DEDICATION

For Atsuko, Aya, Sheina, and all my family, past and present.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 9798317850616

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

IN THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CHAPTER SIXTY

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

CHAPTER SEVENTY

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

CRUCIFIXION

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

CHAPTER EIGHTY

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

RESURRECTION

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

CHAPTER NINETY-SIX

CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

BELIEVING IS SEEING

Michael 'Cami’ Camigiliano pulled up a chair at his kitchen table. With his wife, Nikki, sitting next to him, he set his iPhone on a mini tripod, adjusted the framing, and hit record.

After several false starts trying to read from the notes in front of him, he began to find his rhythm.

“This is a story we’re reluctant to tell.” He tried to keep his eyes on the camera and his imagined audience. “We would never tell this story to anyone – let alone share it publicly – except for one thing. You already know my story. Our story,” he added, gesturing to his wife.

He looked down and picked up the clippings and printouts he had placed on the table. He picked one up and held it toward the camera as he read some of the choice headlines out loud.

“The Second Greatest Story Ever Told”

“The Most Loved – and Hated – Man in the World”

“The Son of Fraud”

He both grinned and grimaced, then tossed the papers down.

"That's just a few of the ways the wonderful media has been describing me and Nikki.” Then he paused. “Let me correct something I just said…I said you know our story, but that's only partially true. You know of me and Nikki. How could you not... after all this insanity?"

The clippings in front of him represented just a minuscule fraction of all the online and on-air hate he and Nikki couldn’t avoid if they tried.

"You may think you know our story and us. But you really don’t."

In these last few crazy months, he had learned that seeing is not always believing. In this brave new world of artificial intelligence mingled with media misinformation and disinformation, as often as not, believing is seeing.

Unconsciously trained by invisible, insidious algorithms, we see what we’ve been programmed to see. Believe what we’ve been programmed to believe.

Cami understood that this new paradigm wasn't about new technology. It was simply the latest iteration of thousands of years of human nature. From the time of ancient Greeks wearing togas to the era of hoodie-clad Silicon Valley billionaires, reality and human nature have never changed. They just take on different disguises.

Such were the thoughts running through Cami's mind as he looked back on these recent months. He could hardly believe what had happened. Why would anyone else?

"You may or may not believe us,” Cami said, triggering memories of something his grandmother used to say: Believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth.

As her words played back in his head, Cami went temporarily silent, staring blankly ahead for a moment before continuing.

“You may or may not believe us,” he repeated. “But it's a story we want to share, need to share…while we still can."

As Cami continued to speak, a violent pounding suddenly shook their front door.

He wasn't sure who it was or how they had found them. But he knew they had.

IN THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER ONE

I’M DYING

Seven Months Earlier…

Cami put the couple’s skis on the rack of their car, while Nikki grabbed a few bottles of water for the road. They gathered the last of their bags and wrapped Christmas presents, and loaded everything into the back of the SUV.

They’d been married a little over three years. Like Cami’s siblings, they had married young, but they hadn’t followed the family pattern of quickly having kids. Cami was twenty-six, Nikki twenty-four. Maybe putting off starting a family had something to do with the huge age gap, a generational-level gap, between Cami and his much older siblings, one of whom had died before Cami was even born.

Whatever the psychological dynamic of being the clear baby of the family might be, Cami had found a great partner in Nikki. They both wanted children, but neither was in any hurry to complicate their lives just yet. An only child, Nikki loved spending time with her nieces and nephews and cherished the idea of having kids of her own someday. But being the “cool” aunt and being a mom were very different things. Motherhood could wait.

They buckled up and headed north on the 405 toward Cami’s mom’s place.

The Camigliano clan was a motley, noisy crew, consisting of Cami’s one living brother, four sisters, and their growing brood of kids. Every year, they all gathered at his mom’s house for the holidays.

Nikki pulled up the “Christmas Road Trip” playlist she’d put together the night before.

“By the way, how’s Nonna doing?” Nikki asked.

“Well, as she would say, she ‘ain’t no spring chicken,’ but she’s doing okay.”

“How old is she now?”

“Ninety-two or ninety-three, I think.”

Cami’s grandmother, whom everyone, including her great-grandchildren, called Nonna, Italian for grandma, could be more than a bit ornery. She was the set-in-her-ways type of frail elderly curmudgeon, about as likely to hold back her verbal punches as she was to throw a physical one. Being politically correct or sensitive to the feelings of others, especially her own family, was not in her DNA. And she could not have cared less.

She’d slipped on the stairs in her own home about a year earlier, not breaking anything but creating a hobbling pain that never really went away.

Not interested in surgery and too old, both in her own mind and in that of the insurance providers, for a hip replacement, she’d reluctantly submitted to rehab and muscle strengthening. Despite a few weeks of in-home physical therapy, she never fully recovered, at least not to the level she had expected and believed the doctors had promised. And she was quick to share that opinion with anyone within earshot.

“Having to move into my mom’s place last year really bothered her,” Cami said. “That loss of independence has been hard.”

“Yeah, that’s gotta be tough. Especially for someone like Nonna.”

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside” started playing through the speakers, catching Cami’s attention.

“Can you imagine what Nonna would say about people trying to ban this song because it’s supposedly about roofieing someone?” He scoffed and shook his head. “‘For crying out loud,’” he said in his best Nonna imitation. “‘Use your noggin!’” He knocked on his head the way his grandma used to when he was a kid.

“Everyone’s so cynical now,” he added. “You know, the guy who wrote that song used to perform it with his wife at dinner parties, long before he even thought about recording it.” He glanced over at Nikki. “Why can’t it just be what it is, a harmless song about two people flirting?”

“Young people today,” Nikki teased in her best old-man voice. “The country’s going to hell in a handbasket.”

Along with his taste in music, moments like these reminded her how much younger Cami was than his siblings. Growing up with a brother and sisters who were already full-grown adults had to be strange. When some of your siblings are literally old enough to be your parents, it’s bound to create a little Jack Nicholson–level psychological confusion. It was also, Nikki knew, why Cami had such an old-soul vibe.

After a few minutes of silence and skipping through her playlist, Nikki stopped on another classic.

"Well, I'm dreaming of a white Christmas," she said. “Can't wait to hit the slopes."

The couple planned to check out Squaw Valley the day after Christmas to get a little skiing in before Cami had to come back to Los Angeles to help a friend work on a low-budget film.

"Me, too. It's gonna be a great trip."

***

“They’re here, Mom,” Cami’s brother, Tony, said as he saw Cami and Nikki pull up to the curb in front of the family home.

Cami opened the hatch of their car as his mom made her way down the driveway with Tony at her side. More than twenty years older than Cami, Tony’s own kids ranged from college age to twelve. Strangers meeting them all for the first time might assume they were siblings rather than an uncle with his nieces and nephews.

“Nikki!”

Tony’s oldest daughter stretched out her arms for a hug.

“That’s Aunt Nikki to you, young lady,” Tony called out with a capitulating laugh as he walked alongside his mom, futilely trying to pass on the formality of his own youth.

“Nikki’s not my aunt,” his daughter shot back. “She’s my friend.”

Tony’s girls had inherited the family brand of precocious snark. Smart-ass sarcasm was a genetic trait of the Camigliano clan, passed down from generation to generation, and, Cami and the entire family knew, had flowed abundantly from his grandmother’s side of the family, the Lagomarsinos.

“I’m here, too, you know,” Cami chided her.

“Yeah, whatever,” both of his nieces replied in harmony.

“Hi, Uncle Michael.”

“Hey, buddy,” Cami said as he fist-bumped his twelve- year-old nephew. “Glad to see your son has some manners,” he added, snickering at Tony while shooting his nieces a look.

Cami was still young enough to seem cool to his nephew, who proudly told his friends his uncle was a filmmaker in “Hollywood.” Of course, in the boy’s not-yet-cynical mind, that meant blockbuster, Marvel-type movies, not the kind Cami actually worked on.

Cami’s mom walked over and hugged him.

“It’s so good to see you both! I hope the drive was okay.”

“Quick and easy,” Nikki assured her as she hugged her mother-in-law.

Cami glanced at the pile of packages in the back of the car.

“How about a little help here, guys?” he called up the driveway to the remaining nieces and nephews.

“You can leave the ones for these two,” he added to Tony with customary snark, gesturing at the girls in front of him. “We’re gonna return those.”

***

The Christmas Eve tradition in the Camigliano household was midnight Mass. Before heading to church, everyone got to open one present, whatever they wanted, but just one.

The other gift-giving tradition, reserved for Christmas morning, was that everyone could open only one present at a time, taking turns while the rest looked on. Tony would then meticulously write down what each gift was and who it was from.

It slowed things down. A lot. But it was the only way to get the kids to show at least a little gratitude before tearing into whatever their aunt or uncle or parent or grandparent had given them. Cami enjoyed the ritual. It was like savoring food instead of mindlessly devouring it. As an only child with no close cousins to spend Christmas with growing up, Nikki loved it too.

Back inside the house, they had barely sat down before Cami’s mom said Nonna wanted to speak with him.

“About what?” he asked.

“She didn’t say.”

“Hmm… okay.” Cami stood and reached for his wife.

“Oh, sorry, Nikki,” his mom said, glancing awkwardly between them. “She said she wanted to speak with just you. Alone.”

Cami looked at Nikki, who simply shrugged and settled back into her chair.

“Must be very important. Need-to-know basis only,” he said with a laugh before heading down the hall toward Nonna’s room.

***

A swarm of kids ran through the hallway, shrieking and laughing, when Cami knocked.

“Nonna, it’s Michael. Can I come in?”

Hearing no response, he slowly opened the door and peeked inside. “Hey, Nonna, it’s….”

She cut him off gruffly. “I heard you the first time. Come in. And lock the door.”

Surprised by that last request, Cami stepped inside, locked the door, and moved beside her adjustable bed, where she sat propped upright, apparently how she spent most of her days now. He bent down to give her a hug and a kiss.

“My hips are shot, but my ears and my noggin still work just fine. How are you and Nicole?”

“Great. No complaints.”

Nonna chortled in her familiar way.

“No complaints, huh? Oh, hogwash.”

She stared at Cami knowingly, but not unkindly.

“Alright… no major complaints. She’s great. You know that.”

“I know. But spare me the niceties. I’m too old for that.”

Her bluntness certainly hadn’t softened with age.

“How are you doing?” Cami asked.

“I’m dying.”

It wasn’t a complaint or a plea for help, simply a statement of fact. Like everything else with his grandmother, there was no sugar-coating or softening of verbal blows. But you always knew where you stood with her, and she went out of her way to make sure you knew it. Maybe it gave her some kind of sadistic satisfaction. It was hard to tell.

Cami stood in silence, absorbing the reality of her declaration. During the long pause that followed, Nonna held his gaze. All he could do was take her hand.

“Thank you for not protesting the obvious,” she said.

There was no point getting into the details of her ailments or discussing possible fixes. All Cami could do was change the subject.

“Well, on that happy note, what did you want to talk about? Mom said you wanted to see me. Alone.”

Nonna glanced toward the window, gathering her thoughts.

“We all know I’m dying, Michael. But before I go, I need to give you something.”

She turned back to him, gripping his hand with surprising strength.

“I need to give you something before I die. Something to be passed down to future generations.”

She pointed to the nightstand.

“Reach in that drawer and hand me the silver box.”

Cami pulled out a small, old, tarnished antique box and handed it to her.

“You know the story of St. Caterina Lagomarsino, right?”

“Well, I know what I’ve been told,” Cami said. “Lagomarsino was your maiden name. She had the stigmata, the wounds of Christ. And we’re supposedly related to her. But I never really knew if any of it was true. Is it?”

Nonna shrugged.

“Who knows? People believe whatever they want to believe. But believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth.”

“So, what’s the truth?”

She lifted the lid, revealing a small, darkly tinted glass vial resting in silk padding.

“That’s the truth,” she said. “That’s the Blood of Christ.”

“The what?” Cami stared at the vial, eyebrow raised. “The Blood of Christ? That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” Nonna asked. “Is that what you believe?”

Carefully, she removed the vial. Cami watched, speechless.

“When the wounds of Christ appeared in St. Caterina, she actually bled. That’s why she’s known as the Daughter of the Passion, because she manifested Christ’s suffering here on earth.”

She pointed to her palms.

“Blood from her hands and feet where Jesus was nailed to the cross. And blood from her side where the Roman guard speared Him. The Blood of Christ.”

Cami didn’t know what to say. Or do. Should he call an ambulance? A psychiatrist?

His gaze flicked between the vial and Nonna’s face, searching for words that wouldn’t offend her or indulge what sounded like a delusion.

“You know, even if that’s all true, wouldn’t that make it St. Caterina’s blood, not Christ’s?”

“Like I said,” Nonna replied evenly, “people believe what they want. But that doesn’t change the truth.”

She placed the vial back inside the box and closed the lid.

Cami struggled to process what he’d just heard. Was this early-stage Alzheimer’s?

“So, why are you telling me all this now?”

“Because I’m dying, and I’m passing this on to you. To keep it safe… and secret.”

She handed him the box but didn’t let go.

“You must never tell anyone about this,” she said, locking eyes with him. “Not Nicole. Not anyone. Until it’s your time to pass it on.”

Cami set aside his disbelief.

“Does my mom know? Did Dad know?”

Nonna slowly shook her head. “Only two living people know. Me, and now you.”

Cami stared at the box they both held in their hands. Nonna’s gaze remained uncomfortably intense.

It struck Cami that, already of a very advanced age, she was playing pretty fast and loose with such a monumental secret. Had it never occurred to her that she might have died years ago? Say what you will about people living longer these days, but how many actually make it to her age?

She finally released her grip on the box.

“Saint Caterina’s brother collected the blood one time while she displayed the wounds of Christ. Turned out to be the last time it happened. She died of tuberculosis a few weeks later. She was just twenty-five.”

“When was that?”

“1807. Antonio, her brother, gave the vial to his son several years later. Since then, it’s been passed down secretly to one person.”

Noting that must be where Tony got his name, Cami asked, “Why secretly? And why give it to me?”

“I always thought I’d give it to Sonny someday. But obviously, that’s not possible now.”

Sonny, Cami’s much older brother, had joined the seminary after college, planning to become a Jesuit priest. Nonna had adored him, proud of his devotion and calling. She was shattered when he died at twenty-three, killed by a drunk driver.

Time had never healed that wound. His memory clung to her as scar tissue grafted onto her soul.

Cami had never met Sonny. He died the year before Cami was born. But he’d grown up hearing countless stories about him over the years, particularly from Nonna. As a small child, Cami’s “memories” of an older brother who had died young seemed more like stories from an old history book.

One day, as a teenager, it had finally hit him. Nonna was showing him photos of Sonny, Tony, and the rest of the kids. The snapshots showed the gang getting progressively older, from little kids to teens to young adults. Then it stopped. But only for Sonny. While the others aged as more photo albums came out, Sonny was frozen in time. No new photos. No future. Just the past.

I guess that’s what death is, Cami had thought.

“So, now it falls on you,” Nonna said.

The whole conversation felt unreal. Probably because it is, Cami thought.

“Why me?” he asked. “Why not my mom… or Tony or my sisters?”

Nonna looked toward the window.

“Secrets are hard to keep. The fewer times you pass them on, the better.”

She turned back to him.

“When Sonny died, I didn’t know what to do. I thought I had time to make that decision.”

She had decided to wait and see how her other grandkids turned out. Would they become lazy stoners and screwups? She couldn’t imagine something so sacred falling into the hands of such lowlifes.

“And then came my happy accident,” she said. “You.”

“Me?”

“You do know you were an accident, right? You’re not that stupid, are you?”

If nothing else, Nonna always stayed on brand.

“You don’t seem any worse than your siblings. And you’re younger.”

A ringing endorsement, it was not.

“You know,” Nonna continued, “you’ve always reminded me of Sonny. Same philosophical mind.”

“But I don’t even go to church,” Cami said. “Tony and the others still do.”

Nonna scoffed.

“As Sonny used to say, the church is man’s feeble attempt to explain the unexplainable. Don’t confuse religion with God.”

As Cami knew from his days at the St. Xavier Institute, human beings can never fully or accurately explain the concept of God. Christianity tries with ideas like the Holy Trinity — the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. But even the most lucid thinkers can’t explain that without tripping all over themselves. C.S. Lewis does an almost convincing job, but in the end, it all requires a leap of faith, not a leap of comprehension.

Nonna summed it up simply: “Believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth.”

This was not the conversation Cami had expected. I’m dying. This is the Blood of Christ. You must keep it safe and secret.

This was all a bit too much for Cami. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t want to offend or unduly upset his grandma.

“But why the obsession with secrecy?” Cami asked.

“Because who would believe it? Who is going to believe that, in this box, is the Blood of Christ? People would think you're nuts.”

That, ironically, was the most rational thing she’d said during this whole conversation.

“And I’ll tell you something else,” she added, leaning closer. “I’d be more afraid of the ones who do believe. What do you think people would do if they actually believed you possessed the Blood of Christ?”

The two generations stared at each other. Then Cami broke the silence, unable to hold back what was running through his head.

“No offense, Nonna,” Cami said carefully, “but you know this sounds insane, right?”

She said nothing.

“I mean, come on. The Blood of Christ?”

She continued to stare.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he added, softening his voice, “but you know this sounds delusional, right?”

Nonna nodded calmly. “I know. But it isn’t.”

“But what if I don’t believe it?”

“Like I said,” she replied gently, “believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth.”

A loud thump hit the door. A child had tripped in the hallway.

“Sorry, Nonna!” one yelled. Another whispered urgently, “Go, go! She’s gonna kill us!”

Cami chuckled. “They think you’re an old curmudgeon.”

“I am.”

After the kids scampered away, Cami tried one last time.

“Why me?”

Nonna studied him, then placed her hand over his.

“Because you’re the right one.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then shrugged, her familiar snarky grin returning.

“Or at least, that’s what I think,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

***

Cami headed back to the living room, where Nikki and his mom were chatting on the sofa. Still trying to make sense of the delusional, yet disturbingly coherent, request of a dying old woman, he overheard his mom’s conversation.

“So, Nikki, I hear your parents are in Australia? How exciting!”

“Yeah, it’s great to see them finally make it happen. They’ve been dreaming about it forever. They’re seeing a concert at the Sydney Opera House in a couple of days.”

“How wonderful.” His mother’s voice carried a note of envy.

Still standing, Cami picked up the wine glass he’d left on the coffee table. His mom was looking at Nikki, but also at him from the corner of her eye.

“Maybe someday one of my kids will send me on an exotic vacation…”

Nikki smiled awkwardly while Cami silently groaned. One of the grandkids wandered past with a tray of cheese and crackers. Grateful for the distraction, both of them grabbed a few and took a bite, thankful for an excuse to not respond.

Always good at holding a grudge but not so good at holding a thought, Cami’s mom changed the subject.

“Now, I know you don’t go to church anymore,” she said, mostly to her son, “but it would be so nice if you’d join us for midnight Mass tonight.” She turned to Nikki, as if an amateur Christmas choir might be decisively persuasive. “They really do such a wonderful job every year.”

Nikki bought herself some time with a sip of wine, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

“Both of you, of course,” her mother-in-law added.

This wasn’t Cami’s first guilt-trip rodeo. Putting his arm around Nikki, he said gently but firmly, “Mom, let’s not get into this again.”

A familiar look of disappointment crossed his mother’s face.

“You go ahead, and we’ll see you in the morning for a great Christmas,” Cami said, rubbing her shoulder.

Then, tapping into his family’s well-honed tradition of sarcasm, he added, “And if you want to say a little prayer for us while you’re there, by all means, please do. Nikki could use all the help she can get.”

Nikki groaned and swatted his arm.

“Oh, you’re terrible,” his mom chuckled.

“Yes, he is,” Nikki said. “Now get us more wine.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Happy for the excuse to escape, Cami went to grab a new bottle.

***

As midnight approached, the family bundled up and prepared to head out. Cami and Nikki lingered off to the side, avoiding the blast of cold air coming through the open door.

“We’ll probably be crashed when you get back,” Cami said. “So, we’ll see you in the morning.”

One of his younger nephews looked up at his mom. “How come Uncle Michael doesn’t have to go to church? It’s not fair.”

“He’s from Hollywood,” Tony joked. “They prefer to do lunch with God.”

One of the younger kids looked puzzled and unconvinced. Tony’s wife shot him a warning glare.

Once the Camigliano clan had piled into their cars and driven off, Cami and Nikki got ready for bed.

“Merry Christmas Eve, babe,” Nikki said as she snuggled in and kissed him. “Looks like it’s just us two gentiles…”

She tried for sultry, but quickly cracked and started laughing.

Cami sighed at the missed opportunity. “If only. Nonna’s asleep next door.”

“I know,” Nikki said, running her fingers through his hair. “And speaking of Nonna, what did she want to talk to you about that was so important?”

Cami hesitated, then realized he had an easy way out.

“Well, don’t tell anyone, because she only told me,” he said gently, “but she said she’s dying.”

“Oh, babe.” Nikki rolled closer and hugged him.

“It’s not exactly shocking at her age, but it’s still hard to hear.”

Nikki rested her head on his shoulder, then leaned back to meet his eyes.

“You must be really important to her if she only told you. I guess that’s why she decided against the hip replacement. Did the doctors say how much time she has?”

“She didn’t say,” Cami replied, relieved to avoid further explanation. “Nothing specific.”

***

Tony’s insistence on the family’s one-present- at-a-time tradition prevented the cinematic chaos of Christmas morning, or at least minimized it. After a couple of hours of gift-opening and meticulous record-keeping, the last present was opened and logged.

Tony turned to Cami.

“So, you guys are hitting the slopes tomorrow?”

“Actually, we’re heading up tonight so we can get an early start. We only have one day before we have to get back to L.A. A friend of mine is behind on a film and needs my help.”

“And it’s a big movie, too.” Using her best in-a- world-where movie trailer voice, she boomed, “Comic Assassin: When he says he killed… he’s not joking.”

Everyone groaned as Cami offered a sheepish smile.

“Hey, the director’s a friend, and it pays the bills, alright?” He puffed up theatrically. “Besides, not everyone can make a head explode on time and under budget.”

