black hole of the end of the barrel that triggered Theodore's brain into action. He could use CARMO and change Black Eyes mind. He swallowed. He had never used CARMO on someone pointing a gun at him. What if he failed? Calm down. Think. Theodore gritted his teeth and focused.

I'm not a crook

I'm not a crook

I'll give the money back

Go home and read a book.

Black Eyes hesitated, first looking at Theodore and then at Evelyn's legs, that were sticking out from behind the counter. He shook his head once and then scooped up the dollar bills off of the counter and shoved them into his pants pocket. He turned for a moment and stared hard at Theodore. Theodore winced as he looked back at the thief.

Be calm, you can do this. Try a different one. Theodore took a breath. Before he closed his eyes, he made himself take one more direct look at Black Eyes.

"When I get my hands around Eddie's scrawny neck . . .he'll pay for this!" Theodore knew it was Black Eyes thoughts he was hearing. He forced himself to focus. He closed his eyes and silently thought:

I'm not a thief

I'm not a thief

If I don't put the money back

It will bring me grief.

Black Eyes pulled his hand out of his jean's pocket, clutching a fist full of stolen money. He looked at the money and shook his head. He growled out, This sucks.

He turned and sprang for the stairs, ramming his shoulder into Theodore as he passed him. Theodore stumbled and fell. His ribs and shoulder hit the stair step. For a moment he couldn't breathe. His whole chest felt like it was on fire.

I'm stupid. That was stupid even to try. Theodore knew that it was mental to think he could change somebody's mind, especially someone as desperate as a thief with a gun. Maybe that meant he was really normal. Maybe he had just been fooling himself with all the CARMO stuff.

Hugging himself tighter, he hoped that the fireball inside his chest would go away.

The bakery door's bell tinkled. Theodore looked up to see a short, older man in a blue striped suit, using a gold headed walking cane, come through the door. His curly, gray hair sprang from his rather large head.

Black Eyes waved his gun at new customer.

The dapper geriatric nodded to the gunman and walked into the main part of the bakery. Theodore watched the old man twist his bushy, pepper gray mustache, with what appeared to be a slight smile on his face.

Theodore swallowed. He wouldn't be getting any help from the weird little old man., who was probably on old folk drugs.

Nobody try and follow me! rasped out Black Eyes, who tried to open the bakery door, but one hand was full of money and the other held the gun. Twice he tried to open the door, and each time he dropped more money.

Sticking the gun in his low slung jeans waist band, he opened the door. Halfway through the door, he stopped and cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something.

"I'm not my father

I'm not my father

I'm not a jailbird

I will please my mother."

Theodore heard the poetry inside his head. An old man's voice. There was absolutely no getting around it, he had HEARD those words right inside his head. And this time it was a man's voice, not a woman's. He was not nuts!

The thief spun around and just stood in the opened doorway. Breathing hard. Waiting.

"I'm a good son

I'm a good son

I'm not a jailbird

I love my Mom too much to carry on."

There it was again. The calm voice of a grandfather right on his brain's silent movie screen. He got it. Somebody else was using CARMO! Maybe it was the old man who had just entered. No way. What were the odds of that happening?

"Ah! yelled Black Eyes as he clapped both hands over his hears, and began hopping from foot to foot. Coins popped out of his pockets and rattled on the floor.

Theodore's eyes moved from Black Eyes to the old man. Hearing the grandfatherly voice was much more frightening than a thief with a gun pointed at him. It had to mean that he wasn't normal. Just how many people could use CARMO? Was he or was he not a freak?

Stop it! Do ay hear me? Black Eyes was trying to keep his ears covered, while clutching a fist full of paper money.

Theodore looked closely at the old guy in the bakery. He was totally focused on donuts. No, he couldn't have been the grandfatherly voice in his head. The old fart was even licking his lips.

Black Eyes tried to hold one hand against his ear and with his other hand pick up the coins. The old man tapped his cane on the floor and let out a small sigh. He seemed totally oblivious to Black Eyes stomping and jingling money.

Crouched on the steps, holding his ribs, Theodore turned his head and looked upwards, and searched for a security camera sprouting from the ceiling. Empty. The old gentleman remained entranced by the bakery case.

All Theodore could think of was someone besides him was using CARMO. The only other person in the room was drooling over donuts. Who could be using CARMO?

Black Eyes spun away from the door, returned down the steps, not looking at Theodore, and went straight to the old cash register. He slammed a handful of money down on the counter. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a fistful of coins and threw them on the counter. Some of the coins rolled onto the old wood floor. Black Eyes was breathing hard, little grunts escaping as he first laid the gun on the counter and then picked it up again. Finally he slammed the gun down next to the money. His shoulders slumped as he stared at the counter.

Are you happy now? said Black Eyes, still looking at the gun, lying on the counter. He pushed back from the counter, turned and ran back up the steps, past Theodore, but this time he was muttering to himself just loud enough for Theodore to hear him.

I'm not like my father! He stopped for a moment and repeated in a loud voice, My mama didn't raise a jailbird!

He ran out of the bakery, banging the door so hard that the little bell fell off and rolled to a stop on the floor.

Silence descended inside the bakery. Even the loud music had disappeared.

Theodore scooted and sat up on the top step. He carefully patted his ribs. They were still smoldering, but since nothing was sticking out, nothing got broken. He took a deep breathe in and was slowly starting to let it out, when he heard a groan from behind the counter.

A tapping of shoes announced that his mother had returned. Well I finally found the switch for the music. Seeing Theodore on the stairs, she said, Theodore, goodness knows how clean that floor is. You should use that perfectly nice chair in the corner.

Mom, I . . . He was holding his ribs and forcing himself to try to breathe normally.

Is he gone? asked Evelyn in a very shaky voice from behind the darkened candy store counter.

What's going on? asked Jocelyn.

She turned from Theodore and looked down into the old section of the bakery.

Evelyn's hand appeared on the counter, then her head, which held an askew hair net, her reddened face appeared bewildered. With a great struggle she heaved herself up and clung to the counter.

For a moment, everyone starred silently at each other.

We were robbed! At gunpoint! Right in the middle of the day! Her voice stuttered and surged with emotion. Her gray hair stuck out through her hair net, as though she had been electrocuted.

Are you all right? asked Jocelyn Scott, her voice full of concern and compassion.

Yes, no . . .I don't know, said the frightened woman. Her dimples were hidden in the deep folds of her reddened and wet checks.

Jocelyn started to walk around the counter to help the distressed lady, when she noticed the coins and bills on top of the counter.

But look. Your thief didn't get all your money, said Jocelyn.

Evelyn seemed a little confused as she first looked at Jocelyn and then at the money. She nodded and then started to cry, again.

And look, there's a gun! said Jocelyn.

He yelled something about not being a jailbird, but . . . her voice trailed off. She was breathing funny. Big deep gulps and then squeaky little noises. Jocelyn quickly rounded the counter and hugged the woman to her.

I think the man . . . said Theodore.

Theodore are you okay asked his mother, who was holding onto Evelyn, who seemed to be quite wobbly.

I . . .I . . ..

A hand clasped over his shoulder. The old gentleman's cane thumped down the stairs.

Ladies, it appears that the supposed thief had a change of heart, said the old gentleman. He looked down on Theodore, gave him a wink and said, Or should I say, a change of mind?

Theodore looked up at the little old guy and got the instant feeling that he had met him somewhere before.