“I’d have to check the delivery schedule, Madam. It normally takes at least two days to schedule a delivery. If we can accommodate you, there’ll be an extra charge.”
“Fine. Please see if you can do so.”
The salesman bristled at Mother’s clipped response. He wrote down the model number and price on his sales pad. “If you’ll come this way, please.”
We followed him to the sales counter. “Let’s see. Without delivery, that comes to $195.63. I’ll call downstairs to see if any of our truck drivers are available today.”
A rack of infant clothing caught my interest. I walked over, Daniel on my hip, to rummage through it.
“Excuse me, Mr. Thompson. How much are you selling that crib for?”
The new voice, eerily familiar, brought my head up sharply. I glanced toward the counter. Mother and the pompous Mr. Thompson stood on either side. A younger man, behind the salesman, now peered over his shoulder at the figures on the sales pad. “That crib has been reduced,” he said. “We’re discontinuing that model to make room for new inventory. It’s $99.95. We have two more left in the storeroom.”
“Nobody told me, sir.”
The new man’s back was turned to me, but my mouth hung open at his tall thin frame, his thick and luxuriant black hair. He moved sideways, affording me a better view of his face as he wrote a new slip with the sale price. I nearly choked at his uncanny resemblance to my dark spirit, to Bael.
“Will you need delivery, Madam, or be taking the crib now?”
Mother smiled prettily at him, not seeming to mark his appearance as a strange coincidence. Perhaps she hadn’t telepathically seen Bael as clearly as I’d thought that first night. “Actually,” she told his look-a-like brightly, “we need this crib today. My grandson’s original crib collapsed rather dangerously a day ago, and the poor child is sleeping in a makeshift cradle. I understand there’ll be an extra charge for same day delivery, but we’re willing to pay for it.”
“Nonsense. There’ll be no extra charge.” He picked up the phone with a sharp glance at Mr. Thompson. “Hello, Walt? This is Bill. Who do you have down there running deliveries today?”
Within minutes, delivery was set for four p.m. that afternoon—a last, previously unscheduled stop for their driver. Mother handed him her credit card.
Bill, our mysterious champion, assured her as he completed the paperwork. “This crib will be sturdy and safe. As you heard, I told our man to put it together for you, to make sure it’s properly assembled. I take it your grandson wasn’t hurt when the old crib collapsed?”
“No, thankfully. He wasn’t in it. This is so kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“Well, thank you anyway. Leigh Ann,” she called. I turned and walked slowly toward them, afraid of facing this man, in voice and appearance so much like Bael. “This very nice gentleman has taken care of everything. Daniel will have his crib today.”
“Thank you, ” I said and looked him fully in the face. Up close, the similarity faded. The man had full cheeks and a rather round nose.
“You’re welcome, young lady,” he said. “If you have any problems, or if we can be of further service to you, please ask for me, Bill Withers. I’m the store manager.”
“My daughter,” Mother gestured, “and grandson.”
“So I gathered.”
“Well, thank you again. We’ll see your man at four.” She headed toward the down escalator, and I followed.
I glanced briefly back at the manager. His eyes were on me as I turned, and from a distance, once more, he resembled Bael. Then, realizing I had caught his look, in fact returned it, he lifted his hand in a friendly wave.
The crib arrived precisely at four, but when the delivery man carefully assembled it, it turned out to be the expensive one, not the half-price crib we’d purchased. We pointed this out to the man, but both the model number on the crib and our sales slip matched. Everything was in order. No mistake.
We signed his packing slip, accepting the crib.
Everything seemed normal again by dinner time. Mother waxed poetic about the luck we’d had buying the new crib. Fred talked about the science project he was working on; Ginnie complained about the chemistry exam she’d suffered through at nursing school that morning. Dad was interrupted during the meal by a customer’s emergency call and went off to fix a hot water heater with a broken valve later that evening. And Daniel fell asleep soundly and snugly in the new crib that night.
Ginnie still had no inkling of the brief possession she’d undergone that morning. We undressed quietly for bed, speaking in low tones, the bedroom rearranged and somewhat cramped. My bed still paralleled the larger crib, sandwiched between the crib and our dresser and closets.
Ginnie had always been a touch claustrophobic. Now she knelt on her bed on the other, less cluttered side of the room and opened the side window a smidgen, insisting on some fresh air.
“It was pretty brisk this afternoon at the mall,” I told her. “We might get cold.”
“It’s only open a crack.” She sat cross-legged on the bed. “Did you get a chance to look at those books?”
I walked over and sat beside her. “I went through them this morning.”
“Did you see how stupid it all is? It’s just legends and myths, all twisted up by ignorance and overworked imaginations.”
I answered her slowly. “Well, it’s hardly scientific. And psychologically, I wonder about the followers of some of those early religions. But I can understand the symbology, the reasons behind their belief in those gods and demigods.”
“Fear,” Ginnie whispered emphatically. “Fear of the unknown, of death, of the future. Nothing more than mystical talismans to get them through the days and weeks. I’m glad we live in a more rational century.”
“So am I. But I think there may have been some real-life events that triggered those legends and myths.”
Ginnie smiled uncertainly. “If that’s true, they became pretty distorted afterwards.”
I smiled back, then glanced at Daniel, who slept on, undisturbed by our quiet conversation. “Gin, do you remember playing ‘Whispering Down the Lane’ when we were kids?”
“Sure. Silly game.”
“It was. But that’s what this reminds me of. Someone or something starts a legend that satisfies an intense and universal human need. The more it spreads, the more it’s interpreted differently down the line. Some of the changes are subtle. Some have a large, distorting impact. Some changes are based on reverence, some on a population’s barbarism, some on a competing religion’s disdain. I find this a quite believable premise. When we played that whispering game as kids, the first person would start off with a completely uncomplicated message. But no matter how simple it was, it was always ridiculously distorted by the time the last child repeated it aloud.”
“That was the whole point of the game. It was funny, we laughed, and found out how important it was to communicate accurately, all while having a good time.”
“So . . . maybe poor communication is the culprit behind some of the strange things we’ve . . . I’ve been experiencing. Maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture—or clearly.”
“Maybe you’re viewing these things irrationally?”
I thought about it. “Possibly. Maybe there’s an explanation that’s not the one I’m pinning on it. Maybe some facts whispered down the lane so much, the original truth was lost.”
“Now you’re