Cami’s mom winced. “Why can’t you make a nice family movie? I can’t even watch the ones you do make.”

Tony laughed. “Trust me, Mom. You’re not missing much.”

“Well, I won’t sit here and have my artistic integrity impugned,” Cami declared, standing. “Nikki, let’s pack up and get out of here.”

“See what I deal with?” Nikki said to her mother-in-law as she followed him.

***

Back in their bedroom, they packed for the trip. As Cami reached into the closet for a jacket, Nikki grabbed a pair of his shoes from under the bed.

“Don’t forget these. Want me to toss them in your bag?”

Remembering the silver box hidden inside, Cami reacted a little too quickly.

“No, no, I’ve got them.”

Nikki shrugged, handing them over with a faintly amused look. What are you hiding? She wondered silently.

“Thanks. I probably would’ve forgotten them.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cami made sure Nikki wasn’t watching, then unzipped his bag and tucked in the shoes, carefully covering the silver box with a T-shirt. He finished packing as Nikki zipped up her own bag.

They carried everything into the hallway, along with their stack of presents, then knocked on Nonna’s door.

“We’re heading out,” Cami said softly as they entered.

Nonna nodded and held out her frail arms.

“It was wonderful to see you,” Nikki said, hugging her. “Sorry, it had to be such a short visit.”

“That’s alright, honey.” Nonna hugged her back, then looked over Nikki’s shoulder at Cami. “This girl’s a keeper. You’re lucky she decided to keep you,” she said with a grin that carried unmistakable seriousness, at least to him.

“I’m sure we’ll see you again soon,” Nonna added, turning back to Nikki.

Nikki hugged her a moment longer than usual, silently hoping she was right.

CHAPTER TWO

A PERFECT CHRISTMAS WEEKEND

Cami and Nikki were used to skiing at Mammoth in Southern California. Squaw Valley, home of the 1960 Winter Olympics and a couple of hours north of Sacramento near Lake Tahoe, was new to them. They were competent, not avid skiers, hitting the Southern California slopes a few times a year.

As they stepped off the lift for their first run of the day, a sign at the top greeted them.

“KT-22 Closed. Icy Conditions on All Routes. Use Caution.”

“Probably for the best,” Nikki said. “I heard that’s a pretty intense run.”

“And here I was, ready to show off my mad skills,” Cami said.

“Okay, tiger. You’ve still got plenty of runs to show off those mad skills.”

The signs about icy conditions were right. There was more ice than powder, and the runs were fast. Cami and Nikki spent the day in friendly competition, racing each other and taking a few mild jumps.

After a short lunch at one of the lodges, they got back on the slopes and skied until the light started fading toward dusk. As they stood at the top of another run, Nikki pushed her goggles up onto her forehead.

It was still bright enough to see, but the slope lights had just come on.

“I wish we could do some night skiing,” Nikki said, looking around.

“Me too,” Cami said. “But I’ve got a big day tomorrow and a long drive ahead.”

Nikki pulled her goggles down and adjusted them. “Wanna race back to the lodge?”

“Sure. What are the stakes?”

“Just your manhood.”

Cami chuckled and started adjusting his own goggles. Nikki pretended to wait, then took off while he was still getting ready.

A few seconds later, the chase began as Cami pushed off and headed down the slopes after her.

Never one to go down without a fight, Nikki picked up speed, her competitiveness kicking in. Just then, a teenager cut across her path, forcing her to swerve to avoid a collision.

The move was too abrupt.

She could not catch an edge on the ice. She lost control and tumbled, then slid downhill headfirst, her head striking a small rock covered in ice.

Cami raced down to her. When he caught up, she was sitting upright and rubbing her head, her face tight with pain.

“Oh my God,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Nikki forced a smile and nodded, still rubbing the spot.

Cami stepped out of his skis and knelt beside her.

“Are you bleeding?”

He gently pulled back her hair. A bump was already rising beneath it and the skin was scraped, but there was no serious bleeding.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m alright,” Nikki said sheepishly, more embarrassed than hurt.

The teenager who had cut her off came back up the slope to apologize, his face pale. Nikki waved him off with an awkward smile, insisting she was fine. After the kid skied away, Cami turned back to her.

“We should get you checked out, just in case.”

Nikki shook her head and started to stand. “I’m fine. It was nothing.”

Cami placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to guide her back down.

“Then at least sit for a few minutes and see how you feel.”

“Really, I’m fine,” she insisted. “Come on. The lodge is right there.”

Nikki snapped back into her bindings, wobbling slightly. Cami watched her, uneasy but relieved that she seemed mostly okay. He clipped into his own skis and stayed close as they made their way down to the lodge.

A few minutes later, they stepped out of their skis and found an empty table.

“Come on,” Cami said. “Let the first aid guy take a look, just to be safe.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

Cami knew that if the roles were reversed, Nikki would already be dragging him to first aid. But they had been together long enough for him to know she was not the worrying type, at least not when it came to herself. He admired her toughness, but he also recognized the same stubborn streak he saw in himself.

“Let’s just head home,” Nikki said. “I’ll sleep in the car.”

“I really wish you’d…”

Annoyance flashed in Nikki’s eyes and she cut him off. “I’m fine. Let’s just go home.”

She rested her hands on his, trying to reassure him. She did not want to start an argument. She just wanted to go home.

“Trust me,” she said softly. “I’m fine. Really.”

Then a sly smirk formed at the corner of her mouth.

“Other than the bruise I’ll have tomorrow that’ll make people think you’re a wife beater, I’m completely fine.”

Cami did not laugh. He just stared at her, knowing her mind was made up.

“But if you start to not feel okay,” he said, “you’ll tell me, right?”

“Of course. Now stop worrying.”

She gave him a quick peck on the lips, then added sarcastically, “Come on. You don’t want to spoil our perfect Christmas weekend, do you?”

Nikki stood up. Cami sighed in defeat and followed her outside to grab their skis and start the drive back to Los Angeles.

***

Cami had always loved the long drive between Sacramento and Los Angeles, especially at night.

The trip from Tahoe added a couple of hours, but that only meant more uninterrupted time in the car. There was something about being locked in a confined space on a long highway at night that made his mind feel both focused and untethered.

He glanced over at Nikki sleeping beside him, strapped in, a blanket pulled up over her.

He could not get a good look at the bump on her head beneath her hair without taking his eyes off the road, but he knew it was there. When they had checked it a couple of hours earlier, it had been noticeable. Nikki had insisted it would fade in a day or two.

Long haul big rigs made up about half the traffic on the highway. Occasionally, Cami would switch lanes and pull in behind a semi, letting a passenger car doing ninety fly past.

A road sign announced, “Los Angeles 148.”

A couple of hours to go.

Cami’s mind drifted from Nikki to the special effects job later that day, then back to Nonna.

The Blood of Christ?

He frowned to himself in the dark. There was no way that old stigmata myth was real, and he doubted they were truly related to St. Caterina anyway. But Nonna had looked dead serious.

His thoughts wandered to Miracles by C.S. Lewis. He remembered reading Lewis, Chesterton, and other writers back at St. Xavier Institute, when religious philosophy had still felt like something worth wrestling with.

Lewis’s explanation had always stuck with him. If something truly supernatural happened, something outside the natural world, then once it entered the world it would still have to follow the laws of nature. A miracle did not erase reality. It simply interrupted it.

Cami’s tired mind meandered down the familiar path.

Were miracles possible? What even counted as a miracle? And for that matter, did God exist?

He had stopped going to church years ago, but he was always amused by the smug certainty of atheists who insisted God could not possibly be real. Where was the proof? Why would God allow suffering, violence, evil? Only ignorant people believed in fairy tales.

But Cami had never been able to accept that kind of argument. It was not really reasoning. It was dismissal disguised as intelligence.

Believing in God required faith. But so did believing in the absolute absence of anything beyond nature. Either way, you eventually hit the same wall. No one could empirically prove the deepest truth.

You weighed the possibilities, then chose what you believed, taking that proverbial leap of faith into the great unknown.

Cami had always felt the Big Bang Theory carried its own unanswered questions. How could something come from nothing? Literally nothing. If nothing existed, what created the bang? What matter existed to collide? What force sparked it?

It was ironic, he thought. Maybe the Big Bang was the original miracle. Maybe God had simply set something in motion, nudging the universe into existence, and from there the laws of nature took over.

That was why science could explain so much. Evolution, an expanding universe, physics, quantum mechanics. Those were the rules once the game began.

But what created the game?

His thoughts circled back to Lewis again. The idea of God as a technician reaching into a sealed environment, inserting a hand into the system. A supernatural intervention. A finger on the scale. But once the intervention happened, the chain reaction became natural again.

Rain is not miraculous. But if a drought ended because God chose that moment to make it rain, then the timing was the miracle. After that, nature would do what it always did. Crops would grow, floods might follow, consequences would unfold.

It was logical. Almost too logical.

And yet, Cami knew plenty of people would laugh at it. Rain was rain. Weather patterns explained everything. Only fools credited God for a downpour.

Is that what you believe?

Nonna’s voice popped into his head, sharp and unimpressed.

Cami let out a quiet chuckle and took another sip of coffee. Then, as he put the cup back into the holder, he realized something unsettling.

He had not truly been paying attention to the road for the last several minutes.

It was strange how people could drive a three thousand pound vehicle at eighty miles an hour, surrounded by other cars and massive semis, and still drift into a trance.

Some would call it a guardian angel. Others would call it the brain doing what it had evolved to do.

Cami took a bite of the chocolate croissant he had picked up at a road stop earlier. Nikki had not said much when he filled the tank. Just a half asleep, “No thanks, I’m good,” and then she had curled back under her blanket.

He glanced over at her again, asleep and peaceful, and forced himself to focus on the highway.

What you believe or do not believe does not change the truth.

Nonna’s words again.

He shook his head faintly and exhaled through his nose.

It is a miracle I have not crashed, he chuckled to himself.

There was still about an hour to go. Pulling over did not feel necessary. Not yet. He felt tired, but alert enough to make it home.

A big rig eased into the left lane ahead of him to pass another truck. Cami tapped the brakes and gave it space, then settled back into the rhythm of the road, already thinking about the few hours of sleep he would grab before heading to Jason’s studio.

CHAPTER THREE

OMINOUS AND EERIE SOUND OF SCREECHING BRAKES

Inducing both fear and morbid anticipation of what looms ahead, the ominous and eerie sound of screeching brakes pierced Cami’s ears, soon followed by the horrific sound of broken glass and crumpled steel. Mere seconds later, another car crashed into the one in front. And then into another. And another. A multi-vehicle, pile-up collision.

The expert sound editing made it sound so real, visceral, like it was happening in the room.

Cami and his friend Jason were sitting in a small office in front of a large monitor, a couple of KKR Rokit speakers blasting the sound of the crash. As the short clip from Jason’s new action movie came to an end, Cami turned to his friend.

“Dude, that was awesome.” He was genuinely impressed, taken aback by how great it looked and sounded. “But that can’t be for Comic Assassin.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Oh, hell, no,” Jason scoffed. “This film has an actual budget.”

“No doubt. It’s really impressive.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Jason gestured toward an office down the hall. “Come on, I’ll show you where we’ve got you set up.”

They walked past a couple of rows of empty desks, dormant for the holidays. As they made their way to Cami’s work area, Jason turned to his friend.

“Hey, I really appreciate you coming in and helping out. I’m under the gun big time on this.”

“No sweat, brother.” Cami patted Jason on the back with a sly grin. “Always good to know what your top projects are and where I stand.” He tilted his head and nodded toward the monitor where they had just watched the clip. Jason gave a good-natured chuckle, but didn’t deny it.

“And say thanks to Nikki, too. I hope she wasn’t too pissed.”

“She’ll be fine. But she did mention something about someone getting their nuts cut off.”

“Whose?” Jason asked. “Yours or mine?”

“Wasn’t clear.”

At the door outside Cami’s designated workspace, Jason pointed to a piece of copy paper attached with masking tape.

“We even got you a nameplate. No expense spared.”

“Michael ‘Cami’ Camigliano” it read.

“At least you spelled my name right.”

“I had my people look it up,” Jason joked, then turned uncharacteristically serious for a moment. “Like I told you last week, we’ve gotta shoot the two scenes today. We’re working under a Micro Agreement, so I’ve got you for one day as per our friends at SAG-AFTRA.”

“Then let’s get to it.”

Cami laid down his bag with his tools of the special effects trade – squibs, makeup, brushes, aprons, and the usual mess.

Before the trip to Sacramento, Jason had gone over the two scenes with Cami. Simple before and after gunshots, where the Comic Assassin takes out an obnoxious heckler. Jason had already shot the scenes at the club. He just needed footage of the comic putting a bullet in the heckler as he was walking in a park the next day. And that’s where Cami came in. Making heads explode convincingly, and on time and on budget.

Jason’s phone buzzed, and he looked down to read the text. “They’re here,” he said as he opened the door to step out. “I hired identical twins to speed things up for the before and after shots.

“You always were a cheap bastard.”

“An efficient bastard,” Jason acknowledged with pride.

The buzzing of Jason’s phone reminded Cami to silence his own to avoid any interruptions while filming.

As Jason went to meet the twins, Cami opened his bags to double-check that he had what he needed for both the gunshot and the soon-to-be-dead corpse.

Jason’s skeleton crew had already set up in a nearby park where they would film the shooting scene. After some quick introductions, Cami got to work on his first victim, Twin No. 1.

CHAPTER FOUR

A LOW-FAT CATTE LAFE

Earlier that morning, working on just a little over an hour of sleep, Cami had woken up and immediately checked on Nikki again. She was sleeping peacefully, and he didn’t want to disturb her, but there was no way he was going off to work without first making sure she was definitely OK.

“Hey, babe,” he said softly as he stroked her head, being careful not to touch her bruise. “How you feeling?”

“Hey.” Nikki smiled groggily. “I’m fine. Sore, but fine.”

“If you’re not feeling good, I’ll call Jason and tell him I’ll have to do it another day.”

“No, no. Go. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know if you should be by yourself today…”

“You just want to take the day off…”

Cami was happy to see her laugh. But he was still worried.

“You sure you don’t want to go to Urgent Care just to get checked out?”

“I’m sure. I feel fine. Now go make somebody’s head explode.” She rolled over to give him a little kiss. “I’ll get up later and grab a coffee and something to eat.”

Cami knew it was futile to push the issue any further. He knew she wouldn’t change her mind. Cami took a quick shower and headed over to Jason’s office. An hour or two later, Nikki got up and headed out to her favorite coffee shop.

***

“Hi, Nikki. What can I get you?”

She’d been coming to the Daily Grind Cafe for a couple of years.

“Morning, Rob,” she said. “I’ll have a low- fat catte laffe… uh… a cafe latte, that is.”

“A little groggy this morning, huh?”

“I guess so. We just got back into town. Long night of driving.”

The morning crowd was in full force, so the usually quite loquacious barista was too busy to chit-chat.

Nikki moved off to the side to wait for her drink. She looked down at a couple of somehow still-extant relics of yesteryear, newspapers, that were on a shelf. The large headlines were fine, but the only slightly smaller print in the ledes was blurry. Nikki shook her head a bit and rubbed her eyes to bring them back into focus.

After a couple of minutes, she heard her order get called out. “Low-fat catte lafe for Nikki.”

“Very funny,” she said with a grin as she reached out to grab her drink.

She took the lid off to let it cool a bit, then took a sip. She tried to put the lid back on but found her fingers fumbling. She kept trying, but her dexterity, even for this simple task, seemed off.

A man standing next to her, waiting for his own drink, watched her struggle. He thought of asking her if she needed a hand, but felt it would be rude. Figured he’d probably be accused of mansplaining how to use plastic lids.

Right then, Nikki’s head drooped, and she started to swoon. The man managed to catch her as her drink spilled all over the floor and counter.

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE COLLAPSED

At the park, Cami was working on the makeup and prosthetics for Twin No. 2. His head, actually his identical twin’s head, had been shot off earlier that morning. Now he was working on the bloody aftermath of a gunshot wound to the brain.

As Cami dabbed at the brain matter seeping from Twin No. 2’s partly missing skull, Jason hurried toward where Cami was working.

“Cami,” Jason half-yelled, holding out his phone. “You need to take this,” he said, giving the phone to Cami. “It’s the police.”

“The police?”

“Just take it. Hurry up.”

He figured Jason was joking, but the look on his face said otherwise.

His look of annoyance instantly turned to one of concern.

“This is Michael.”

“Is this Michael Camig…Camigliano?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“This is Officer Jimenez with the San Fernando Police Department. Is your wife Nicole?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“Your wife has been taken to the hospital.”

Cami’s heart had already started to race. Now it sank.

“Why? What happened?”

“She collapsed.”

Cami felt shock, panic, fear, and guilt all at once. It was the skiing accident. Had to be. Why the hell didn’t I insist on taking her to the hospital?

CHAPTER SIX

GOD, I’M A SCUMBAG

Randy Moeller, editor of the National Exposure, was sitting at his desk in New York City, flipping through past issues of NatEx, as the tabloid was commonly called. It was around 10:00 p.m., and all the staff had gone home hours ago.

Then he got a call he’d been waiting for, or more accurately, been impatiently demanding.

Randy punched the button with his pudgy fingers and bellowed into the speaker. “Talk to me. Whaddaya got?”

The middle-aged, long-time “journalist” and media executive looked heavier than he actually was. Some people just have that overweight vibe, a combination of a big head, a fat face, and an ornery disposition.

Randy leaned back in his chair to listen, then quickly leaned forward.

“Did I send you there to get photos or excuses?”

Randy waited a few seconds to hear his underling, some junior-level paparazzi type, give what Randy considered a feeble, rubber-spined explanation.

“I don't give a crap what some rent-a-cop tells you. Ask for forgiveness, not permission,” Randy barked. “And don't bother asking me for forgiveness if you don't get the shots.”

Randy hung up and chuckled out loud to himself. “God, I'm a scumbag.”

“Trust me, Randy, God already knows.”

NatEx publisher Sara Winston seemed to magically appear out of the shadows and walked up to Randy’s desk.

“You’re here late,” Randy said, unbothered.

“I just wanted to wish bon voyage to my new West Coast partner in crime. What time's your flight?”

“I'm on the red-eye in a couple of hours.”

Randy stuffed some papers and past issues in his briefcase. He’d spent 19 years shoveling this schlock. Time to move on. And shovel it somewhere else, at least on a different coast, even if it was for the same company.

“It won't be the same here without you,” Sara told him, looking around the office with a knowing grin devoid of nostalgia.

Randy just smirked. “And Los Angeles won’t be the same with me.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHAT TIME WAS THE ACCIDENT?

Cami’s one-day shoot for Comic Assassin was instantly cut short by that phone call from the police. His head felt dizzy and heavier than usual, and in no state to drive, Jason had told his crew to pack it, then drove his friend to the hospital.

When they arrived at the emergency room entrance, Cami was taken into the intensive care unit, where Nikki was waiting. Jason apologized to Cami, saying he just couldn’t stay and had to take care of something right away. But the reality was different. The thing was that Jason hated hospitals. They freaked him out.

When Cami reached Nikki’s room, a nurse was coming out from the curtain she had opened slightly.

“You’re the husband?”

“Yes, how is she?” Cami entered to find a doctor standing by Nikki’s side, looking over a chart.

“You must be Michael,” he said with a doctor’s strangely impersonal warmth. “I’m Dr. Powers, the neurologist here.”

Cami looked past the doctor, straight through him like he was transparent, his eyes focused on the ominous collection of tubes and machines connected to his unconscious wife. In 24 hours, this beautiful, vibrant young woman had gone from skiing down the slopes to lying comatose in a hospital gown.

Cami’s heart sank as he walked up to his wife’s bed.

“Is she OK?” His gaze was focused on Nikki. “Can I touch her?” The IV needle and tube coming out of her hand gave him pause.

Dr. Powers nodded, and Cami softly put his hand on Nikki’s. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Cami said softly. “You’re gonna be OK.”

Still holding her hand, Cami looked back at the doctor. “She’s gonna be OK, right?”

With the kind of calm and unbothered expression that comes from years of dealing with trauma and the reactions of other people’s loved ones, the doctor gestured to Cami to join him away from the bed.

“We’ll need time,” the neurologist said, trying not to alarm Cami but not give him false hope either. “She apparently collapsed at a coffee shop, and an ambulance brought her in.”

He took a beat and continued.

“The paramedics said she was unconscious when she arrived, but the doctor on call when she was admitted said she’s been coming in and out of consciousness. That was the case when I got here, which is actually a good sign. But….”

“But what?” Cami asked with concern.

“As a precautionary measure, I put her into an induced coma. The goal is to see if we can proactively prevent any long-term brain damage.”

Long-term brain damage?! Cami looked back at Nikki, unconscious, with those ghastly tubes everywhere.

Seeing the panic in Cami’s eyes, the doctor tried his best to be reassuring but realistic.

“She’s breathing on her own. Her blood pressure and other vital signs are relatively good. She’s young and otherwise healthy, and that helps.”

Cami knew there was another “but” coming.

“Obviously, she suffered some type of brain trauma. We don’t know how severe it is at this point.”

Dr. Powers moved closer to Nikki, gesturing for Cami to join him. “She had a head injury. You can see the bruise here.” The doctor pointed to the obvious bump and scratch on the side of her forehead.

“Do you know what caused that?” he asked Cami.

The question made Cami relive what had happened, and his guilt for knowing that he should have insisted on getting Nikki checked out the day before. Yes, she had refused. Yes, the next morning, she had assured Cami that she was fine. And, yes, Nikki looked and sounded like herself when they chatted briefly in bed. Just a little groggy and sore.

Still, Cami couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, of failure as a husband. He had failed to take care of his wife.

As all those thoughts ran through his head, Cami finally answered the doctor.

“It was a skiing accident. She took a fall and hit her head yesterday.”

Dr. Powers made a mental note of that and kept listening.

“She slid on the ice and hit her head on a rock. I wanted her to get checked out, at least by the first-aid guys, but she refused. Said she was fine. So, we just drove back to LA.”

The doctor just listened.

