First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [91]
"Feet of clay." Schiltz nodded. "I've been laid low."
There was a rustling in the corridor and a moment later Ami entered, a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other. She froze when she saw Jack. "Oh, I didn't know you were here, Mr. McClure."
"You must have been away from your desk." Jack saw her eyes flicker.
She was about to hand her boss the clipboard when she saw his stricken face. "Is everything all right, Dr. Schiltz?"
"Egon," Jack said. "You should call him Egon."
Ami took one look at Jack, then at Schiltz's face, and fled the room.
"Go on, make jokes at my expense, Jack." Schiltz shook his head ruefully. "God will forgive me."
"Is this the same god that was supposed to look after Candy, or Emma?"
I REMEMBER," Schiltz said. "I remember when everything was different, simpler."
"Now you sound like an old man," Jack said.
"Tonight I feel old." Schiltz sipped his bourbon and made a face. It wasn't single-barrel or anything close.
They were sitting in a late-night bar off Braddock Avenue, not far from the office. It was attached to a motel. While the interior was not quite so seedy as the motel itself, the clientele was a whole lot seedier. A low ceiling with plastic beams, sixty-watt bulbs further dimmed by dusty green-glass shades, torn vinyl-covered banquettes, a jukebox ringing out Muddy Waters and B. B. King tended to attract a fringe element right at home with the bleak dislocation of midnight with nowhere to go, no one to be with.
"Think of your daughter, then."
Schiltz shook his head. "I can't think of Molly without thinking of Emma."
"Actually, it's Emma I came to see you about," Jack said.
Schiltz's face brightened considerably.
"It's something . . . well, something I can't explain."
Schiltz leaned forward. "Tell me."
Jack took a deep breath. "I'm seeing Emma."
"What d'you mean?"
"I heard her talk to me from the backseat of my car."
"Jack—"
"She said, 'Dad.' I heard her as clearly as I'm hearing you."
"Listen to me now, Jack. I've heard of these manifestations before. Actually, they're not uncommon. You think you're seeing Emma because your guilt is too much to bear. You feel you're complicit in the tragedy, that if you'd been able to pay more attention—" Schiltz held up a hand. "But we've been over all that too many times already. I'm genuinely sorry that nothing's changed for you, Jack."
"So you don't believe me, either."
"I didn't say that. I fervently believe that you saw Emma, that she spoke to you, but it was all in your head." Schiltz took a breath. "We die, we go to heaven . . . or to hell. There are no ghosts, no wandering spirits."
"How d'you know?"
"I know the Bible, Jack. I know the word of God. Spiritualism is a game for charlatans. They play on the guilt and the desperate desire of the grieving to speak to their loved ones who've passed on."
"It isn't just life and death, Egon. There's something more, something we can't see or feel. Something unknown."
"Yes, there is," Schiltz said softly. "His name is God."
Jack shook his head. "This is beyond God, or the Bible, or even his laws."
"You can't believe that."
"How can you not even accept the possibility that there's something out there—something unknowable—that isn't God-based?"
"Because everything is God-based, Jack. You, me, the world, the universe."
"Except that Emma's appearance doesn't fit into your God-based universe."
"Of course it does, Jack." Schiltz drained his glass. "As I said, she's a manifestation of your insupportable grief."
"And if you're wrong?"
Schiltz presented him with an indulgent smile. "I'm not."
"See, that's what I think gets you religious guys in trouble. You're so damn sure of yourselves about all these issues that can't be proved."
"That's faith, Jack." Egon ordered them another round. "There's no more powerful belief system in the world."
Jack waited while