“She seemed OK this morning,” Cami added. “We didn’t talk much, but she seemed normal,” Cami explained how he had to head out early for work.

“What time was the accident?” Dr. Powers asked.

“Sometime around 5 or 5:30.”

The doctor wrote the time in his notes.

“She slept most of the way home,” Cami added. “Only woke up a couple of times.” Maybe it was his own sense of guilt, but he found himself adding, “She really did seem fine this morning.”

The doctor glanced at his notes, looking for something. “What time did she collapse…today at the coffee shop?”

Collapse? The word made Cami cringe as he looked back at Nikki, attached to all those damn machines.

“I’m not sure…I got the call around 9 a.m. From the police. I remember looking at my watch.” Cami hadn’t thought about it until now, but someone at the coffee shop must have called 911. He hadn’t even wondered how the police had tracked him down to get in touch. “So, it must have been sometime before 9.”

Dr. Powers did the calculation in his head. An accident occurred around 5:00 p.m. yesterday, and the patient collapsed around 9:00 a.m. this morning. Without speaking, the doctor noted that about 16 hours had passed from the fall until Nikki collapsed. In between, she had been conscious when not sleeping. And coherent and talking.

“Is she gonna be OK?” Cami asked again. Maybe hope was better than getting hit by reality. “She’s gonna be OK, right?”

“We should know more in another 24 hours or so.”

Not exactly the answer Cami wanted.

“She needs time to rest, to let her brain rest. Inducing the coma helps with that.” Trying to reassure Cami, the neurologist continued. “As I said, her vitals are relatively good. With all these machines, it may look like she’s on life support, but she’s not. Your wife is breathing and functioning completely on her own.”

That, at least, sounded promising.

“You mentioned possible brain damage,” Cami said, not even wanting to vocalize the question. “She’s gonna make a full recovery, right?”

“As I said, we’ll know more by tomorrow or the next day.”

The doctor seemed like a kind and caring man, but he was, at the end of the day, a busy specialist. And Nikki was not his only patient. He turned to Cami.

“Right now, I can’t say when we’ll bring her out of the coma, but once we do, we’ll monitor how she does. If all goes well, she’ll be aware of her surroundings. That will be the first thing we check. Speech will be the next.”

Brain damage? Aware of her surroundings? Speech? The gravity of the situation was crushing Cami, as if a cement truck was burying him from above, smothering him.

The doctor said something to the nurse, then looked back at Cami.

“Right now, I’d suggest you get some rest,” he said, stepping toward the door. ”She’s in good hands.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

WEIRD & WACKY

Fresh off the red-eye flight, Randy took a shuttle from LAX to the long-term stay hotel his assistant had booked for him. He planned to stay there a few weeks, or however long it took him to find a place. That is, however long it took his assistant to find a place he found acceptable.

Once Randy arrived at the hotel not far from the airport, he took a shower and called for an Uber to take him to the NatEx office on the Miracle Mile on Wilshire Boulevard.

He already knew most of the dozen or so people who worked there, of which only a handful seemed to be in the office at the moment.

“You’re here early.” Randy’s West Coast assistant got up from her chair to greet him. “We didn’t think you’d come in today, or at least not so soon.”

“What else have I got to do?” Randy shrugged with a laugh.

“Well then, let me introduce you in person to a new member of your team,” she said as she gestured to a young woman who was already standing up from her desk. “This is Emily Watkins. Emily, this is your new boss, Randy Moeller.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “I feel like we’ve already met since I’ve heard so much about you.”

“My reputation often precedes me. Right before I proceed to get into trouble, or cause some of my own.”

Emily chuckled. “Causing trouble is what we do here, isn’t it?”

Always a quick read of people, Randy sensed he was going to like Emily.

“Oh, wait. So, you’re Emily. Of ‘Weird & Whacky’ fame. Sorry, I couldn’t join the interview a while back.”

“No problem at all. Thank you for taking me on!”

“Weird & Wacky” was the column she was going to share duties on with an East Coast colleague who’d been co-writing it for a couple of years.

Randy had to skip the job interview on Zoom that his assistant had scheduled for a couple of weeks earlier. “Weird & Whacky” was handled by an assistant editor and a beat writer, both back east. They had been pushing Randy to replace the West Coast writer who had quit more than three months ago. He had finally given in.

“Fine. Find someone hungry and stupid enough to work for free and smart enough not to bother me,” he had finally relented.

A few weeks later, here was Emily. He sensed she might be hungry, and didn’t seem stupid. Looking to make the right impression, she grabbed a notebook off her desk and turned to Randy.

“I’ve got a bunch of ideas I could run by you if you have some time this week, or whenever it’s convenient for you.” Realizing she might be overstepping her bounds, she quickly added, “I’ll talk to Madison and Kyla first, of course,” referring to her editor and fellow writer in New York.

Hungry, ambitious, and definitely not stupid, Randy thought to himself.

“Well, there's no shortage of wack jobs in this town,” Randy laughed.

“Shoot me an email and let me know what you've got in the works.”

CHAPTER NINE

THE BLOOD OF CHRIST

With his hand on Nikki’s as she lay unconscious in the hospital bed, Cami had to accept that there was nothing he could do right now but wait.

Then he realized he hadn’t told anyone what had happened.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to his unconscious wife, then stepped out into the hallway to call Jason.

“Hey, how’s Nikki?”

“I don’t know,” Cami told him. “She’s in a coma. An induced coma. The doctor says it’s for her own good for now. To rest her brain.”

“I’m so sorry, man.” Jason then quickly added, “But she’s tough. You know that. She’ll fight through this.”

Not sure what else to say, he asked Cami if there was anything he could do.

“Thanks. Actually, there is. Do you mind calling my brother so he can let my family know what’s going on? I just can’t handle that right now.”

Cami instinctively knew his mom would be a wreck and just get hysterical. Better to have Tony break the news to her in person. Also, Nikki’s parents were in Australia. He didn’t want to just call them up and say, “Hey, your daughter’s in a coma. Are you enjoying your trip?”

“I’ll text you Tony’s number,” Cami told his friend. “Do you mind calling?”

“Of course not. Anything else I can do?”

“Just pray, I guess. Just pray she’s gonna be alright.”

After they hung up, Jason was able to reach Tony. They’d met a few times over the years, so they weren’t complete strangers. Jason felt weird for even thinking it since he knew Cami’s siblings were much older, but it felt like he was talking to Cami’s dad rather than his friend’s brother.

Tony said he and his mom would drive down right away. He would also get in touch with Nikki’s parents. Jason texted Cami with the update and asked again if he needed anything, some food, a change of clothes.

“I’m good. Thanks. Gonna stay here with Nikki.” A moment later, he added, “Nikki’s gonna beat this. I know it.”

***

Cami looked at his watch. It would take at least seven or eight hours for Tony and his mom to get to the hospital. He guessed they’d be in LA by two or three in the morning.

Cami was standing next to his wife’s bed. Dr. Powers had last checked in about an hour ago, confirming that Nikki was stable. He said he’d be going home soon, but would be on call, of course, if anything changed. He expected to make his regular daily rounds again the next morning.

He reminded Cami that Nikki would remain in an induced coma at least until midday tomorrow, maybe longer. He suggested Cami go home, get some rest, and come back in the morning. Cami ignored the suggestion.

Around 6:00 p.m., a new nurse came in to take the night shift. On the whiteboard near Nikki’s bed, she erased the prior nurse’s name and wrote down her own. Together with the day-shift nurse she was replacing, she went over the notes and instructions the doctor had given.

After Sonya, the day-shift nurse, had gotten her incoming colleague up to speed, she turned to Cami.

“Bernila is taking over now. Just push this button if you need anything.” She pointed to the illuminated plastic button attached to a cord and hanging from the side of Nikki’s bed.

“Cami,” he said simply as he nodded to Bernila. “Nice to meet you.”

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to shake hands in a hospital, and as soon as he said it, “nice to meet you” felt out of place and inappropriate. I’m here because my wife is in a coma, but I’m glad we got to meet each other.

Bernila Mendoza was 31 years old. Born in the U.S., both her parents had immigrated from the Philippines when they were children.

“You’re welcome to stay the night, if you want,” she said. She pointed to a couch next to the chair. “I’ll bring you a couple of blankets. And there’s a cafeteria downstairs on the first floor.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

She took another look at the IV levels and checked Nikki’s vitals on the monitor. The blood pressure machine suddenly came to life, beeping softly and beginning to squeeze the padded cuff attached to Nikki’s arm.

Cami was already used to it turning on automatically every 30 minutes, a regular reminder of what state his wife was in.

***

Too worried, and frankly, too guilt-ridden, to sleep, Cami alternated between standing next to Nikki, sitting in the chair, and lying on the couch staring at the ceiling or his Sleeping Beauty wife.

Even just in his thoughts, he refused to let the words “permanent brain damage” enter his mind. Or at least, he tried. But when those words inevitably crept into his head, he swatted them away like a malaria-carrying mosquito. Think positive. Positive energy only. Only positive energy for Nikki.

Cami got up and held Nikki’s hand.

“You’re gonna be OK.” He spoke softly, but out loud, hoping she could hear him. “Concerts, hiking, tennis. Everything you love to do. Everything we love to do.”

Gently holding her hand as he tried his best to convince himself that he believed what he was saying, he struggled to keep one particular thought out of his mind: This wasn’t the Nikki he knew and loved that was “sleeping.”

In bed at home, Cami would usually fall asleep before Nikki did. But on those fairly rare occasions where Nikki was asleep and Cami awake, he loved just looking at her sleep. Mouth open, no makeup, sometimes even drooling or snoring, it didn’t matter. To Cami, she was always beautiful, inside and out. She might not be lucky to have him, but he was certainly lucky to have her.

These idyllic thoughts were interrupted by sadder memories, little snippets of past arguments.

What is wrong with the human mind, Cami thought. Competing with all his happy thoughts were his regrets, like an unfiltered stream of video clips in some dystopian Clockwork Orange type scene. Cami fought to keep his mind from falling apart. Yet as much as he didn’t want to admit it, this was not that Nikki, his Nikki. Something was different. Something was missing.

What’s going on in that beautiful head, Cami wondered. He wanted to think that, he prayed that, she would just wake up and be right back to the same-old Nikki. But something in her face…. her essence… was different. Was missing.

Don’t go there. Stay positive.

He rubbed her hand gently and prayed again. God knows how many times he’d prayed since getting that call. Hopefully God knows. But, Cami had to admit, an all-seeing God would also know how often Cami prayed when he wasn’t in desperate need of help. That was, sadly, an exceedingly rare occurrence.

Cami heard his phone beep.

He picked it up to see a text from Tony. They were downstairs in the hospital. Since it was outside of normal visiting hours, they needed some special persuasion and permission to get the OK from the receptionist to come up.

***

A few minutes later, Tony pulled back the hospital curtain, and he and his mom stepped inside.

There was no need for words. The expressions of all three of them said everything as they hugged.

“I really appreciate you guys driving down,” Cami finally said. “I know Nikki does, too.”

They were all looking at Nikki, lying unconscious on the bed, hooked up to that monstrosity of monitors and machines.

“Oh, Michael. I’m so sorry,” Cami’s mom said. “Can I touch her?”

She gently held her daughter-in-law’s hand, then made the sign of the cross delicately over Nikki’s forehead.

It had looked like his mom was going to keep it together, but that was short-lived. Rather than cry, she turned irrational and started to shake, hysteria bubbling to the surface.

“What did the doctors say? Is she on life support? My god, all these machines…”

“Mom,” Tony said, putting his arms around her and guiding her away from Nikki.

“She’s not on life support,” Cami assured her. “The doctor said she’s breathing on her own.”

He was strangely relieved to take his mind off his own thoughts to focus on keeping his mom from losing it.

He didn’t want to vocalize anything negative in front of his wife, thinking that she might hear them. So, he stepped outside into the hallway with his mom and brother to explain what was going on.

“The neurologist induced the coma to reduce any swelling and inflammation inside her head.” He couldn’t say the words “brain damage” for his mom’s sake and his own. “He’s going to see how she’s doing later today.”

Cami told them about the skiing trip and the accident. He assured them that Nikki had looked and sounded fine the next day in the morning.

“Why didn’t you bring her to the hospital right away?” Cami’s mom asked. “These things have to be checked immediately.”

As if Cami wasn’t already feeling guilty enough.

Tony held his mom a little tighter, more of a restraint than a hug. “Mom… she’s stable now, and the doctors will know more soon. Let’s focus on Nikki getting better.”

“She’s gonna be OK, Mom,” Cami said, probably more to assure himself. “She’s gonna be OK.”

Tony turned to his kid brother.

“I let Nonna and others know,” he said softly. “I also talked with Nikki’s parents. They’re working on getting a flight from Australia as soon as they can.”

Cami’s mom had started to settle down. “That’s good. How long will that take?”

“I don’t know yet,” Tony said. “It’s about a 24-hour flight once they get it. So, it’s gonna take a day or two before they get here.”

As the two of them talked, the mention of Nonna triggered something in Cami’s mind. The vial.

“Thanks, Tony,” Cami said.

A plan was brewing in his head, a desperate and irrational plan, but the only one he had.

“The doctor starts his rounds around 10 this morning, but he might not get to Nikki until a while after that. Tony, can you take me home really quickly so I can get some stuff and then come right back?”

Before he could answer, Cami turned to his mom. “Can you stay here with Nikki?”

“Of course. But what if something happens? What do I do?”

“The nurses are right outside. There’s a button you can push to call them.”

The three of them walked back into Nikki’s room. Cami showed his mom the call button. He also told her that the blood pressure machine would activate automatically every 30 minutes. He didn't need his mom panicking when it turned on.

Cami pushed the button to call the nurse. When Bernila arrived, he explained the situation.

With his mom set to stay by Nikki’s side for the hour or so it would take to go home and back, the two brothers headed to Cami’s apartment.

***

Focused on his own thoughts, the brothers drove to Cami’s place in silence. He just wanted time to think. When they pulled up to the apartment, still in the car, Cami turned to his brother.

“I’m gonna run in really quick and grab a couple things. Go ahead and head back to the hospital. I’ll take my car and meet you there.”

Tony thought about telling Cami to take a shower and get something to eat before coming back to the hospital since he might be there a while, but refrained.

“Got it. I’ll see you over there.”

Cami opened the car door and headed into the apartment. Tony pulled up directions back to the hospital and drove off.

***

Cami headed straight for the bedroom. He picked up the bag he had taken to Sacramento, still unpacked from the day before. He unzipped it and fumbled past his shoes to grab what he was looking for.

Carefully unfolding the t-shirt he had wrapped it up in, Cami held the small silver box Nonna had given him.

The Blood of Christ.

The story sounded so crazy when he heard it from Nonna just a day ago. It still did. But it also somehow symbolized in his mind a semblance of hope, something Cami desperately needed.

Just as silly and illogical was the plan Cami had made up in his head. Part of him couldn't believe what he was thinking of doing. Part of him couldn’t believe he had any other choice.

***

When Cami got back to the hospital in the still pre-dawn hours, Tony was already there, sitting with his mom next to Nikki’s bed. The blood pressure machine started its 30-minute ritual.

Holding a bag of things he’d brought from home, Cami looked at his watch.

“Why don’t you guys go back to our place and get some rest?”

“I want to stay with Nikki,” his mom said.

“I know, Mom. But the nurses just told me the doctor won’t even start making his rounds for several hours, so this is your chance to get some rest and get something to eat. There’s food in the fridge, or you guys can get something on the way.”

“I’d rather stay.”

“I get it, Mom. I know you would. But I’d like to spend some time alone with her.” He stroked his mom’s shoulder. “There’s nothing anyone can do right now, and you’ll be back here before the doctor comes by to check in on her.”

“Cami’s right,” Tony agreed. “I’ll take you to Cami's place, and we’ll be back before the doctor gets here.”

He gently prodded his mom to stand up. She stepped next to Nikki’s bed, made the sign of the cross again, and caressed Nikki’s hand, being careful not to touch the IV needle.

As they left the room, Bernila came in to make her rounds. With a silent smile, she checked the various monitors. With everything normal, she started to leave. Cami asked her when she’d be coming around again.

“Me? Oh, I’ll be checking in again in 45 minutes or so.”

Cami made a mental note of how much uninterrupted time he should have with Nikki. Once alone, Cami reached into the bag he’d brought from home and took out the small silver case Nonna had given him.

He opened the box and used two fingers to pinch and lift the tiny glass vial it contained.

Although he had plenty of experience working with blood and gore as a special effects artist, he had never studied, or even once thought about, what happens to blood after a couple of centuries. Since the “blood” he used was always fresh, he didn’t know that to preserve blood in liquid form, it needs to be treated with an anticoagulant. And even then, over time, certainly over a couple of hundred years, the blood will separate and decompose. With or without an anticoagulant, all that’s left behind after such a long period is, at best, a brown or black solid clump, along with a cloudy, yellowish liquid.

But such thoughts were not on Cami’s mind as he stared at the dark vial in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Nonna,” he said out loud softly. “I’m sorry.”

He stared at the vial, replaying in his head that strange, what he had called a ‘delusional’ conversation with his grandmother. He then looked at Nikki as he placed his hand on hers. Nothing had changed since the day before. Nothing was supposed to have changed. The doctor specifically said nothing would change until he took her out of the coma.

But Cami just couldn’t take looking at his wife in this state. Permanent brain damage. He couldn't force those words out of his head. Since last night, he had fought hard to repel them, to fight them off like evil demons circling a resting angel. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the feeling… the fear… the fact that she looked brain dead.

Cami leaned over and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Nikki. I’m sorry, Nonna.”

Cami gazed at the glass vial in his hand. “This is the Blood of Christ.” He spoke the words quietly as if he were saying mass, trying hard to believe that it was possible. That it could be true. Nonna’s words came back to him once more. “Believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth.”

Cami thought about what he was about to do. It made no rational sense. And what right did he have to do it anyway? This was Nonna’s heirloom, one she had only just bestowed upon him to safeguard for future generations, one she had treasured and protected for decades. Nonna had said Cami was the “right one” to give it to, maybe. Now he felt like he was about to prove just how wrong she had been. But looking at Nikki, what choice did he have? They needed a miracle. Maybe this was why Nonna’s precious family legacy was now in Cami’s hands. It was meant to be. Fate. Destiny.

His decision made, Cami refused to entertain any more doubts.

Holding the vial in his left hand, Cami twisted off the black cap and placed it on the table attached to Nikki’s bed.

He spoke softly to Nikki, touching her hand with one hand, while carefully holding the vial upright with his other.

“This is the Blood of Christ,” he whispered.

The thought of putting it into Nikki’s IV had crossed his mind earlier, but the contents looked nearly solid now. And what did he know, anyway, about administering IVs? The thought of injecting a foreign, ancient, and not really even liquid substance and making her worse was simply out of the question.

“Jesus performed miracles,” Cami continued, whispering to his wife. “With this blood in me, maybe I’ll have that power, the power to heal you.”

Before any more doubts could creep into his mind, Cami uncapped the vial and peeked at the clumpy substance inside. He mentally braced himself for what he expected to be a putrid, repulsive taste. The last thing he wanted to do was reflexively spit it out.

“You’re going to be OK,” he assured Nikki.

Cami tilted his head back, aggressively tapping the bottom of the vial to empty the contents into his mouth. Thankful that he had prepared himself for the foul taste, he managed to restrain an instinctive gag reflex and digested, more than drank, what he hoped was what Nonna had said it was.

CHAPTER TEN

OPEN THE GATES OF HELL, ALREADY

With the DMV not set to open until 8:00 a.m., four or five people had already started to line up outside the locked doors. The line more than tripled over the next 15 minutes and continued to grow.

As the people waited to renew their car registrations or take care of some other DMV business, they were a captive audience for Manny Pasqual.

A 28-year-old wannabe preacher, he had found his “calling” during an 18-month stint in state prison for possessing and selling drugs. But he had avoided conviction for the more serious crime of distributing them, but they had found a weapon in his car, which extended his incarceration. That was five years ago, and Manny had already served his time and finished probation.

He didn’t claim to be innocent. He claimed to be saved. And he intended to save others in the name of his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Immune to being ignored and appearing more intent on ranting than connecting and converting, he continued to mimic the grandiose, hellfire-and-brimstone school of preaching he devoured on YouTube and anywhere else he found it.

Well-worn, dog-eared Bible in hand, Manny walked slowly up and down the line as he spoke.

“Wrestle not with flesh and blood. Our fight is with the evil forces that surround us. Evil demons commanded by Satan himself. These soldiers of Satan do not attack you with swords and battle axes.” Manny was looking right through his audience rather than trying to connect with them. “No, Satan and his army are deceivers… they don’t need to fight. They trick you into welcoming them in with open arms, escorting the devil himself right through your front door.”

Manny continued to pace back and forth, standing at least five feet away from the crowd, as he had been instructed on more than one occasion by DMV officials. They wouldn’t stop him from “spreading the Word” as long as he didn’t harass the people waiting in line.

“Demons deceive,” Manny hissed with venom, then suddenly softened his tone. “The Lord loves.”

“Drugs were my idol,” he told his captive audience. “My next fix was my salvation. That’s what Satan wanted me to believe. And I did.”

Manny looked over his crowd, with each person focused on just avoiding eye contact with this lunatic.

“What false salvation do you worship? What demons are deceiving you?”

Manny raised his Bible, pulling out a bookmark he had set to a certain passage. He read out loud Matthew, verses 18-20. “For where two or three gather in My name, I am there in the midst of them.”

Manny paused and looked around. “We number much more than just two or three. We are in His midst, brothers and sisters.”

Channeling the Word of the Lord in his own demented way, he looked at a few potential victims, all avoiding his gaze, pretending not to hear him.

“You, sir, are in His midst…You, ma’am, are in His midst. This child is in His midst.”

With one eye on Manny, the girl’s mom shielded her child from him.

“Praise the Lord,” Manny called out, raising his arms. “Ask, and you shall receive. Ask for salvation, and you shall be saved.”

Turning more sinister, his voice deepened.

“But if you hold hands with the devil, tempted with his false promises, you will be like a lamb to the slaughter… on the road to damnation!”

An older man who had that Vietnam vet, ex- Hippie, full-time-social-cynic-vibe smirked, then turned to the stranger standing in line next to him.

“Hurry up and open the gates of hell, already,” he whispered. “I’ve never wanted to get inside the DMV so bad in my life.”

A couple of minutes later, a DMV official unlocked the doors and waved in the first group of people. That was Manny’s cue to move on.

“Have a blessed day,” Manny called out to no one in particular and walked away, Bible in hand.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FATHER, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?

Tony and his mom planned to be back at the hospital by 8:00 a.m., when official visiting hours began, about 45 minutes from now.

Her night shift just about over, Bernila was ready to head home. She reminded Cami that she would be off for the next two days. The nurse didn’t say so, but given Nikki’s current condition, it was clear she’d still be in the ICU when Bernila came back.

She reminded Cami that the doctor would be making his rounds later that morning.

“He’ll likely be in to see how she’s doing sometime around 10 or 11.”

Alone again with Nikki, Cami felt guilt and doubt taking over his thoughts. The Blood of Christ? Did he really believe that? He had probably just poisoned himself by drinking that vial of nonsense. Or maybe it was just some foul-tasting concoction Nonna had cooked up in her own state of delusion, as harmless as it was worthless.

And now what would he do if Nonna asked for it back? Would he just give her an empty vial?

Sorry, Nonna. You know that sacred heirloom you treasured so much, the big ‘secret’ you asked me to keep safe, the one your bloodline has treasured for generations? Well, no offense, but I drank it.

It was gone now, just like the last rays of hope Cami had held onto. And there was Nikki, still in a coma, unconscious.

Father, why have you forsaken me?

What a bizarre, narcissistic choice of words to randomly pop into his head. So, much for thinking positively and staying strong for Nikki. Cami was giving up hope even before the doctor took her out of the coma to see how she would react.

He could hear the blood pressure cuff start to squeeze Nikki’s arm, snapping Cami back into the present.

Suddenly, Nikki let out a tiny groan, the kind someone makes when they’re dreaming. She moved her head just slightly to the left. It was slight, but she had definitely just moved on her own.

“Babe, it’s me,” he said in an excited whisper, standing up and touching her hand. “Can you hear me? It’s me, Cami.”

Was he imagining this? No, he was sure she had moved.

Nikki let out another tiny moan. “Nikki, it’s me,” Cami said again, stroking her hand and head. “Can you hear me?”

Call the nurse, Cami said to himself. He reached down and pushed the button once, then again to make sure he had worked.

A few moments later, a voice came over the intercom.

“Can I help you?”

“I think my wife is waking up,” Cami said to the speaker. “I think she’s waking up.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Sonya was at the nurse's station. She knew Dr. Powers wouldn’t be taking her out of the coma for at least a few more hours. So, there was no way Nikki was waking up. But she reluctantly got up and walked down the corridor to Nikki’s room.

Sonya stepped inside and saw Cami speaking softly to his wife and stroking her forehead.

“Don’t disturb her,” she said to Cami, in a not-angry but firm voice. “She needs rest.”

She politely gestured for Cami to move out of the way so she could get to Nikki’s side. But more than anything, she wanted Cami to let his wife rest.

While she was checking, Tony and their mom came into the room.

“What’s wrong?” Cami’s mom said with instant worry in her voice when she saw the nurse fussing over Nikki.

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s normal,” Sonya said.

“She moved,” Cami said with excitement, looking at Tony and his mom. “She moved. I think she’s waking up.”

“Let’s wait for the doctor to come by,” Sonya said, perhaps a bit more sternly than she had intended. “It’s best to let her rest undisturbed until he gets here.”

“But she definitely moved. And made some noises,” Cami insisted.

Tony looked at his brother, wanting to believe him, but worried that he was letting hope cloud his judgment and the need to follow the nurse’s instructions.

“Let’s do what the nurse says.” Tony put his arm on Cami’s shoulder. “The doctor’ll be here soon. He’ll know what’s best.”

“Yes,” Sonya said, looking at Tony. “That’s good advice.” Cami nodded silently.

Convinced that Cami agreed and would now refrain from trying to wake his wife, Sonya made a mental note of that and left.

The three of them stood in silence, looking at Nikki.

CHAPTER TWELVE

PASSION FOR PINOY

Anyone who has spent time in a Filipino-American community knows they are very family-oriented. Lots of cousins, lots of gatherings, lots of food. So, it was no surprise that Bernila often got together with her extended family and friends on her days off.

Some might dismiss it as a stereotype to say every Filipino family in the States has at least one direct family member who is a nurse, but like all stereotypes with staying power, more often than not, it has more than just an element of truth. From her mother to her sister to several cousins, Bernila came from a family of nurses and others in the medical field.

And as in all cultures, food plays a central role when families and tight-knit communities get together. While her weekends were seldom free due to her work schedule, Bernila was looking forward to some good food on a Tuesday night. And with no work the next day, she and her friends had tickets to see the Chinese Lantern Festival after dinner.

“Dollar Hits at 6?”

Bernila looked at the text in her friend group. She sent a goofy, salivating face emoji in response. She was always in the mood for some Filipino barbecue.

Dollar Hits was a low-key restaurant in Los Angeles between downtown and Koreatown run by three sisters. The restaurant, which serves street food with a roof, was famous in the Filipino community for Pinoy BBQ, especially the skewers. Pork Isaw, intestines, were Bernila’s favorite. Filipino soul food on a stick, she called it.

The group would get their fill of the BBQ, then head out to the Chinese Lantern Festival about 45 minutes away. Bernila had never been before, but it looked spectacular in the photos she had seen online.

***

To the American ear and palette, intestines, liver, pork blood, and the like don’t necessarily whet one’s appetite. But that’s exactly what Bernila and her friends were in the mood for.

At the counter, they penciled in their orders for skewers of BBQ pork, beef intestines, dried squid, chicken skins, chicken feet, and pork ears.

Within a few minutes, they all sat around, sharing the bounty. As they ate, Bernila and her friends could hear a small group of Filipino men talking and eating at a nearby table.

Bernila’s friend Maria nudged her and nodded her head discreetly in their direction.

“I met that guy a couple of weeks ago,” Maria whispered to Bernila. “He’s cute but kind of crazy.”

Trying not to draw any attention, Bernila looked over at the man, who appeared to be holding court, skewer in hand.

“Redemption comes at a cost,” he was saying in a louder-than-needed voice to the three other men at his table. “Anyone can be saved. But salvation isn’t free.”

It wasn’t clear if the people around him were friends who wanted to be there or just polite hostages, held captive while trying to eat in peace.

“We all have to sacrifice our worldly desires before God will grant us what we truly need.”

Bernila looked at Maria with a puzzled look. “Did you date that guy?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“God, no,” Maria said, keeping her voice down but emphatic. “My cousin introduced us at church.”

The man continued to preach, a skewer of BBQ in his hand as he pointed it at his audience.

“We may all feel hungry at times, but Jesus will always make sure we’re nourished with the Bread of Life.”

“I think you dodged a bullet,” Bernila joked quietly to her friend.

The man’s ranting had become loud enough to draw the attention of others in the restaurant, including one of the owners. The man put one more piece of BBQ in his mouth and continued, still holding the skewer like a conductor’s baton.

“We’re all like lambs. Submit, and you will be saved. Resist, and you’ll be slaughtered.”

The owner had heard enough and could see how uncomfortable the other diners were getting. She walked over to the man’s table.

“How’s the food?” she asked nicely. The preacher looked surprised, but his “friends” looked relieved for a break in the sermon. “I appreciate your passion,” she said. “But there’s a time and place for everything, right? Tonight, how about you just share your passion for Pinoy?”

“Smooth,” Bernila whispered to her friends.

The man and his group got the message. That is, the man got the message, and the others were more than happy to make their escape. They quickly finished their food and left, walking by Bernila, Maria, and the rest of their group.

Maria tried to hide, but the man noticed her.

“Oh, hello,” he said to her. “We met at church, right?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Maria’s tone and body language made it clear she was not interested at all. “I didn’t see you sitting over there.”

“I’m Manny, by the way.”

“Nice to see you again.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask for her name.

Even Manny could read this room. No one had any desire to prolong this awkward encounter.

“Well, good to see you again,” he said. “I hope to see you in church. God bless.”

Maria’s painfully perfunctory smile left no doubt about her lack of interest. It was a look all women mastered at a young age.

Once they had gone, Bernila turned to Maria. “Wow, could you imagine if you had gone out with that guy?!”

Everyone cringed at the thought.

Not long after Manny and his group left, Bernila and her friends headed out to the festival.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE ‘M’ WORD

“I hope he has some good news,” Cami’s mom said as she waited with her sons next to Nikki for the doctor’s visit sometime later that morning. “I’m sure he will,” she added with as much upbeat confidence as she could muster.

“She’s already getting better,” Cami insisted.

Let’s hope so, Tony thought to himself.

“Nikki’s folks should get into LAX around 3:00 p.m. tomorrow,” he said. “They got the first flight they could, but it’s a long flight and the time difference is brutal. You lose a whole day.”

Cami held Nikki’s hand. “You hear that, babe?” he said softly to his still unconscious wife. “Your folks will be here tomorrow.”

“That’s wonderful news,” his mom chimed in, unable to remove the hint of sadness on her face as she looked at her daughter-in-law.

***

A little after 10:00 a.m., Dr. Powers came into Nikki’s room with Sonya in tow. After some quick introductions to Tony and Cami’s mom, he took a look at the monitors and checked the nurse’s notes.

With a restrained but annoyed frown, he looked up at Cami.

“Did she stir on her own, or did you try to wake her?” Before Cami could answer, he added. “She needs rest right now. That’s the most important thing for her. Undisturbed rest.”

Cami just nodded silently.

“That’s why we induced the coma, as I told you yesterday,” the doctor reminded him. “Letting her rest undisturbed is the best thing you can do for her right now.”

The doctor noted that the CT scans had revealed a subdural hematoma, a result of the head trauma from her fall. He explained matter-of-factly that he had requested a brain surgeon to drain the fluid buildup around Nikki’s brain. That required drilling into her head to release the pressure and, hopefully, prevent any damage.

The doctor could see the shocked and worried look on all of their faces.

“You’re going to drill a hole in her skull?” Cami looked down at his wife as he said it.

“Oh, my God,” his mom said, covering her mouth.

“It’s a common surgery,” the doctor assured them, before adding, “There’s always risk when dealing with the brain, but you're in good hands with Dr. Ahmadi. He’ll go over everything with you once it's been scheduled.”

“When will that be?” Tony asked.

“We’re shooting for first thing tomorrow morning. At this point, she’s doing just as we expected. But we need to remove the fluid buildup as soon as we can.”

He looked at Cami.

“She needs rest. Disturbing her sleep or trying to wake her up now is dangerous and counterproductive.”

“Understood.”

It wasn’t just the reprimand that had Cami feeling ashamed and guilty. He realized the miracle he had hoped for was, in a word, delusional.

What the hell was I thinking? Did I really believe that drinking two-century-old, almost certainly fake, blood would somehow give me the power to save my wife?

After the doctor left, Cami decided to take a walk by himself to clear his head. He made his way to the hospital's gift shop and picked up a collection of crossword puzzles and jumbles to keep his mom occupied.

When he got back, the trio spent the day killing time as Nikki slept. She stirred a couple of times, but Cami refrained from getting excited, heeding what the doctor had said. Was he following instructions or just losing hope?

Ye of little faith, Cami thought to himself. The doctor had just said Nikki was doing just as well as he expected at this point. And now her own husband was giving up hope?

Patience, Cami reminded himself. She’s gonna beat this.

***

With normal visiting hours set to close at 8:00 p.m., Cami told his mom and Tony to head home for the night and come back in the morning. Surgery day.

Aside from regular check-ins by Bernila’s substitute night shift nurse, Cami spent the night alone with his wife, dozing off occasionally.

Around 1:00 a.m., he woke up and stood next to Nikki’s bed. Nearly 24 hours had now passed since Cami had imbibed his grandmother's precious legacy. And what did he have to show for it? Nothing.

He just stared at Nikki, who lay there comatose. Brain surgery tomorrow. They’re literally going to drill a hole into her head.

The strong feeling of guilt was making it hard to hope again. And hope? It’s the only option sometimes. But as he struggled not to lose hope, Nikki began to move. When she had done that for the first time the day before, Cami got excited.

Not this time.

He just looked at his wife, expecting a way of hope to once again fade away. No more false calls to the nurse. Nothing would change until Dr. Powers took her out of the coma. But this time, Nikki continued to stir. She seemed to be trying to roll over. Still refraining from touching her or calling out, Cami just watched.

Nikki let out a dream-like moan, followed by another moments later. He sensed she might be trying to say something. Ignoring the doctor’s orders, he leaned in toward his wife.

“Nikki, it’s me. Cami.”

He touched his wife’s hand as she looked up at him groggily. A slight smile of recognition came across her face. Cami leaned over to kiss her forehead. He felt her gently squeeze his hand.

“Hey,” she mumbled in a weak voice.

“You’re awake,” he whispered excitedly. “You’re awake.” He kissed her gently again.

“And you’re talking…”

Nikki just smiled at Cami. A hazy, confused smile, but a smile, to be sure.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “You’re in the hospital.”

“Why?”

She slowly became aware of the tubes and monitors attached to her. She looked back at Cami, clearly trying to figure out what was happening.

“You fell,” Cami told her. “You fell at the Grind.”

“The Grind?” Nikki looked puzzled. “Not skiing?”

Amazed and delighted to see her awake and talking, he felt relieved. Relief had become an unfamiliar feeling for him.

“You fell there, too.” He kissed her forehead again. “I’ll explain it all later.”

Again, ignoring earlier reprimands, he pushed the call button. A nurse came on the intercom.

“I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but my wife is awake,” he said. “And talking.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Cami was too excited to hear the annoyance in her voice. Having read the prior notes about Cami disturbing his wife, she made a mental note to give him a stern reminder of the doctor’s orders.

When the nurse stepped into the room ready to reprimand Cami, she was shocked to see Nikki sitting up, looking tired but alert.

“You’re awake.” The nurse could hardly believe what she was seeing. It should have been impossible, but it was undeniable. “How do you feel?”

“Been better,” Nikki said softly.

The nurse began checking Nikki’s vitals.

“The doctor wasn’t planning to see you for another few hours.”

“She’s a fighter,” Cami beamed with pride. “She’s not your normal patient.”

“No, she’s not,” the nurse agreed with disbelief. “I’ll be right back.”

She left and went straight to the nurses’ station to see if one of her colleagues was around. A more senior nurse was there and agreed they should call Dr. Powers immediately.

***

Within an hour, the doctor was standing at Nikki’s bedside.

Amazed that she was sitting up and even speaking, coherently, no less, he had her perform a series of cognitive tests. “Touch your forehead… now touch your nose. Follow my finger with just your eyes.”

Finding it hard to believe his eyes, the doctor had Nikki answer some basic questions to confirm her mental acuity. What’s your birthday? What year is it? Who’s the President? Do you know where you are and why you’re here?

Hearing her perfectly clear answers, Dr. Powers looked at Cami, then back at Nikki.

“You are one very lucky young lady.”

The doctor went back to the monitor and pulled up the CT scans from yesterday.

“I’m going to order another set of scans for this morning.” He didn’t offer a reason.

He looked again at yesterday’s scans, confirming what he had already seen: unmistakable proof of the internal bleeding of a subdural hematoma. He didn’t say so, but everything from his experience as a neurologist told him this wasn’t possible. None of this should be happening.

“What about the surgery?” Cami asked. “You’re canceling that, right?”

Not wanting to make any rash decisions or risk a malpractice suit down the road, the doctor said he’d wait to get the new scans and then decide. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he wanted to document it, whatever it was.

The results would be available within an hour.

***

As they waited for the doctor to return with the results, Cami sat next to Nikki’s bed, holding her hand.

“You’re my miracle girl,” he said as he stroked her hair. “And I’ve got some great news for you. Your parents will be here soon.”

“What? But they’re in Australia. On their dream trip.”

“They got a flight as soon as they heard you were in the hospital.”

“Oh, I feel terrible. They didn’t need to cancel their trip.”

“I think they’ll get over it,” Cami laughed.

“My mom must be worried sick.” Nikki looked at Cami. “Did you tell them I’m all better now?”

That was a good point. He hadn’t told them yet. They were still in the air. Plus, as excited as he was to share the news, he knew more tests were coming. Better to give them the big surprise after the doctor confirms her recovery.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell them yet,” Cami said. “Don’t forget, babe, you were in bad shape just a little while ago!”

“Well, call them, or text them, as soon as you can. They must be freaking out.”

Cami told a little white lie and promised he would.

The last two days had been such a blur. Nikki collapsed and was put into a coma. Cami was sinking into delusional despair, going so far as to think he could somehow save Nikki by stealing and drinking the treasured heirloom Nonna had entrusted to him.

And he was just now realizing that Nikki had no idea how surreal the last 48 hours had been. How could she? She was in a coma the whole time!

Nikki didn’t even know that Tony and his mom had already visited her in the hospital.

“My mom and Tony actually came down yesterday,” Cami told her. “They’re at our place and will be back here soon.”

“Back here? Your mom already saw me like this?” She pointed to all the machines and tubes.

“Well, not like this,” Cami said, slipping naturally into the familiar Camigliano sarcasm. “She saw you yesterday when you looked really awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Cami gave her a peck on the lips.

“You look fantastic now, though! She’s gonna go nuts, in a good way, when she sees you talking and laughing. She and Tony are gonna be blown away.”

Nikki smiled.

“I’m blown away, too,” Cami said. “So, was Dr. Powers, the nurses. We all are.”

The expression on Nikki’s face showed it was finally starting to register. But she couldn’t yet piece it all together because she hadn’t really been there for it all, not consciously, anyway.

She remembered skiing, falling, and going to the Grind for a coffee. But then her mind went blank. All these things she had just been told — that her parents were flying back from Australia, Cami’s mom had already been in this very hospital room, and she had been in a coma for two days — she had no recollection of any of that. It was like Cami was retelling scenes from a movie that were now lying discarded on the cutting room floor, unwatched.

Nikki stared blankly as these thoughts washed over her.

“How’s your head feel?” Cami asked.

“Still sore.”

As he gently inspected the bruise, Cami thought back to his drive home from Lake Tahoe. It was hard to believe that was just a couple of days ago.

Miracles.

Cami remembered how his mind had drifted to that topic as he drove home in the dark and Nikki slept. Her subsequent recovery rekindled those musings.

How miracles work. How C.S. Lewis had said miracles are outside of, but not in conflict with, nature. They are truly supernatural. Performed, by definition, at the hand of God.

Well, this bruise is certainly “natural,” Cami knew.

“Well, you sound great,” Cami said. “And you look great, too. No one expected to see you up and talking so soon.” Cami squeezed her hand and leaned in to give her a quick kiss. “But you should get some rest for now.”

“You’re right.” Nikki smiled. “The sooner I can get out of here, the better. I look like an old woman with all these tubes.”

“Trust me, you don’t look like an old woman,” Cami said with a sly smile.

***

“Flabbergasted” was not a word Dr. Powers, or anyone else for that matter, used very often. But it was the best word he could think of to explain his reaction to Nikki’s inexplicable turnaround.

As soon as the CT scans were available, the doctor stared at them for a few moments, looked once again, then walked over to Nikki’s room.

“How do they look?” Cami asked immediately as the doctor pulled up scans on the monitor above Nikki’s bed.

“Let me show you.” He lined up previous and latest scans side by side on the monitor. “Normally, one day would show little or no change. But these scans are dramatically different.”

“That‘s good, right?” Nikki asked.

“Very good. I had to double-check to make sure they were the right scans,” he said with a smile, a rare attempt at humor. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” The doctor pointed to yesterday’s scan. “You see this crescent-shaped spot? That indicates an acute hematoma. That’s what was putting pressure on your brain. That’s why we scheduled surgery to drain that fluid and relieve the pressure.”

“So, we don’t need that surgery now,” Cami jumped in, part question, part statement.

“As of now, we don’t need it.”

“I need that surgery like I need a hole in the head,” Nikki joked.

Dr. Powers just laughed and shook his head in disbelief. Most people in her shoes can’t even talk, and she’s telling jokes?

“As of now?” Cami asked.

“Well, right now, signs of the hematoma are gone. But like I said, this is a highly unusual case, unprecedented in my experience.” He turned to Nikki. “So, we’ll need to keep an eye on you here for a couple of days, at least, to make sure it stays this way.”

“That makes sense.” Nikki flashed perhaps the biggest and most genuine smile he had ever seen. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re a true lifesaver.”

Cami added his thanks and shook the doctor’s hand.

As the doctor started to leave, he paused and turned back to the thrilled couple.

“You know, as a man of science, I never use the “M” word,” he said, debating whether he should keep talking or just shut up and leave the room. “But this is as close to a miracle as I’ve ever seen.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BLEEDY, GREEDY, OR SEEDY

New West Coast writer Emily Watkins was sitting in a small NatEx conference room.

She logged into Zoom to start a weekly meeting with her counterparts on the East Coast. On the screen, she could see Maddie Koenig, her editor, and Kyla Clark, her fellow writer, who would be collaborating on the Weird & Wacky column. Maddie and Kyla were sitting in the same conference room in NatEx’s Manhattan office.

“Good morning,” said Emily cheerily. “Randy will join in a second.”

While waiting for Randy, they made some small talk about the weather in New York and Los Angeles, and questions about how Emily was getting settled in the LA office.

“Any big plans for the weekend?” Maddie asked to fill the void when the conversation stalled.

“Not really,” Emily said. “Oh, but I am doing something fun tonight. I’m going to a Chinese light festival.”

Before Maddie or Kyla could ask more about the event out of politeness, Randy walked into the room and onto the screen.

Having just recently joined the company, this was only Emily’s second time on this weekly call. Randy kicked it off.

“So, Maddie, what’s cooking in that Weird & Wacky world of yours?” He looked up at Maddie and Kyla, looking back at him from the other side of the country. “Any photos proving the President is a lizard?”

Randy didn’t believe in UFOs or crazy conspiracies, but he did believe in the profits they generated for his tabloid.

“No such luck yet, Randy,” Maddie groaned. The political gulf between her and Randy was as wide as the chasm between the chairs they were sitting on in California and New York. “But Kyla’s got some fodder for this week’s column.” She nodded at Kyla, who looked down at her notes on cue.

“We’ve got one story of a guy who has an emotional support alligator.”

Kyla looked at Randy to gauge his reaction. He just waited for her to continue.

“The working headline is ‘My Support Alligator Ain’t No Croc.’”

“It’s a start,” Randy said, sounding uncharacteristically diplomatic. “What else you got?”

He’d managed enough new writers to know he didn’t want to come off as a complete dirtbag in front of Emily so early in her tenure.

Kyla looked back at her notes. “Uh… we’ve also got a woman who claims she can see and speak to Houdini.”

“Harry Houdini?” Randy asked. “He’s been dead for like a hundred years. What's the angle? Why now?”

“Well,” Maddie jumped in. “Do you know the story of how Houdini promised his wife he’d contact her from the other side if he died first?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, he promised her he would. But after he died, his wife never heard from him. But now this woman says Houdini has been contacting her to prove he finally pulled it off.”

“After a hundred years of being dead?”

“After a hundred years of being trapped, according to this lady,” Maddie told him.

“Trapped where?”

“Trapped inside one of those contraptions he used to escape from.”

“Well, she certainly sounds like a wack job,” Randy sneered. “What ‘proof’ does she claim to have?”

Happy to see that Randy seemed at least somewhat interested, Kyla jumped in. “She owns some old Houdini memorabilia. She apparently bought them from a Hollywood agent whose uncle had a huge collection of Houdini stuff.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily interjected, trying to work her way into the conversation. “What’s the connection? Why does this woman say she can contact Houdini?”

Maddie turned her attention to Emily’s face on the screen. “She says she channels Houdini’s spirit…”

“Actually talks with him,” Kyla interjected.

“Right. She says she talks with Houdini by holding locks and straight jackets, and other things he actually used and wore.”

Randy seemed genuinely interested and equally skeptical. But who cares? NatEx wasn’t about what could be proved or was even plausible. Particularly in the pages of “Weird & Wacky,” Randy didn’t care about what people would believe. He cared about what people would buy at supermarket newsstands. He wanted to know what headlines would get them to click to drive ad revenue.

Maddie and Kyla went through a few more story ideas, then asked Emily what she had.

“Well, Randy was kind enough to give me a rundown on what he looks for in this column and what he wanted to see more of.”

Maddie and Kyla tried to hide their annoyance. Just a week on the job and she’s already cozying up to Randy just because he is in LA and they aren’t?

Randy noticed the vibe between the women as well. But he looked at it differently. He liked Emily’s approach and how it made Maddie and Kyla squirm a bit. A little catfight competition couldn’t hurt, right?

Looking at Randy to show the others she was privy to his insight and approval, Emily continued unfazed. “I’m sure you guys have heard this too, but Randy was saying how he wants things ‘bleedy, greedy, or seedy.’”

“All three, if you can get it,” Randy laughed.

Maddie and Kyla smiled politely.

“Hey, we all know this column is even more out there than the rest of NatEx,” Randy acknowledged. “So, let’s see where we can work in even more of the sensationalist bread and butter we’re known for. You know, get a little weirder and a little wackier.”

Emily moved her gaze off of Randy and toward Maddie and Kyla.

“So, along those lines, I came up with a couple of possibilities to consider.” Emily looked down at her laptop screen.

“I really like the Houdini idea by the way,” she said with a smile that felt more condescending than collaborative to Maddie and Kyla.

Man, she’s really got their number, Randy noted to himself.

“Rather than pitch specific stories right now, I thought I could start by exploring a new process.” She looked directly at Kyla.

“Kyla, I know you’ve been focusing on scouring the big publications and social sites for story ideas and angles…”

“Well, that’s one approach,” Kyla interjected.

Emily continued. “While you’re doing that, I thought I’d take a deep dive into the local scenes online. Some more under-the-radar stuff.”

Both Maddie and Kyla were scratching their proverbial heads, trying to figure out what the hell that meant. We’re all on TikTok, Instagram, Threads, X. How do you get more local, more ‘under-the-radar’ on a global scale than that?

“So, I’ve started to organize feeds, alerts, and keyword searches to help surface ‘Weird & Wacky’ topics more systematically.”

Maddie waited to see how Randy would respond. Would he call this out for what it was, regurgitated journalism school, SEO buzzword garbage? Apparently not.

“That makes sense,” Randy said. “But that doesn’t mean you get to sit on your ass and Tweet all day,” he added, to the delight of Maddie and Kyla.

“There’s overlap between you two,” he said, shifting his gaze between Emily and Kyla. “You guys work it out, decide who does what.”

He turned to Maddie. “You can work that out with Kyla and Emily. Give me an outline of the workflow you expect in a couple of days, and let’s finalize it next week.”

To put some pressure on Emily and throw a bone to Maddie and Kyla, he looked directly at his newest hire.

“The ideas on the process are good for down the road, but we need stories now. And as you all know, when I say now, I mean yesterday… at the latest.”

Maddie chuckled with understanding. Kyla smiled cautiously, trying not to show her pleasure in seeing Emily get reprimanded.

“Understood,” Emily said, both chastised and satisfied.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL?

After Dr. Powers canceled the surgery scheduled for later that day, Cami texted his brother, who was still in their apartment with their mom. Not yet aware of the cancellation, they were planning to go to the hospital later that morning.

“Get ready for a big surprise. Great one. Don’t tell Mom yet. Talk when you get here.”

He wanted to give Tony the heads up, vague as it was, but knew his mom would pester his brother with a thousand questions he couldn’t answer if she got any hint of a big surprise. Better to wait until they get to the hospital, expecting a surgery, and then to get this wonderful news instead.

Working the day shift, Sonya was checking in on Nikki.

“Just look at you,” she said with a beaming smile. “It’s amazing!”

“I know. And I can’t thank you guys enough. You’ve been so great.”

“Wait till Bernila sees you tomorrow. She’s gonna freak out… in a good way!”

“Who’s that? Another nurse?”

Sonya and Cami looked at each other and grinned. A conscious Nikki had never met Bernila.

“Yes. Bernila. She works the graveyard shift.”

Nikki laughed. “That’s probably not the best thing to call it in a hospital. Especially in the ICU.”

“Sorry! You’re right!” Embarrassed, Sonya reached down to touch Nikki’s hand. “You’re absolutely right. She’s on the night shift.”

“You can meet her tonight,” Cami told Nikki.

“Not tonight,” Sonya corrected him. “She’s got the day off. She’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Sonya headed out to do her other rounds. Not long after, Tony poked his head through the curtain with his mom just behind him.

“Can we come in?”

“Absolutely,” Cami said excitedly.

With his mom in tow, Tony entered the room, not sure what big surprise awaited.

“Hi, Tony… hi, Mom,” Nikki said as they came in.

The old cliché about jaws dropping didn’t do justice to the looks on their faces. Tony didn’t know what to expect from Cami’s text. But not having had any heads-up, their mom just stood there in stunned silence. Both were trying to process what they were seeing. Nikki is sitting up in the bed, clearly alert, clearly no longer in a coma. And talking. Talking!

Cami had a huge smile, his head rotating on a swivel between looking at Nikki and Tony, and his mom to catch their reactions.

“What’s going on?” his mom finally asked. “Am I dreaming?”

Tony had the same thought. “I don’t get it. I thought you were going into surgery today.” He looked at Cami. “Is that still happening? What’s going on?”

Giving Cami a puzzled look, his mom rushed over to hug Nikki. ”This is unbelievable. It’s a miracle!”

She turned her head to Cami with a fake scowl. “And you, mister… You’ve got some explaining to do.” She then turned to Tony. “Were you in on this?”

Nikki and Cami just beamed.

Everyone’s reaction made Nikki realize what was happening. Having only come out of her coma earlier that morning, she was just now starting to comprehend what everyone had been going through. As it hit her, she started to cry, instantly overwhelmed by a lot of emotions. Like joy, relief, and gratitude. She tried to say something, but couldn’t get anything out.

“Now, I’m gonna cry, too.” Cami’s mom gave Nikki another hug. They held each other as both started to shake with joy, releasing all their pent-up emotions.

Once everyone settled down, Cami explained the events of last night and this morning, including how Dr. Powers had canceled the scheduled brain surgery.

“For now, at least,” Nikki added.

“That’s true,” Cami nodded. “He said the surgery isn’t needed, but he’ll monitor Nikki for a couple of days.”

“That’s incredible,” Tony said quietly, in awe. “Just amazing.”

Cami’s mom enthusiastically nodded her head as she dabbed at her tears of joy.

“I’ve got to ask this,” her mother-in-law said. “Nikki, did you… You know, did you see a light at the end of the tunnel? You know, like people do when they die…”

“Mom! Stop!” Cami groaned.

“Come on, Mom,” Tony agreed. “Let’s not go there. Save that for another time.”

“Or never,” Cami added.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Nikki said with a laugh. “Don’t listen to them. I’d ask that if I were you, too.”

“See!” Cami’s mom looked defiantly at her sons. “She would want to know, too.” She turned back to Nikki. “So, did you? Did you see a light at the end of the tunnel? Meet any old relatives?”

Cami just shook his head in defeat.

“No, I can’t say I did. Nothing that cool, unfortunately.”

“I don’t think that counts as unfortunately,” Cami told her.

“They knew it wasn’t your time,” his mom said with conviction. “Not even close to it.”

The two women began chatting as Cami and Tony looked on.

Tony tried to stay politely engaged as his mom began to ramble with occasional input from Nikki. Cami soon checked out, only registering enough pieces of their conversation to get away with having mentally left the room.

Believing or not believing doesn't change the truth.

It felt like Nonna’s words were haunting Cami. Nikki’s totally recovered. No brain damage. Nothing but a bruise and some scratches. Even the doctor said it was a miracle. Did that little vial really contain what Nonna said it did?

Cami wasn’t crazy enough to believe that. Or was he? And why not? Believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth. And the truth was right in front of him, his beautiful Nikki laughing and talking as if the accident had never happened. What’s not to believe? Who is he not to believe?

If anything would restore someone’s faith in God, this is it, right? This had to be a miracle. And I made it happen. I healed Nikki…with the Blood of Christ.

As soon as the thought entered his head, Cami cringed. Right… Michael Camigliano, miracle man, healer of the helpless, saver of souls. How about a completely delusional narcissist?

“Earth to Cami.”

Cami realized Tony was whispering to him.

“Sorry… I spaced out for a minute.”

“No kidding,” Tony laughed.

“I was just thinking how crazy this has all been,” Cami said, trying to reorient his thoughts. “And how lucky Nikki and I both are.”

Cami’s mom continued talking incessantly, more at than with Nikki.

As he often had to do when his mom got on a roll, Cami jumped in to rescue his wife.

“Mom, Nikki needs some rest.”

“Oh… Of course…. I always talk too much, don’t I?”

She had a look of guilt mixed with mild passive-aggressive anger. She knew it was true, while realizing she had no intention or ability to change.

“No, not at all,” Nikki assured her. “It’s always great to talk to you. I just wish it wasn’t in a hospital bed!”

“But she does need to rest up,” Cami said to his mom. “Don’t forget, Nikki’s folks will be here in a few hours.”

“I know. That’s so great.” She looked over at Nikki. “They’re going to be so thrilled that you’re all better. And no surgery needed!”

“Absolutely,” Tony said. “We’re all thrilled.” He looked down at his watch. “Their flight gets in a little after 3. Should I pick them up, or do you want to?”

“I need to stay with Nikki,” Cami told him. “Do you mind getting them?”

“No problem. Happy to. Mom and I will go.”

Tony knew Cami could use some time alone with Nikki. And as much as Nikki loved her, she could use some quiet downtime away from her mother-in-law.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IT ’S NOT CHRISTMAS WITHOUT SOME FLYING DRAGONS

Still talking about the obnoxious guy at the restaurant, Bernila and her friends arrived at the entrance to the Chinese Lantern Festival.

Held on the grounds of the vast Pomona Fairplex, the festival transforms an otherwise boring industrial landscape into what Chinatown would look like if it were designed by Pixar.

Once inside the grounds, the festival of lights did not disappoint. Every path had lanterns of all shapes, sizes, and colors, from monkeys and squirrels to ducks wading in ponds and peacocks walking around, all in dramatic contrast to the dark night sky. Brightly lit Chinese pagodas and traditional villages dotted the landscape.

“This place is amazing,” Bernila said to no one in particular as they walked around.

“Right? I told you,” Maria beamed proudly. “You know, it’s just not Christmas without some flying dragons.”

After an hour of walking around, they decided to get some dessert. They weren’t hungry, but the food stalls made it quite hard to resist.

Maria was the first to cave.

“I want some sweet rice balls,” she said, pointing in the direction of one of the many vendors scattered across the grass.

Yuanxiao (sweet rice balls) and youtiao (fried dough sticks) were the perfect sweets to satisfy those late-night cravings.

The women made their way to their food stand of choice. Maria pointed out her favorites, calling out her suggestions to Bernila and her friends.

“It all sounds delicious,” said a young woman to her friend as they both looked over at Maria. “I think we should have her order for us!”

“I’d be happy to!”

Maria placed orders for her group, then gave her recommendations to the two women in line next to them.

After Maria, Bernila, and their friends got their food, they took a seat at one of the large picnic benches. Soon after, the young woman and her friend walked over.

“Do you mind if we join you?”

“Not at all,” Maria said. “Let us know what you think.”

The young woman and her friend sat down at the bench alongside Maria and her group as everyone started to sample the doughy delights.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Maria said with a big smile.

“These are scrumptious,” added Bernila.

The young woman and her friend nodded in agreement as they savored the food. “You’re not wrong!”

“Sharing is caring.” Maria laughed as she pulled one of the rice balls off a skewer and passed it to one of her friends. They all took turns nibbling at the festive finger food.

“So, where are you guys from?” Bernila asked, looking over at their new companions.

“LA. North Hollywood.”

“We’re from LA, too,” Maria said. “In the Valley… downtown LA… Pasadena…” Maria nodded toward one friend after another, pointing out who lived where.

“We’re all nurses,” Bernila said. “At hospitals scattered all over LA. How about you guys? What do you do?”

“I’m in entertainment… Entertainment adjacent.” The young woman laughed as she said it. “I’m a writer at the National Exposure. NatEx.”

That raised a few eyebrows. “The tabloid?” Maria asked, trying not to show any hint of derision.

“Guilty as charged,” the young woman said sheepishly. “My parents’ hundred grand on journalism school was so well spent!”

Everyone at the table could relate in one way or another. They’d all been out of school for a good 10 years or so, but many were still paying off student loans. This girl and her friend were much younger, probably not more than a year or two out of college.

“I’m Bernila,” she said, reaching out to shake her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Emily. Emily Watkins. Nice to meet you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT, BUT IT ’S TRUE

Nikki had sent her folks a short text, which they read as soon as their plane landed and they were allowed to use their phones.

“Welcome home! I’m doing great. Don’t worry. See you soon!” That was soon followed by “Cami’s mom and brother will meet u.”

Nikki’s parents, James and Linda, were elated to read the text. After the initial call from Tony more than 24 hours earlier telling them their daughter was in a coma, this unexpectedly good news was a massive relief. But a concerning thought dulled their joy, especially Nikki’s mom’s.

“Why didn’t she call?” Linda looked at her husband, fear and worry in her voice. “Why not call? She knows I want to hear her voice, not get a text.”

James had the same thought. But there was no point in both of them getting worked up before they even got to see their daughter. In whatever form it took, they were elated to get a dose of positive news after an excruciatingly long flight with nothing to do but worry and fear the worst.

Their luggage came down the carousel, and they headed out to find Cami’s mom and Tony.

As they walked toward the exits where family members, limo drivers, and others waited, James thought back to their daughter’s wedding when they had first met Tony.

“I thought he might be Cami’s dad for a second.”

Linda laughed at the memory. They both welcomed a little levity as they got ready to face the great unknown at the hospital.

Nikki’s mom always loved the name “Cami.” It was so much more exotic than Michael. And since Nikki always called him Cami, that became the norm in the Davenport household.

Tony was still looking around for Nikki’s parents when James spotted him first.

“I see them,” James said.

“Debbie’s here, too,” Linda said, referring to Cami’s mother.

“Good to see you, Tony.” James let go of his luggage to shake Tony’s hand. “Thanks for coming to get us.”

After the hellos and hugs, James looked at Tony.

“We got a text from Nikki just a bit ago.”

“I thought she’d call,” Linda jumped in. “Is she really alright?”

Debbie put her arms around her and gave Linda a mother-to-mother understanding look.

“She is doing really well,” Tony said. “Unbelievably well, in fact. We were with her earlier today.”

“So, she's out of the coma?”

“Oh, yes,” Debbie said.

“Talking and laughing. Like it had never happened.”

Nikki’s parents looked at each other, desperately wanting to believe that.

“Talking and laughing? Seriously? You saw her?” Linda naturally wanted as much convincing as she could get.

“Yes, yes, absolutely,” Cami’s mom assured her. “You won’t believe it, but it’s true. It’s a miracle. Like nothing ever happened.”

Tony puts his hand on Linda’s luggage.

“It’s all good news. Wonderful news. We’ll tell you all about it on the drive.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ANY PIECE OF GOOD NEWS

With about an hour left on her shift, Sonya was sitting alone at the nurse’s desk. She was amazed by Nikki’s recovery. She certainly wouldn't have believed it if she hadn’t seen it for herself. She knew Bernila would see it for herself tomorrow after a couple of days off. Keeping a secret, especially one as juicy as this, was near unbearable. Besides, where’s the fun in having a secret if you don’t get to share it, especially when it’s good news? Especially in as depressing a place as the ICU?

Surrounded most days by sadness, sickness, or worse, Sonya and Bernila always welcomed any piece of good news that came their way. Sonya couldn’t resist the chance to immediately share Nikki’s story. She knew Bernila would be angry if she didn’t.

She decided to FaceTime Bernila as soon as her shift ended. It felt inappropriate, or if she was being honest, insufficiently dramatic, to text or call. Sonya wanted to FaceTime Bernila so she could witness the moment herself. She wanted to be the first to see the amazement in her friend’s face.

Sonya stood up to finish her final rounds. By the time she got to Nikki’s room, it was filled to capacity. Cami, Tony, their mom, and both of Nikki’s parents were there. The joy in the room was palpable.

“Full house, I see,” Sonya said with a smile as she walked up to Nikki’s bed. “This must be your mom and dad.” Sonya introduced herself. “You have an incredible daughter.”

“An incredibly lucky one,” James nodded.

“She’s our little miracle,” Linda said softly, with signs of just recently dried tears of joy and relief in her eyes. Debbie walked up to Linda, and the two moms hugged again as they and Nikki welled up again.

Sonya finished her checklist, then introduced the night shift nurse set to take over.

“You guys are welcome to stay until 8. But then we have to limit it to just two people for anyone who wants to stay the night.”

Sonya looked over the scene as she headed out for the evening. She couldn’t wait to call Bernila and tell her all that had happened in the last 24 hours.

***

Too excited to wait until she drove home, Sonya called Bernila from her car in the hospital’s parking lot.

“You’re not gonna believe this…” Sonya looked at Bernila staring back at her on the screen.

Savoring the moment, Sonya grinned as Bernila stared in amazement as her friend related the events of the past day.

Bernila could barely process what she was hearing.

“Are you serious? Dr. Powers said that?!”

Sonya and Bernila had both worked in the ER and ICU long enough to become jaded by that environment, but they weren’t. Yet, neither could recall anything remotely resembling the recovery Nikki had just made.

“If this doesn’t tug at your heart,” Sonya said, “then you don’t have one.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS

His time in jail didn’t turn Manny into a hardened criminal or violent gang-banger. But it did radicalize him in another way. He became a virulent and vocal evangelizer of his Savior, everyone’s Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, the only true path to salvation.

His regular preaching, what most would call rantings, outside the DMV or in front of any other captive audience was, as he saw it, his calling.

Manny saw himself as charismatic. His “friends,” like those he had hung out with at the Panoi BBQ spot, didn’t see him as clinically crazy, but certainly annoyingly overzealous. The people who had interactions with Manny at church, self-help groups, Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and other such organizations avoided Manny when they could, tolerated him from a distance when they couldn’t. He didn’t come across as dangerous, just delusional.

Manny’s delusion was his ingrained sense of self-importance, even greatness. His calling. His belief in his ability to channel God’s Will. He could dial it back enough at times to seem relatively normal to people, but his fervor was never far from the surface. While he spent a lot of time in physical proximity to people, he was almost always alone with his thoughts.

Manny was not a lazy or passive person. He made a concerted effort to get out and meet with various groups he intended to save. He was mostly perennially pontificating, pushing what he saw as “His” — Jesus’s — agenda. He didn’t engage in the sense of encouraging or even wanting a dialogue. He believed the converts of Christ would come to him when they heard the power of his words because he was channeling the power of His Words.

For weeks, he had been stewing on what to call his group of followers. The fact that he didn’t have a group of followers was irrelevant. First, he needed a name. If you name it, they will come.

Manny had searched scripture quotations for ideas: Biblical names, obscure phrases from the Book of Revelations, and more. He finally landed on one that was simple and common. It was so common, in fact, that he wondered how he hadn’t thought of it before: Onward Christian Soldiers. He could even shorten it to OCS to make it easy to remember.

It came from the old hymn by the same name.

Onward Christian soldiers!

Marching as to war,

With the cross of Jesus

Going on before.

Christ, the royal Master,

Leads against the foe;

Forward into battle,

See, His banners go!

Manny already had his calling. Now, he had a name. All that was left was to build an army of followers to spread His Word.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I THOUGHT I WAS WEIRDO

Emily sat down at her cubicle in the NatEx Los Angeles office. She was just a few steps from Randy’s enclosed office, a beloved perk as Managing Editor.

Randy liked his privacy. He kept a small safe next to his desk and locked his door when out of the office. While still very much a New Yorker at heart with a big, love-him-or-hate-him personality, he was a gregarious guy, but one that came packaged with a stucco-like, abrasive exterior. He was, as one of his ex-wives used to say, an acquired taste with a hint of sweetness always on the cusp of going sour.

Randy got up from his desk to get a coffee from the Keurig machine. He noticed Emily staring at her laptop. Randy got his coffee and looked at the collection of Hazelnut, French Vanilla, and other flavors. Even Mean Girls Pink Frosting. Who drinks this crap, he thought to himself. He took his cup of black, unsweetened coffee, slapped on a lid, and walked toward Emily’s cubicle.

“Hey, Wacky, how are you and Weirdo doing?”

“I thought I was Weirdo and Kyla was Wacky,” Emily said, not missing a beat.

“It’s hard to tell you guys apart.”

Jokes aside, the weekly Zoom meeting had been on Emily’s mind. She couldn’t help but notice the doubting, even dismissive look on Kyla’s and Maddie’s faces when she suggested that she could scan social media to find interesting leads for their column.

Without saying anything out loud, the expression on the faces of her colleague and boss strained to hide their sarcastic “What a genius idea! Why didn’t we think of that?” expressions.

Emily knew it wasn’t exactly what anyone under the age of 70 would call a novel idea. But she felt a more systematic, strategic approach would deliver better results more efficiently. Emily was sure Randy would see that, but she knew she still had to prove her worth. She also knew that being in the same office with Randy gave her an advantage over Kyla and Maddie three thousand miles away.

Thinking Randy might be interested in hearing more about what she had in mind, Emily started to explain what kind of keywords and filters she was putting together to generate leads and angles.

She could see Randy’s eyes starting to glaze over.

“I know I look like your typical Gen-Z, tech- savvy hipster,” he laughed sarcastically. “But deep down, I’m just a loveable Luddite.”

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I’ll get this organized and cleaned up for you.”

“You do that.”

Randy took a sip of coffee and turned toward his desk before looking back.

“Just remember that social sickness you guys love so much…What do you call it? Oh, yeah… tick-tock, tick-tock,” Randy said, amusing himself as he wagged his index finger like the hand of a clock. “Time is a-ticking…”

“That’s actually kind of funny,” Emily chuckled before wondering if she’d just said something stupid and rude.

“The really funny thing is,” Randy grinned with a mix of mirth and mischievous mayhem in his eyes, “I’m serious.” As he walked back toward his desk, index finger still wagging, his voice trailed away. “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ONE LAST ROUND OF PURGATORY

The next night, Bernila was back at work, about to start her normal rounds. With the call from Sonya stuck in her head, she decided to break protocol slightly and start with Nikki. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the other patients on her ward until she saw Nikki for herself.

Bernila did genuinely care about each of her patients, but the vast majority were elderly people suffering through the expected ailments of old age. It’s the younger people who gathered the most sympathy from Bernila and her colleagues, accident victims or otherwise healthy people now suddenly afflicted with a previously undiagnosed disease.

In Nikki’s case, that sympathy stemmed from the fact that she was much closer in age to Bernila than to an 87-year-old grandmother dealing with congestive heart failure.

That could be me in that bed. That could be my family at this bedside, looking helpless and terrified.

Bernila entered Nikki’s room, where her parents, Cami, Tony, and their mom were chatting.

“I heard the good news,” Bernila said as she greeted everyone with a big smile. She leaned over to touch Nikki’s hand. “I am so happy for you. Sonya told me yesterday. It was the best news ever.”

“Yep. I’m getting out of the ICU tomorrow. Getting out of your hair.”

“You can stay longer if you want,” Bernila laughed. “I’m sure I could pull some strings.”

Earlier in the day, Dr. Powers had explained to Nikki that he was having her moved out of the ICU, but he’d keep her in the hospital for another 24 to 48 hours to make sure she was ready to go home.

“One last round of purgatory,” Cami grinned.

Nikki groaned. “I’ll be going home, not to Heaven.”

No one needed reminders of the kind of purgatory they’d all gone through the last few days.

“I guess we’ve got some hotel arrangements to make,” Tony said, changing the subject. He looked at his mom and then back at James and Linda. “You guys can stay at Nikki and Cami’s place if you want. My mom and I will get a hotel. When Nikki gets home in a day or two, I’m sure you guys will want to spend time alone to catch up.”

James and Linda gave the socially required half-hearted protests, but soon agreed as Tony insisted.

“That way you guys can stay as long as you like,” Tony added. “And we’ll be heading back to Sacramento soon anyway.”

“I can stay in LA,” Tony’s mom volunteered. “I’m in no rush to get back.”

Knowing that James and Linda would like some private time with Nikki that didn’t include entertaining Nikki’s loved but talkative mother-in-law, Tony jumped in to do some blocking on Cami’s behalf.

“Well, I’ve got the only car, Mom. And I need to get back to work. So, let’s drive back together once Nikki gets home.”

“I could take the train,” Debbie said as she turned and touched Linda’s arm. “I love the train… It’s so relaxing.”

“It’ll just be easier, Mom, if you ride back with Tony. He has to drive back anyway.”

She reluctantly gave in.

“And we’ll come up and see you in Sacramento as soon as we can,” Nikki suggested to placate her disappointed mother-in-law. “That’ll give us a chance to see Nonna, too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WHO WAS THAT GIRL WE MET?

Out of the ICU and under observation in a regular hospital ward for two days, Nikki got cleared to go home.

Bernila continued to care for a new round of incoming ICU patients, including a middle-aged man showing signs of a heart attack and a 20-something motorcyclist who had skidded on the 405 freeway.

Such was life for emergency room nurses. Bernila had long since learned that she needed to either compartmentalize to avoid burnout or quit and find a new line of work.

The best way she’d found to manage the stress was with meditation. “Meditation, not self-medication,” she and her colleagues joked. The only other option was to become jaded and just not care about the patients and their families.

Bernila had a playlist of self-guided meditations. Topics ranged from walking meditations to calm anxiety to her favorite, meditations for manifestation. While the rational side of her saw the absurdity of believing you could manifest something into being just by wishing it were so, she also knew that wasn’t quite the point.

Yes, positive thinking, and probably even more important, avoiding negative thinking, worked. Like many women, Bernila loved The Secret and similar fare. Yes, men like them, too, she thought to herself. But I don’t think it’s dudes that are turning these into New York Times bestsellers.

Most early mornings when she got back from the night shift, she would do a guided sleep meditation. Today was no different.

Bernila almost never fell asleep during these 20-minute sessions, but it relaxed her and helped her push out, or at least reduce, any stress from the day’s work.

Her mind naturally drifted to Nikki’s miraculous recovery. It was inspiring, particularly in her line of work, to see this young woman recover so quickly and spectacularly.

Almost unconsciously, a voice came through her headphones and seeped into her mind. “If your mind wanders off, that’s normal. That’s what minds do. Just slowly and gently come back by listening to my voice.”

Bernila’s mind continued to drift. She thought about Nikki. What a beautiful story. A beautiful manifestation of what everyone had wished and prayed for.

She eventually fell asleep, but was up again in five hours. No alarm clock needed. Even after several years on the night shift, she found it hard to sleep during the day. It was easier to wake up and take a nap later.

She started the new day by treating herself to an everything bagel with cream cheese and a chai latte. She took a photo and posted it to Instagram. Moments later, Maria and three others liked it.

Seeing Maria’s avatar pop up on her screen reminded her of something. She started to send her a text.

“Who was that girl we met? At the lantern festival from NatEx?”

“Don’t remember her name,” came the reply.

Bernila just sent back some quirky emoji. She wasn’t surprised that neither of them remembered her name. But she did remember NatEx. She wondered what it would be like to write for a tabloid. Her parents, she knew, would not approve.

But it’s gotta be fun, right? Writing all those crazy stories.

Her curiosity intrigued, Bernila began to search online for “NatEx writer, Los Angeles.” It didn’t take long to hunt her down.

Found you, Emily Watson. She immediately began to wonder if the idea brewing in her head was a good one or just silly and stupid.

But I just witnessed a miracle, right? Isn’t that a story worth telling?

Bernila had seen mention of the “Weird & Wacky” column in Emily’s online profile. Wouldn’t this story be right up her alley?

Concerns about HIPAA, the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, did cross her mind. But she wasn’t going to reveal Nikki’s or anyone’s personal identity. She just wanted to share the story. Emily seemed like the perfect person to do it.

It was fate. How could she not at least try to share it, spread a little good news with the world?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

BABY CAMI

“It feels so good to be home.”

“It feels so great to have you home.” Cami gently guided Nikki into their apartment. Her parents, Tony and Debbie, were all smiles, watching her go inside.

“I can walk by myself, you know,” Nikki chided her overly cautious husband.

“I know. But you did just get out of the hospital.”

“And a coma,” her dad added. “Take it easy, honey.”

“You go ahead and let him pamper you all you want,” her mother smiled mischievously. “No cooking or cleaning for you for at least a month.”

His own mom turned to Cami with a smile. “And breakfast in bed every morning and fresh flowers every day.”

“I can handle that.”

They were all still riding high on Nikki’s rapid and full recovery. A bullet-dodging event always gives a new perspective on life. This was that on steroids.

Nikki couldn’t wait to take a shower and change. “I want to feel normal again!”

She walked into the bedroom to grab some fresh clothes. Cami asked everyone if they were hungry.

“Why don’t we order something? I’ll ask Nikki what she’s in the mood for.”

“Her call. Anything’s fine with all of us,” said James.

With the group sitting just a few feet away in the small living room, Cami tapped on the door to make sure Nikki was still decent and walked in.

“What do you feel like having?” Cami asked.

“You guys choose. Anything’s gonna be a million times better than hospital food.”

Returning to the living room, Cami knew food was at the bottom of everyone’s list of priorities, but he also knew everyone, including himself, had to be hungry.

He pulled up a menu on his phone and handed it to his mother-in-law. “Nikki’s fine with whatever, but she loves everything at this place.” He leaned over and whispered, “Especially the pesto linguini with shrimp.”

Cami went back into their bedroom as Nikki got ready to head into the shower, a change of clothes in hand.

“Welcome back, babe.” They shared their first true kiss since Nikki had gone into a coma, which felt like ages ago. Those little pecks on the cheeks and lips as she lay in a hospital gown with an IV stuck in her arm didn’t count.

“I love you,” Nikki said.

“I love you, too.”

“Wanna join me?” Nikki said softly and seductively, but not seriously, as she gestured toward the shower, consciously keeping her voice down so as not to be heard in the other room.

“You know I do.”

Nikki playfully and gently pushed him away. “I know you do…” Nikki giggled as she slowly shut the bathroom door in Cami’s face.

Cami smiled to himself as he thought about his beautiful wife. I’m one lucky guy. He took a seat on the side of their bed.

As he decompressed for a minute, he lay back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. All of the events of the last week ran through his mind. It was like a kaleidoscope, with feelings and facts morphing and melding, events without defined edges seeping from one moment or memory to another.

Cami knew he should probably join the others, but he needed a minute alone. As he lay there, he suddenly felt a tinge of panic. Where did I leave the vial?

Cami made a sudden movement with his hand and reached down to check his pockets. Feeling the small box brought instant relief. He pulled out the small silver box and opened it up, pulled out the vial, the now-empty vial, he realized. He just stared at it as he rolled it through his fingers.

“Sorry, Nonna,” Cami said softly.

He replayed the conversation with his grandma by her bedside as he stared at the vial. Was that really just a week ago, he wondered with amazement.

Did I do the right thing? Was this really what saved Nikki? Or was it all just a happy coincidence?

Cami didn’t know what to believe. Correlation is not causation, he knew.

He heard Nikki stepping out of the shower to dry off.

But she had been in a coma just days ago. That was real. That was true. I didn’t make that up. The doctors, the nurses, my own family…everyone saw it. And they saw her incredible recovery.

He heard Nikki start to open the door from the bathroom, and he slipped the vial and silver case back into his pocket.

***

Less than an hour after placing their order, the Uber Eats driver rang the doorbell and dropped off an impressive array of pastas, salads, and breadsticks. James and Tony placed the open cartons on the dining room table, while Cami set the table with proper plates and silverware.

Nikki leaned over to take in the aroma wafting from the containers.

”Oooh,” she purred as she peeked into one. “Pesto linguini with shrimp! You really do love me!”

“This is like a birthday cake,” Tony told Nikki. ‘You get the first bite.”

“It feels like my birthday,” Nikki laughed. “The best birthday ever!”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Yum!” Nikki put an ample amount of linguini and shrimp with some salad on her plate.

“Well, there’s certainly nothing wrong with your appetite,” her dad smiled, stroking his daughter's back.

Ever since they had received that dreadful call from Tony while they were in Australia, James and Linda had been on an emotional roller coaster. They’d gone from helpless fear and doubt from thousands of miles away to the pure happiness of knowing their little girl is completely healthy.

The look James shared with his wife said it all. No words needed.

The two families sat down to celebrate the return of Nikki and enjoy the feast. No meal from even the finest three-star Michelin restaurant could ever taste as good.

The meal and conversation lasted well over an hour. As always, Cami’s mom did much of the talking, and Nikki got her parents to share details of their shortened trip to Australia.

Thrilled just to be sitting with their daughter, James and Linda were still not showing any signs of the jet lag they must have been feeling. Everyone decided to move to the living room, and Cami went to make a pot of coffee.

“You know, there’s one thing I’ve always wondered about, Cami,” Linda said. “Why did you get the Cami nickname? I mean, I get that Camigliano could be a mouthful. No offense, Debbie…”

“None taken. It is a mouthful.”

Linda continued. “But why didn’t Tony or your older brother use that nickname?”

“Sonny,” Cami’s mom said softly. “My oldest boy’s name was Sonny.”

Linda put her hand on Debbie’s, feeling as if she had unintentionally triggered an uncomfortable memory.

“I’m sorry, Debbie." She squeezed her hand, thinking about how close she had come to losing her own child.

James jumped in, sharing the same thought. “We never knew Sonny, obviously, but Cami has told us all about him.”

“He was a great guy,” Tony said.

He felt bad for Linda. She hadn’t said anything wrong. Sonny had been gone a long time. He died before Cami had even been born, obviously long before Nikki and her parents came into their lives. He couldn’t leave Linda hanging, so he changed the subject.

“Mom, you know, Linda asks a good question. Why does everyone call my baby brother Cami?” Tony had one of his trademark snide grins on his face as he turned to his younger sibling. “Tell us, Baby Cami, why is that?”

Cami lowered his head sheepishly. He hated this story, but he was grateful to Tony for giving a lifeline to Nikki’s parents. A positive mood had returned to the room.

“Baby Cami,” Linda smiled, happy to see Debbie’s mood lighten. “I’ve never heard that before!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cami sighed with a laugh. “I hate that nickname.”

He had never met Sonny. And he never really knew why Sonny or Tony hadn’t adopted the Cami nickname. In retrospect, it seemed like a natural one. But Cami did know why he hated the Baby Cami moniker.

From Sonny on down, the age gap between Cami and his oldest siblings was generational in scale. Tony was 26 years older than Cami. Sonny would have been 29 years his senior.

Cami wasn’t sure if it was his parents or his siblings who first christened him “Baby Cami,” but he had his suspicions. Whoever came up with it, it stuck.

When he truly was a baby, Cami was, of course, oblivious to the nickname. But as he turned 7, 10, then 12, he came to increasingly loathe it.

He especially resented it when, every time he insisted “I’m not a baby!” with the offended certainty of youth, Tony and his sisters would get a kick out of his rising anger, especially Tony. Thinking it was cute, his own mom would just smile, not understanding the manly anguish of a 12-year-old having his honor repeatedly insulted. “You’re my little baby,” she would say, much to Tony’s delight.

After several years of enduring such torture and mockery from his siblings, Cami convinced his dad, while extracting a solemn promise from his mom, that no one could call him Baby Cami anymore. It would just be Cami from now on.

Cami knew his mom wouldn’t enforce it, but his dad had at last agreed to lay down the law. Cami’s older siblings finally fell into line. His days of being a “baby” were over.

As Cami told the story to Nikki’s parents, he had to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“At last, at 13, I became a man,” he said with mock pride.

“That’s a terrific story,” Linda said.

Tony couldn’t resist. ”Remember when I told you that becoming a man at 13 only applies to Jewish kids?”

Tony smiled at the memory of seeing their dad try, but utterly fail to hold back a loud laugh when he had said that in front of his little brother and the whole family.

“Yes, I remember,” Cami assured Tony, with exaggerated and mock annoyance at the story that had become family lore.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

INCREDIBLY REAL AND UTTERLY PREPOSTEROUS

Two days after the dinner, Tony and his mom said their goodbyes and headed back to Sacramento. A week later, Nikki’s parents got ready to fly back to their home in Florida.

Nikki’s mom had insisted that they remain in town until Dr. Powers could do a post-recovery follow-up and confirm Nikki was completely healthy. Until then, they weren’t going thousands of miles away from their daughter.

“I really am sorry about Australia,” Nikki had said to her parents as they got ready to leave. “I know how much you were looking forward to that trip.”

“Come on, kiddo. We’ve been through all that,” He kissed his daughter’s forehead.

“We couldn’t care less about the trip,” her mom assured her. “We’re just happy to have you healthy.” She gave Nikki a big hug as James and Cami shook hands.

“I’ll second that,” Cami nodded. He gave his mother-in-law a kiss and a hug. “And we’ll get out to see you guys soon.”

The couple had already promised to visit them in the spring or fall.

***

Nikki and Cami soon got back into their normal routines.

Cami had had to bail on finishing his work on Comic Assassin, but Jason understood, and Cami had moved on to other projects.

Nikki returned to work at her large advertising firm in Los Angeles. She’d been working there for about three years now, following a couple of years at a boutique agency. She’d been an Associate Media Planner for two years now, working primarily with a Japanese automaker looking to expand its outreach to young women. But last year, she got the assignment she really wanted, working on digital marketing at the agency on behalf of a national cosmetics brand.

Knowing that out of sight, out of mind could always lead to out of work, during her post-coma downtime, she had assured them that she was 100% recovered and ready to return to work as soon as the doctors gave her the green light, making sure to join a couple of Zoom calls just to say hi and prove it in the meantime. Regardless of whatever legal obligations might have required the agency to keep her on, Nikki was clearly grateful that they did.

But one thing had been nagging at her since things had settled down and started to return to normal. She started to have a recurring dream. Actually, she wasn’t quite sure if it was a dream or a memory or some mix of both.

Like many women, Nikki was hardly averse to sharing, in detail, a dream or nightmare she’d had the night before with her significant other or good friend. But this hazy memory or dream was different. It felt both incredibly real and utterly preposterous.

Whatever this was, it had now woven its way into her subconscious on at least three or four occasions. And each time, it lingered, like a slightly sticky but barely perceptible film of something on her hands.

Uncertain of what it was, she had been putting off sharing this vision with Cami. But when she woke up to it again one night, she decided to tell her husband as he lay sleeping next to her.

“You awake?”

“Yeah, yeah… What’s up?”

“I couldn't sleep.”

“What’s going on?”

“I keep having this dream. Or at least I think it’s a dream. You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

With eyes still half closed, Cami looked at his wife. “I know you’re crazy,” he said softly. “But I still love you.”

“No, seriously,” she said as she sat up. “I keep having this really crazy dream.”

“About what?” Cami asked groggily.

“It sounds nuts, but I keep having this dream about you drinking…” She paused. “About you drinking the blood of Christ and praying for a miracle.”

That woke Cami up.

“In this dream,” Nikki told him, “you keep talking about the blood of Christ, and how you’re gonna drink it. It’s crazy, right? You say you’re gonna drink it and somehow save me.”

Cami just listened.

“Why would you say that?” she asked rhetorically. “Weird, right? I mean, why would I have a dream like that?”

She looked at Cami.

“Yeah, that is weird.”

“Oh, you know what else? Nonna’s in the dream, too. I mean, she’s not in the dream, but you keep mentioning her. Weird, right?” Nikki looked at Cami, looking for some kind of reaction.

“And yet,” Nikki continued, “and this is the wildest part of all, I did get saved. I did come out of a coma and get better. Even Dr. Powers and the nurses… everyone said it was like a miracle.”

Cami just stared at his wife, not sure what to say. He did drink a vial of something, something Nonna swore was the blood of Christ. And Nikki did make a remarkable recovery. Correlation does not equal causation, he reminded himself. It had to be just a coincidence.

But look at her, Cami thought to himself. She went from a coma to a complete recovery with no signs of brain trauma other than a bump on her head.

As elated as he was by Nikki’s recovery, he couldn’t get himself to believe that his delusions, or Nonna’s, had anything to do with it. It had to be a happy coincidence. Yet, try as he might to suppress such thoughts, he could feel little seeds of narcissism budding inside him.

I’m losing it, Cami thought in disgust. Am I really starting to believe Nonna possessed the blood of Christ, and drinking it somehow gave me the power to perform a miracle?

“That’s quite the dream,” Cami said.

“You’re probably right.” Nikki scooted over and put her head on Cami’s chest. “It had to be a dream… but it was so intense and real.”

They lay there in silence, both staring into the dark in different directions.

Not inclined to share his thoughts or feelings as freely as his wife, Cami debated with himself whether to keep his mouth shut or open up at the risk of sounding like a complete fool. He reluctantly made a decision.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

His tone took Nikki by surprise.

“What is it?” She lifted her head and sat up, not sure what was coming.

“It’s gonna sound crazy.”

“That’s OK. I’ve been saying some crazy things myself.” She could see that whatever it was, it made him uncomfortable, which, in turn, made her uneasy. “Just tell me. What is it?”

“I have no idea if what I’m about to tell you is true or not.” Cami looked at Nikki as he spoke.

And with that, Cami began to tell Nikki the entire story. How Nonna gave him a vial of what she said was the blood of Christ… Him drinking it in utter desperation and fear of losing Nikki to “irreparable brain damage” or worse.

“And then you had this miraculous recovery,” Cami said, wrapping up his story. ‘I don’t know if any of this is true. Other than the fact that you got better, I don’t know what to believe. Maybe I’m delusional. But not about that.”

Nikki had tears in her eyes as she listened, not saying a word the entire time Cami spoke. When he was done, she gave him a long and tight hug.

“Thank you.”

Seeing the hesitation and anguish as he forced himself to open up, she now understood how Cami had been holding all this in the whole time.

Then she looked directly into Cami’s eyes as she wiped away her tears.

“I know one thing that’s definitely true,” she said. “Your faith in my recovery saved me.” She leaned in to kiss Cami. “I don’t know about all the other stuff, but I do know that. You saved me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BERNILA THE NURSE

Weird & Wacky, Bernila chuckled to herself as she scrolled through a list of recent headlines from Emily’s column. Writing that sounds like a lot more fun than changing bedpans for octogenarians, she thought to herself.

She found the Contact Us link on the “Weird & Wacky” page and started typing an email.

“Hey Emily, Bernila the Nurse here! We met at the Chinese Lantern Festival in Pomona. Would love to connect! Hope to talk soon!”

She hit send.

Bernila, the Nurse? Sounds like some fishnet floozy in a Halloween costume. Oh well, too late now.

Bernila also realized she hadn’t really thought through what she expected or hoped would happen next. Nikki’s recovery sure seemed like a miracle to Bernila, and even to Dr. Powers. But what would Emily think? Would she even be interested, or would she just think some lady she barely knew was just an overexcitable drama queen? And more importantly, did “Bernila the Nurse” have permission to reach out to Emily without first talking to Nikki?

She had reached out on a whim because Emily was the first professional writer she had ever met. Now it sank in that this “journalist” worked for a trashy tabloid.

Bernila felt more than a twinge of regret. It felt more like panic. She tried to recall the email, but by the time she figured out how, it was too late.

Calm down, girl, she told herself. You haven’t even said anything about the whole “miracle” episode. You just said hi!

She hadn’t crossed any lines she couldn’t walk back. Besides, Emily might never even see the email or get back to her if she did. That said, Bernila was still eager to share, without mentioning Nikki or herself by name, this feel-good story of hope and recovery. She walked over to the fridge to grab a Spindrift soda and took a sip of the guilt-free, bubbly bliss. Drink in hand, Bernila grabbed her phone, walked over to the nearby couch, and plopped down. She scrolled through her Instagram feed for a few minutes, occasionally checking her email to see if Emily had responded.

After about 30 minutes of mindless screentime, she saw a message from Emily.

“Hey there, Bernila the Nurse!”

Bernila cringed as she read that. But rather than dig that hole even deeper by trying to explain or defend the moniker, she let it go and responded.

“This is out of the blue, but do you want to get a coffee sometime? I heard a story you might be interested in. A ‘Weird & Wacky’ story. Right up your alley, I think.”

Within minutes, Emily wrote back.

“Wow… you know my ‘work.’ I’m honored!” Emily added a couple of goofy emojis to make sure Bernila understood she was joking. How did people ever communicate without emojis? Dangerous times, Emily chuckled to herself.

“Sure,” Emily wrote. “Always up for a good story. When & where?”

“Next week, maybe? Mornings are best for me.”

“Sure. Tuesday work? 10 at NatEx?”

Bernila was fine with the date and time, but didn’t feel comfortable meeting at Emily’s office. A more neutral spot felt less problematic.

“How about Document Coffee Bar on Wilshire at 10?”

“Perfect! See you then & there. Can’t wait to hear your story!”

They exchanged numbers.

That was surprisingly easy, Bernila thought. But now what?

Even though she was the one who had suggested the meeting, she again wondered what she was getting herself into. After all, she hadn’t even mentioned anything to Nikki, the star of the story.

***

Bernila and Emily got together at the trendy cafe on Tuesday as planned. They chatted for a few minutes about the randomness of how they met at the lantern festival, then got to the topic at hand.

“So tell me about this story you mentioned,” Emily started.

“Well, I work at an ICU, an intensive care unit. And not too long ago, this young woman got admitted. She had a head injury from a skiing accident, and the doctor induced a coma.”

“That’s awful,” Emily said.

“She had a subdural hematoma, a kind of brain trauma, from the fall. In such cases, it’s not uncommon to induce a coma. It helps prevent swelling around the brain.”

“Sounds terrifying. But I guess you have to deal with things like that all the time in your job. I couldn’t handle that. I’d be a worthless wreck.”

As Emily pondered why she could never be a nurse, she simultaneously wondered what the “Weird & Wacky” angle was. So far, it was sounding like a tragic, but pretty run-of-the-mill medical issue.

Sensing what Emily might be thinking, Bernila tried to hurry up and get to the most dramatic part of the story.

“So this woman’s in a coma,” Bernila continued, “and the doctor doesn’t know if she’s got brain damage, or how severe or if it’ll be permanent or not.”

Emily was curious, but wondered where this was going.

“But here’s the strange thing,” Bernila said as she tried to reel Emily in. “Not even two days later, she wakes up totally healed. Like nothing ever happened! No brain damage. No signs of the hematoma. Nothing. She’s sitting up, talking and laughing like nothing ever happened.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.” But Emily had no idea how unusual such a recovery was or if the story was even true. “This is probably a stupid question, but is that super rare?”

“Very rare,” Bernila assured her. “Exceedingly rare. Unprecedented, in my experience. Even the doctor, a veteran neurologist, said it was like a miracle.”

“He said that?”

“Yeah, he said he’d never seen anything like it.”

“Wow,” Emily’s reporter instincts were starting to perk up. “That’s, uh, quite a tale.”

“Well, it’s true. I saw it for myself.”

“It sounds interesting to me, for sure. But I have to run story ideas past my editors,” Emily explained. “So, can I meet this woman to get some more info first?”

Without thinking it through, Bernila had naively thought that if Emily was interested, the reporter could somehow cover Nikki’s story without revealing her identity. Just a feel-good story, with no mention of actual names.

At the same time, Bernila knew she couldn’t just give Nikki’s name and contact info to Emily without permission.

“Do you have to meet her?” Bernila asked. “I mean, could you just write about the story, but keep her identity secret? Or maybe meet her, but keep her anonymous?”

As politely as she could, Emily told her that it was not possible.

“Even if I wanted to, I’m pretty sure that my boss wouldn’t go for that. It does sound like it would make for a great article, but I don’t think doing it anonymously would fly.” Emily paused, then added. “But why the hesitation? Doesn’t she want to tell her own story?”

It was finally starting to sink in that Bernila had gotten way ahead of herself. At the same time, she saw Emily’s question as a lifeline to maybe dig herself from the hole she had dug and possibly avoid looking like a complete idiot.

“Well, maybe before I introduce you two, let me double-check with her just to make sure she’s OK with it.”

“Of course.”

It struck Emily as more than a little odd that Bernila was pitching a story without first clearing with the person involved.

People thought of NatEx, Emily knew, as this crazy, conspiracy-driven teller of outrageous and scandalous news. But the reality was that the publication was very careful to avoid getting sued for libel or anything else. They might play fast and loose with the truth, but the publication took legal rights and protections, for themselves anyway, very seriously. NatEx would get sued into oblivion and bankruptcy in a heartbeat if it didn’t.

“Well, that does sound like an amazing story,” Emily said. “Especially for her. But I’ll need to meet her before we go any further. And we’ll need her to sign a release before we can even think about publishing such a story.”

“That makes sense.”

For now, Emily tabled any doubts she had about the medical validity of the story. Instead, she mentioned an even more practical matter for her personally.

“I should also tell you, I’m just a lowly writer with no clout,” she explained. “I have to run everything through my managing editor. And he’s, uh, how should I say this…. he’s a bit hard-headed, doubts, and questions everything.”

Bernila just nodded.

“So what I’m saying is, even if I think it’s a great story, Randy, my boss, might not see it the same way.”

“That makes total sense,” Bernila told her. “I just thought it was a cool story. Something I could see in one of your ‘Weird & Wacky’ columns. Plus, it was so random how we met the other day. It felt like it was fate, or kismet, or something.”

“Maybe it was. Who knows? Maybe something will come of it.”

Emily looked down at her watch.

“Sorry, I gotta run in a minute. But, hey, let me know if it’s OK to meet up with the woman. If it is, I can run the idea by the powers that be and see where it goes.”

Emily did think it could make a decent 200- to 300-word story, but there was no way it was seeing the light of day until they got a signed release from the woman. Plus, would Maddie and Kyla find it interesting? Would Randy? Emily was still new to the job, and she didn’t want to pitch a stupid idea and look like an idiot.

She thought back to something Randy had told her when they first met. It was apparently a favorite mantra of his.

“I’m fine with BS, but I can’t stand boring.”

Emily thought Bernila’s story might put that to the test.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

COKES FOR CHRIST

Manny lived by himself in a small, one-bedroom apartment. No pets and almost no furniture aside from the essentials, all second-hand, including his mini fridge and an old loveseat. Even the handgun he kept stashed in a closet was bought used, a now mostly forgotten remnant of his former bad-boy days as a small-time drug dealer. The Laundromat, which he used every couple of weeks or so, was a five-minute walk away.

To keep the lights on, he worked, as needed, as a freelance handyman. He’d take whatever came along, basic repairs, yard work, day labor, whatever.

Even though he had served his time and “paid his debt to society,” Manny was sure his rap sheet prevented him from finding more stable work. But that was more imagined than real. There were plenty of places in Los Angeles ready and willing to take on ex-convicts to help get their lives back on track. And Manny had tried more than a few.

He didn’t have drug or alcohol issues, and he presented well at first. The problem was his attitude toward work. He considered it a poor use of his time. He had a calling he wanted to pursue, and regularly scheduled hours just prevented him from answering that call. Thus, the freelance route.

While covering rent, food, and utilities, Manny continued to do his own brand of preaching to captive audiences at local DMVs and elsewhere. He had learned early on that private establishments were less willing than public spaces to let their valued customers get exposed to the Word of God, shared via the words of Manny.

He had initially thought crowds at popular places or people queuing up in their cars at restaurants like In-N-Out Burgers would make good targets for him. I mean, In-N-Out printed Michael 3:16 on them, right?

Most people would never even see that inscription on the inside bottom of the Coke they were drinking, and many wouldn’t know what it meant if they did or bother to look it up if they didn’t.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

But, Manny reasoned, someone who wielded power in the executive suites of the fast-food chain had ordered the inscription be printed on more than a hundred million cups each year. Wouldn't ‘Cokes for Christ’ make a great slogan, Manny wondered. Maybe In-N-Out and Chick-fil-A, which didn’t even open their doors on Sundays, would open their hearts to Manny.

But that was not the case. He quickly found out that while Jesus may have had patience for tax collectors, the managers of In-N-Out had zero tolerance for Manny’s sermons.

Thinking he’d have better luck preaching to the choir, as it were, several months ago, Manny had started attending a weekly get-together held in the evening at his local church. But he was learning that these groups of 10 or 12 people were more interested in socializing than listening to his evangelizing. Manny’s brand of brimstone and hellfire did not sit well with these folks.

Already small in number, attendance began to shrink as people realized Manny might actually show up every week. Several attendees reached out to their pastor, Fr. Bautista, to ask Manny to either stop coming or tone it down. They clearly preferred the former.

Fr. Bautista knew Manny, who had been going to his church for more than a year. They had talked multiple times, sometimes at length, and the priest was aware of Manny’s criminal record and his time in prison. But until members of the weekly group brought it to his attention, Fr. Bautista wasn’t aware of the discomfort Manny was causing or of his push to control the agenda. But having had his own conversations with Manny, the priest couldn’t say he was surprised to hear Manny was making them uncomfortable.

Fr. Bautista reached out to Manny and asked him to meet.

A few days later, Manny came to the rectory, not knowing what the meeting was about. He probably wants me to get more involved with the church. Maybe be a counselor for troubled youth?

Fr. Bautista was waiting in his office, with portraits of the Pope and the local Bishop on the wall behind him.

“Ah, Manuel, good to see you. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course, thanks for inviting me.” Manny smiled and shook his hand. To Manny, this felt like it could be some kind of job opportunity in the church, a logical extension of his calling.

After some small talk about what Manny has been up to, Fr. Bautista got to the matter at hand.

“I hear you’ve been attending the weekly group meetings.”

“Yeah, for the last few months.”

“Right. Well, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Manny felt a tinge of excitement. A youth counselor position? Maybe running some kind of Christian community outreach program? Manny envisioned a number of possibilities.

Fr. Bautista considered Manny a basically good, but still troubled, young man. From their limited but revealing conversations, he sensed that Manny had what Fr. Bautista called the zeal of the newly converted. And in Manny’s case, it was also the conversion of the incarcerated.

Manny wasn’t the first such case he’d come across over the years. Fr. Bautista hadn’t worked with a large number of current or former inmates, but he had met enough to get a sense of the radical religious fervor that jail sometimes fomented. So, while he liked Manny and was happy to see him get his life back on track, Fr. Bautista still questioned his emotional stability. He sensed a few bad turns could trigger something in Manny that the young man would find hard to handle.

Fr. Bautista had met a number of young men in the seminary studying to be priests who had a similar fervor for saving the world through Jesus Christ. Their zeal, Fr. Bautista knew, was more passionate than practical. Their image of being a priest focused on the lofty mission of saving souls, their hearts filled with forgiveness and love for all human beings.

That’s all fine and good, and essential, Fr. Bautista understood. But young, idealistic seminarians don’t grasp the reality of the priesthood. Those who think it’s all about the “calling” are in for the Holy Mother of all wake-up calls. Being a priest involves far more mundane work than simply pontificating from the podium.

It involves overseeing an unending stream of mundane and boring, but essential details. From managing finances for the school, rectory, and convent, to planning, budgeting, and overseeing the construction of a new church, gym, or parking lot, priests had to be businessmen as well as counselors and clergymen. And soliciting donations from people who can’t afford it for any number of church or school projects could sometimes turn priests into politicians wearing Roman collars instead of pinstriped suits.

That’s just part of a priest’s job description. Pastors also have to deal with a myriad of non-profit tax and zoning laws while also often mediating uncomfortable disputes between different ethnic groups with very different priorities and outlooks within the same church. And it’s the job of priests to get intimately involved with messy divorces and domestic disputes, sometimes even violent or financially crippling ones.

That, Fr. Bautista understood, is what being a priest really involves. And it is a job. Hopefully, it will feel like a calling. But at the end of the day, it’s still a job, with all the headaches, egos, and petty internal politics found in every other line of work.

Fr. Bautista stood up from his desk and pulled up a chair next to Manny.

“So, about the group meetings. I wanted to get your feedback on that.” He gave Manny a sincere, non-accusatory look. “How have they been going? How’s the group getting along?

Manny sensed this might be turning into a job interview, a chance to share his communication and leadership skills, ones that could be used with youth or other groups.

“We all get along well. I think they like the passion I bring to the group. The leadership I bring.”

Fr. Bautista just listened, encouraging Manny to go on.

“Their meetings had been, um, unorganized, all over the place. No structure. So, I came up with a plan to fix that.”

He sensed that Fr. Baustista was impressed with his initiative.

“Recently, I’ve started the meetings by quoting a few verses of scripture, then explaining what they mean and how they apply to their lives right now. You know, keeping it real.”

“Give me an example.”

“Well, let’s see. Last week, what did I talk about? Oh, yeah, we did Matthew. Gimme a sec…” Manny picked up the small Bible he carried everywhere and pulled at a couple of the placeholder ribbons before finding his spot.

“Here it is. From Matthew, around verse 7... Here: ‘A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.’” Manny looked up at Fr. Bautista. “See, we’ve gotta burn down the bad trees to save the forest. Get the bad apples out of our orchard.”

He waited to get the priest's praise.

“I see.” Fr. Bautista paused for a second to think about how to phrase what we wanted to say next. “I haven’t been in these meetings myself in quite some time. And that’s on me. I should find the time to check in more often.”

“No problem, Father. I know you’re busy. I’m happy to help out, help lead the group.”

“Thanks, Manuel. For understanding.”

Fr. Bautista felt he had given Manny a chance to give his take on these meetings, and he’d now heard enough to know why the other members wanted Manny out.

“But it’s the ‘lead the group’ part that is problematic.”

Manny was still thinking this was going well.

“You’re a member of the group, but not the leader. It’s a social, communal group… a group of equals.”

Manny just listened, not sure where Fr. Bautista was going with this.

“I’ve spoken with some of the other members and, if I can speak bluntly, they’re not happy with how you’ve taken over these meetings.”

He could see the look of surprise mixed with rising anger.

“I know you mean well,” Fr. Bautista told him. “And I think the others do, too. It’s just that they want to have a social and fun evening, as well as a chance to give praise. They don’t want to be preached to.”

“They don’t want to be preached to by an ex- con, is what you mean, right?”

“No, Manuel, that is not what I mean. And it’s not what the members think either. I probably shouldn’t say this, but many of them are lonely. These meetings are a chance to hang out with familiar faces and feel a deeper connection to the community. You can understand that, right?”

Manny stayed silent, starting to seethe.

“I can see you’re getting upset, but please don’t.” Fr. Bautista put his hand on Manny’s shoulder. “This is not a criticism of you. It’s not. Don’t take it that way. It’s just your fellow members saying they want to get more involved, have more input, more interaction with each other.”

“My fellow members?” Manny raised his eyebrows but not his voice. “I don’t think I want to be a member of this group anymore. My calling is to spread the Word of God. And if some people don’t want to hear it, then I’ll find followers that do.”

Followers? Fr. Bautista found that an odd choice of words, a rather disturbing one.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Manuel. The purpose of this meeting was not to upset you or to have you leave the group.” But given the way Manny was reacting, Fr. Bautista felt it was best for him to stop attending. “Why don’t you take some time off from the meetings for now? Later, if you change your mind and feel you’re able to come back as a member of the group, not as the leader, then give me a call. We’ll talk about finding a good time to rejoin.”

“So I’m getting kicked out?”

“Not kicked out. On sabbatical, let’s call it. For now, it’s best for you to take some time off. Like I said, if you feel ready to come back on equal terms, then let’s talk.”

Manny remained seated and silent for a minute, then stood up to leave. He seemed to have calmed down, even smiling as he reached out to shake Fr. Bautista’s hand.

“Thank you, Father. I understand.”

As Manny went to leave, he stopped and turned back.

“I forgive them, Father… for they know not what they do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

IS SHE HOT?

Emily was sitting in the NatEx conference room, looking at her notes from the meeting with Bernila as she waited for Randy to join their weekly call with Maddie and Kyla. Emily had decided she didn’t want to lead with Nikki’s story, so she decided to make it third on her pitch list.

For once, Randy was actually on time. Emily kicked off the Zoom meeting, and her two colleagues in New York popped onto the screen.

“Welcome, my little weirdos and wackos,” Randy grinned, always looking for a way to get a rise out of them. “Whatcha got for me today?”

Maddie kicked it off, giving an update on last week’s Houdini story.

“Kyla wrote up a draft,” Maddie said. “But Legal wants us to hold off until we get clearance from the Houdini estate.”

Randy nodded his head with a silent laugh. More than anyone in this room, he understood how these pain-in-the-ass lawyers were a necessity, NatEx’s only line of defense from getting sued into bankruptcy.

“You happy with the story if it gets the green light?”

“Yeah. Women of a certain age love this stuff,” Maddie told him. “I’ll send you the draft after this call.”

“You got anything else for women of a certain younger age?” Randy asked.

Maddie and Kyla spent the next few minutes floating other possibilities before asking Emily what she had on her list. She looked at the first two stories she had queued up, but gave them a silent veto.

“Well, speaking of younger,” Emily began. “Remember last week I showed you the social media strategy I’ve been working on?”

“Yeah,” Randy said as Maddie and Kyla hid their annoyance just as they had the week before.

“In a kind of bizarre coincidence, I met this woman and her friends in LA at some event. As we were talking, I mentioned that I work at NatEx. And like a week later, I guess she looked me up online and reached out.”

Randy’s eyes were starting to glaze over. Maddie and Kyla sat silently, happy to give Emily as much rope as she needed to hang herself.

“But here’s the “Weird & Wacky” part.” Emily looked at Randy, not fully confident but now committed to pitching it. “The woman’s a nurse, works in the intensive care unit. A week or two ago, a young woman in her 20s came into the hospital in a coma. The doctors thought she might have permanent brain damage from a skiing accident. Didn’t know if she’d be a vegetable or not.”

“And then?” Randy asked, getting impatient.

“According to the nurse, she had this incredible recovery. A full rebound. The doctors had already scheduled her for brain surgery, but the very next day, she woke up as if nothing had happened. The nurse said it was like a miracle. She said even the doctors used that word. No signs of brain damage. This young woman was talking and laughing, and joking like the accident had never happened.”

Randy was intrigued. Even Maddie and Kyla had to admit this story was right up the “Weird & Wacky” alley.

“Have you met with her or just the nurse?”

“Just the nurse so far.”

“Well, what’s the hold-up? Get on it. Sounds promising. Do a little actual reporting, talk to some doctors,” he chided her. “I don’t care if it sounds like BS. Hell, that’s our bread and butter. Just check with Legal to make sure our cute little behinds are covered.”

“I will,” Emily said, then added tentatively, “but first… You see, the nurse who told me the story… she’s not sure if Nikki, that’s the patient, she’s not sure if Nikki will go on the record with her story.”

Randy frowned. “Sounds like you're out over your skis there, Weirdo. Pun intended.”

He wondered why she hadn’t done that legwork first.

Emily knew she had some hurdles to get through. But now that Randy had shown interest in her idea, she wanted to find a way to move the story along.

“I’ll get in touch with the nurse right away. And reach out to Nikki.”

“The coma girl?”

Emily was happy to see Randy engaged with the story. “Yes, the coma girl. I’ll try to arrange a meeting ASAP.”

“There is no try, only do.” Randy did his best Yoda impression. He’d never been a fan of Star Wars, so he had no idea if the oft-repeated quote was accurate or not, and he couldn’t have cared less either way.

“One other thing,” Randy added. “Is she hot? This young woman, Nikki, is she attractive?”

“Come on, Randy!” Maddie frowned at the question.

“What? Don’t give me that holier-than-thou crap. If we’re gonna use her story with a photo, I want to know if she’s good-looking or not.”

The women groaned, but they knew he was right.

“Don’t get all politically correct. This is the National Exposure for Christ’s sake! A hot chick with a catchy storyline is worth an extra million clicks. Easy.”

“It’s Randy’s misogynistic world, and we’re all just living in it,” Maddie sighed with a sardonic grin. Kyla directed her eyes to her laptop to avoid making eye contact with either Maddie or Randy.

“You’re probably right about the clicks,” Emily agreed. As a woman, she shared her female colleagues’ sentiment, but as much as they hated to admit it, Randy had a point. “But the truth is,” Emily told him, “I have no idea what she looks like. We’ve never met.”

Emily assured Randy she’d change that as soon as possible. She had Randy’s interest. Now she had to convince Nikki to agree to an interview, and maybe a photo shoot. Emily wasn’t exactly proud of even thinking it, but she had to admit it. She hoped Nikki was hot.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SOUNDS A LITTLE SNEAKY

From Randy’s tone on the call, Emily assumed he wasn’t overly concerned about finding medical proof of Nikki’s recovery. She’d call an expert or two to say she’d checked it out, but as Randy said, this is NatEx. They’d never let the science get in the way of a good story. But the legitimate threat of a libel suit? That’s a different thing entirely.

NatEx, of course, had a go-to roster of “professionals” and “experts” willing, even eager, to attach their names to a story for some extra publicity, compensation, or both.

Having quickly rounded up an expert, Emily now needed to get Nikki to sign a release and agree to go public with her story. The request for a quick photo shoot could come later. No reason to give any extra reasons for Nikki to possibly say no before they’d even met. Plus, being honest, she wanted to first get a look at Nikki for herself.

She picked up her phone and gave Bernila a call.

A text would be easier, but even though Emily hadn’t been at NatEx all that long, it was long enough to know there was a right and wrong way to approach “normies,” as non-celebrities were referred to within the company. Emily knew she’d need to do some prep work on Bernila before having her reach out to Nikki.

Having talked with Bernila, Emily realized that neither of them knew if Nikki had any interest in sharing her story publicly.

Only one way to find out, Emily said to herself as visions of ridicule at next week’s meeting with Randy, Maddie, and Kyla floated in her mind.

***

Bernila hadn’t heard from Emily since they met last week.

She had thought about getting in touch with the reporter to see if she was still interested in Nikki’s story, but didn’t want to seem overly eager. As a supposedly mature adult no longer in her 20s and a nursing professional, she wasn’t going to call Emily like some love-struck schoolgirl who didn’t immediately get a call back from some guy she’d just met.

Emily had said she’d run the idea by her editors. Maybe they just weren’t interested. Why did Bernila really care, anyway?

When Bernila’s phone buzzed, she felt a tinge of excitement when she saw it was Emily calling.

“Hi, Emily. What’s up?”

Emily gave her the Cliff Notes version of her conversation with Randy and the team. They were interested, but needed Nikki to agree to go public and sign a release.

Even though she’d been thinking about this for some time, since even before first reaching out to Emily, Bernila still felt uneasy. What right did she have to pitch Nikki’s story? How would Nikki react?

“I can reach out to her,” Bernila offered, disregarding her own reservations. She knew she could get Nikki’s number, but also knew she was venturing into more questionable privacy issues.

But Nikki and I really connected, right? She’d be OK with me checking up on her. As a concerned friend. Besides, if she didn’t want to share her story, that would be that. I’d never mention it again to anyone else.

“Thanks. I really appreciate that,” Emily responded, adding an appropriate pause. “But… how should I say this… people are sometimes less than eager to get featured in NatEx. You can probably guess why,” she said with a hint of understanding laughter in her voice.

“Yeah, I guess I could see that.”

Emily explained that it would be great if Bernila could reach out to Nikki, but without revealing too much at first. Emily wanted to meet directly with Nikki so she could make the pitch herself.

“I know it sounds kind of sneaky,” Emily explained. “But we’ve found that, whenever possible, it’s best to meet directly, preferably face to face, before we mention NatEx.” Emily paused to gauge Bernila’s reaction.

“Like I said, I know it sounds sneaky,” Emily continued, “but it’s really not. People get nervous when they hear ‘National Exposure’ and just hang up. But I’ve found that’s because they have a lot of misconceptions about what we do.”

“OK… so what are you saying? You don’t want me to tell her it’s for a NatEx story?” The skepticism in Bernila’s voice was clear.

“No, no. Of course not. We tell everyone who we are,” Emily assured her. “I’m just saying, it’s best to do that when we meet face to face if possible. Not before then.”

“Um… OK… so how would that work?”

“What we find works best in these cases is to say it’s for a ‘national publication.’ But because it’s a competitive business, we’re sensitive to getting scooped by other outlets. So we prefer to first meet face to face, wherever Nikki wants, and then give all the details.”

Bernila listened, not quite convinced of Emily’s rationale or that she could pull that off without making Nikki understandably suspicious.

“If Nikki wants to proceed, great. If not, that’s fine, too. No pressure. We just shake hands and thank her for her time.”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure I can pull that off. But I can see what you’re saying.”

Bernila agreed to Emily’s approach and promised to reach out to Nikki.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

TRUE BELIEVER

Days after being told by Fr. Bautista that he was no longer welcome in his weekly church group, Manny was still stewing with anger. He knew he was a more devout, more fervent Christian than the others. Probably even more than Fr. Bautista. Manny was a true believer.

In prison, Manny had found God. In the outside world, he had found hypocrisy. In his mind, Christianity had bastardized the teaching of Christ. “Turn the other cheek” became a convenient excuse to turn a blind eye to evil.

Instead of punishing pedophiles in the priesthood, the Catholic Church simply transferred them to another diocese where they could molest young boys in someone else’s parish.

Instead of excommunicating members of their congregation, particularly high-profile politicians on both sides of the aisle, who professed to be Catholic while openly supporting abortion, the clergy gingerly slapped their knuckles with one hand while collecting donations with the other.

These holy hypocrites switched from moral outrage to meek obsequiousness as easily as replacing their Roman collar with a pair of Nikes.

Manny accepted Jesus’ proclamation to “let he who has not sinned cast the first stone.” Every man is a sinner. But not every sin is the same. All around him, in prison, at work, in church, on TV, he saw so-called Christians find personally convenient ways to mold their own self-serving form of Christianity to fit their carnal and capitalist desires.

In Manny’s mind, Jesus was a zealot. A warrior. An uncompromising crusader for His Father’s one Truth. His Father did not give His only Son to spread filth and moral decay. The Church, Manny knew, is not and never has been Christ. This gutless clergy does not embody the Word of God. In many cases, it undermines it, like the serpent worming its way into a sweet apple. The Church isn’t always a fortress to keep Satan out. It has often been a shrine built to welcome him in. And here was Fr. Bautista kicking Manny out of his group for being what? Too Christian? Too passionate about adhering to the Word of God? Too committed to true Christianity?

As Manny’s anger grew, something crystallized in him. He realized his own preaching at the DMV and elsewhere was its own form of hypocrisy. He talked the talk, but did he walk the walk? Did he back it up with action? No.

Manny vowed to change that.

He had not had any luck expanding his brainchild group, Onward Christian Soldiers, beyond an army of one. Himself. But it didn’t matter. One was enough. Jesus, one man, had saved the world by sacrificing Himself for all men.

Manny was done with the hypocrisy of activists, politicians, and especially those mega church preachers making millions from their flocks of followers who made donations like they were buying lottery tickets or Medieval-era indulgences in hopes of being magically absolved of the sins they intended to stop. never

Manny would no longer be just a Christian. He would be a Christian soldier. He just needed a war.

CHAPTER THIRTY

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

Bernila was nervous about reaching out to Nikki. She had sort of convinced herself that she wasn’t violating any privacy policies by getting her contact info. She was just checking in on a recent patient she cared about. Maybe even a new friend.

But even if Nikki had no issues with that, how was Bernila going to get her to share her story with, of all places, NatEx, a grocery store tabloid? Emily had given her tips on what to say on that call, but Bernila had her doubts. Why would Nikki sign on? After all, it was her name, her reputation that would be nationally exposed.

While it felt like overkill, Bernila had written down some notes to herself in preparation for the call. She’d texted a couple of the bullet points to Emily to make sure her bases were covered. The key points were there, but Emily was concerned about the delivery. There was nothing she could do about that, however. The initial outreach had to come from Bernila. Hopefully, she would get Emily’s proverbial foot inside Nikki’s proverbial door.

Bernila picked up the phone to call Nikki.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Nikki. I know this is out of the blue, but this is Bernila, one of the nurses from the ICU.”

“Wow,” Nikki laughed. “That is out of the blue!”

Nikki’s friendly reaction put Bernila at ease. “I know, sorry! I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Nikki said. “Thanks. I’m doing great. Nice to be a normal person again!”

“I can imagine!”

“And how are you doing? I don’t know how you guys handle that environment. I’d melt under that kind of stress.”

“I’m not gonna lie,” Bernila said. “It can get kind of crazy. But it’s rewarding, too. Especially when someone like you makes an incredible recovery.”

“Yeah, I was very lucky to have you and Dr. Powers and Sonya and everyone else there taking care of me. You guys are the real miracle workers.”

Feeling more at ease now, Bernila saw this as her segue to bring up the reason for the call.

“I know this gonna sound kind of weird, and I hope you don’t mind,” she began. “But I shared your story with a friend of mine. I didn’t tell her your name or anything, but I told her about your amazing rebound.”

“It really was amazing,” Nikki agreed. “And I don’t mind. I’d tell other people if I heard that story, too!”

Both women laughed.

“I’d go blabbing to every person I met,” Nikki added.

“And this friend I mentioned,” Bernila continued. “She’s actually a writer for a big publication. And she and her editors are interested in learning more about what happened.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t see that coming. What publication?”

“Well, here’s the thing…” Nikki’s warmth and friendliness had put Bernila at ease, feeling less sneaky and untruthful. Besides, she wasn’t lying about anything. But she just wasn’t telling the whole truth either. “You’ll definitely know the company, but they’re very sensitive about getting scooped by their rivals. So they play everything close to the vest.”

“Oh, OK.” That seemed a little odd, but perhaps plausible to Nikki. The cut-throat ad agency world where she lived was no stranger to being protective and secretive.

“And I should say, too,” Bernila added. “I don’t want to get your hopes up either. My friend is definitely interested in your story, but she’ll still have to run it by her editors.”

“Sure, of course.”

“And we don’t know, I mean, they don’t know, how long the article might be or when it might run. All that would come later.”

“Makes sense,” Nikki said. “It all sounds kind of cool and exciting!”

“Great.” Bernila was relieved that the conversation had gone so well. “So, if you’re OK with it, let’s set a time and place, and my friend and I will meet you there.”

They settled on a spot and came up with a couple of options for when to meet.

Mission accomplished, Bernila smiled to herself. She couldn’t wait to call Emily and give her the news. But she just wasn’t sure how Nikki would react once she heard the name of the publication.

She immediately called Emily, who was driving back when her phone rang.

Emily punched a button on her dashboard to answer the call. The excitement in Bernila’s voice came through the speakers loud and clear. Emily was impressed that Bernila had pulled off her assigned mission. Now all Emily had to do was pull off hers.

***

Cami came home a couple of hours after Nikki had spoken with Bernila. Excited to share the news, she started to tell her husband all about it.

As he listened, Cami became uneasy about the whole thing. Why the need to go public? Could that somehow jinx their “miracle?”

And was it really a miracle? Did Cami and the whole blood of Christ thing have anything to do with it, or was the timing just pure coincidence? Would Nonna be happy, furious, or ashamed of her grandson? Should he, would he, ever tell Nonna what he’d done?

Who’s the delusional one now, Cami thought. Me or Nonna?

Using the one superpower that all husbands have, Cami was half-listening to his wife, but it was enough to find the right time to jump in.

“So, which publication is it?”

“She didn’t say. But it’s a big one,” Nikki said. “She said they wanted to meet before getting into more detail. I guess they’re afraid of getting scooped.”

That sounded dubious to Cami. Every journalist starts by saying which paper they’re from. He could sense the precipitation forming, but he didn’t want to immediately rain on Nikki’s parade.

“Well, OK. But I want to be there,” Cami insisted. “Where are you meeting them?”

“At the Grind.”

“OK. That’s easy enough.”

“This Saturday at 10.”

“Should be interesting, I guess,” Cami said, trying to share some of Nikki’s excitement.

“Very interesting! Besides, what’ve you got to lose?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A MORE ‘LEGITIMATE’ PUBLICATION

It was almost time for Nikki and Cami to walk over to the Daily Grind Cafe to meet Bernila and the mystery journalist from the mystery publication. The couple had virtually no information on who they would be talking to. Cami still had his doubts and concerns, while Nikki was only getting more excited with curiosity.

Like Nikki had said, what’s the worst that could happen? After all that his wife had been through, he certainly didn’t want to dump cold water on her enthusiasm before they even got to hear what this journalist had to say. Besides, Cami thought, it would be clear within a minute or two if this whole thing was legit or not.

A little before the scheduled time, Nikki and Cami walked over to the cafe, got their usual drinks, and grabbed a table and two extra chairs. Right as they sat down, Nikki saw Bernila come into the shop with a young woman.

“Hey, guys, we’re over here,” Nikki called out as she and Cami stood up to greet them. Nikki gave Bernila a big hug, then Cami did the same.

“Let me introduce you,” Bernila said, shifting her eyes to her new friend. “This is Emily Watson… Emily, this is Nikki and her husband Cami.”

Emily had the look of a professional but creative, hipster-looking writer, probably still in her early 20s.

Drinks ordered, they all sat down, made some small talk, then Nikki took the lead.

“So,” Nikki smiled, “How do you want to do this?”

“If I could,” Cami jumped in, looking at Emily. “Who’s the story for? I know Nikki said it’s national, but that’s all I know. Very mysterious,” Cami raised his eyebrows, keeping his tone light-hearted.

Bernila nodded to show it was obviously a fair question and looked at Emily to give the answer, not sure how both Nikki and Cami would react.

“It’s for the National Exposure,” Emily said as matter-of-factly as she could. Maddie had coached her not to get defensive or offer excuses for working at a tabloid. Best to just put it out there and see how the person on the side reacts. Cami’s and Nikki’s reactions were what she had expected.

“NatEx, the tabloid?”

Nikki turned from Emily with a bit of disappointment tinged with embarrassment to watch Cami’s reaction. He wasn’t going to just get up and leave, although that was his initial instinct. He just looked at Nikki without saying anything. He could tell Nikki understood how he felt, but it was her call on how she wanted to proceed.

“Well, to be honest,” Nikki said, trying not to offend Emily. “I, um, thought it was for a… a more…”

“A more ‘legitimate’ publication,” Emily said, finishing Nikki’s thought for her.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but…”

“Don’t worry. We get that all the time.” Emily smiled, waving off Nikki’s concerns about hurting her feelings. “But can I ask you two quick questions?”

“Sure.”

“When's the last time you actually read NatEx?”

Nikki and Cami looked at each other, somewhat caught off guard.

“I have to admit, it's been a while,” Nikki said.

“Same here.”

“I think you'd be surprised to see how it's changed,” Emily told them.

One of the first things Maddie and Kyla had gone over with Emily when she joined the company was how to approach new interviewees, the Nikkis and Camis she would encounter. Don’t sound defensive about who you represent, they told her. And they also gave her some talking points to use.

This was her time to put to use what she had learned.

“Second question,” Emily continued. “Which publication do you think has broken more major political corruption stories over the last 20 years, the New York Times or NatEx?”

Nikki and Cami had no doubt where this leading question was going.

“I'll take NatEx for $200, Alex,” Nikki answered. The group laughed, with Bernila particularly happy to see potential tension start to fade.

“That's right. NatEx,” Emily said, feeling like she was doing Maddie and Kyla proud.

She was keenly aware of the nonsense her publication foisted on the low-information public on a daily basis. But it was true that NatEx also covered stories that editors at the Old Gray Lady and other “esteemed” publications were too squeamish or, worse, too protectively partisan to cover.

“We break the stories others are too scared to touch or too afraid to even look into,” Emily continued. “And through our licensing partnerships around the world, we have bigger global reach than the LA Times, the Washington Post and, yes, even the New York Times.” She wasn’t sure if that was true, but it was apparently one of Maddie’s tried-and-true talking points.

Cami continued to just listen in silence.

Emily briefly went through the highlight reel of salacious, financial, and even criminal scandals that had first appeared as dubious NatEx tabloid stories and later turned out to be true.

“Kind of like Monica Lewinsky and the blue dress,” Cami sneered.

It was in reference to the famous blow job in the Oval Office, the Oral Office, as some called it, involving then-President Bill Clinton and an intern. An unknown blogger named Matt Drudge had broken that story after the New York Times and others had the scoop but refused to release it. Squashing a true and accurate scandal for partisan reasons left a stain on these “venerable” publications, like Clinton had left a stain on Monica Lewinsky’s infamous blue dress.

“Well, NatEx didn’t break that story. But yeah, that’s a perfect example,” Emily agreed.

Nikki felt the need to assure Emily that she and, on his behalf, Cami, were not out to disparage Emily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to criticize you or NatEx. I just don't want to look like a crazy person.”

“No offense taken. None at all.”

Looking at Cami and then back at Nikki, Emily continued.

“You won’t look like a crazy person, because you aren’t. I'm just telling your story. You had a kind of miraculous recovery, right? That's a fact. None of us knows why or how it happened, but it happened, right? That's the story. And it's an inspiring one.”

Sensing Nikki and especially Cami still needed more convincing, Emily continued.

“What if you had a child that was in a coma and the doctors, and maybe even the parents, had given up hope? Wouldn't you want to read about someone like you? Wouldn't you want to hear about people who recovered when all hope seemed lost?”

Nikki and Cami looked at each other. While his wife seemed convinced and ready to move ahead, Cami still had his own reservations. He couldn’t argue with the facts. Nikki had made an incredible recovery, and he’d be forever grateful for it.

He knew his hesitation came from his own fear of being exposed. But exposed for what? Cami wasn’t sure, but the notion nagged at him. You mean, I don’t really have the magical healing powers of Jesus because I drank an old vial of some blood Nonna believed was the Blood of Christ?!

The absurdity of it all… the insanely narcissistic, egotistical thought of it all… made Cami cringe inside. Did he actually believe this nonsense? Michael Camigiliano, savior of souls, channeler of Christ?

Yet, here was his beautiful wife sitting across from him in perfect health after being essentially brain-dead.

And did Nikki believe Cami had something to do with it?

He had told her the whole story. Now she was talking with a journalist ready to tell her version of events to, of all places, the National Exposure.

Would Nikki tell Emily about her dream and Cami’s revelation of the whole Blood of Christ part? That, Cami could not stomach. That had to stay not just off the record, but never spoken at all, not to anyone, anywhere. Cami’s mind flashed back to Nonna’s warning of what people would do if they believed what she had was indeed the Blood of Christ. What Nonna used to possess, he reminded himself.

As all of this was running through Cami’s head, he heard Nikki responding to Emily.

“OK, OK. You win. I'll do it!”

Cami didn’t protest. He just held Nikki’s hand and smiled warily. He silently vowed to himself that as soon as they got home, he’d get her to agree on what she could and absolutely could not discuss with Emily.

“Great!” Emily said.

“Excellent,” Bernila joined in.

“Oh, one other thing,” Emily popped up. “If we get the go-ahead from my editors, we’ll want to get a photographer to take some pictures of you for the paper and website. And we’ll also need you to sign a release, you know, for legal purposes. Are you OK with that?”

Emily could hear Randy’s voice in her head. She had to stifle any feminist principles she may have wanted to stand on and admit she was relieved to have the answer he wanted to hear. Yes, Nikki was “hot.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

MIRACLES HAPPEN HERE

Later that day, back at home, Cami and Nikki exchanged thoughts on the meeting with Emily.

Nikki was on board. She had a “good feeling” about Emily. She seemed trustworthy, more than she would have guessed, given the preconceived image she had of NatEx.

The couple went online and looked through the NatEx website. Cami wondered what they were getting themselves into.

Yes, Emily was right that NatEx had some political coverage, certainly with a focus on the sensational or conspiratorial. And there were kernels of truth, as Emily claimed. But they were obscured by a regular diet of UFOs, aliens, and Florida Man-style stories.

“The truth is out there,” Nikki quipped.

“I guess. But the question is, are you sure you want to have your name and picture in there?”

Nikki admitted that it wasn’t without risk. Maybe she was being naive talking to a tabloid journalist, but she really did feel Emily could be trusted.

“She said she wouldn’t portray me as some nutty lunatic, and I believe her.”

Cami took a deep breath. “OK. But promise me something.”

“Sure, what?”

“Promise me that you won’t say anything to anyone about Nonna’s Blood of Christ story and me drinking from the vial. Absolutely nothing. Not even a hint or vague reference. Nothing.”

“Not even a nudge, nudge, wink, wink?”

Cami and Nikki were both Monty Python fans. That was his older brother’s influence on Cami, and Cami’s influence on Nikki. But this wasn’t funny.

“I’m serious. No joking around. Promise?”

Nikki dropped the sarcastic tone. “Yes. I promise. I won’t say anything about that to anyone.” She gave Cami a peck on the lips. It crossed her mind to make a pinky promise, but she thought better of it. “I promise to never bring that up.”

“You know I trust you,” he assured her. “I’m just nervous. Journalists can twist things around to fit whatever narrative they want.”

“I know. But I don’t think Emily’s like that.”

Cami wanted to believe that. He liked Emily. But he was less confident about her editors. He’d been around enough editing rooms in the film world to know how much power editors have in shaping a movie. He was sure news editors had at least as much power to shape a narrative. Much more, he suspected.

But if Nikki played it straight and only talked about her recovery, with no mention of the more supernatural aspects, the parts even Cami himself, at best, only half believed, how could the editors even manipulate the story? In Cami’s world, you have to have at least some footage to shape or massage a narrative. And he was sure Nikki would not provide any such “footage” in her interviews with Emily.

“Oh, by the way, I have an idea,” Nikki said with a burst of energy. “As a way to say thanks to everyone at the hospital, how about we give them a plaque to hang on the wall in the ICU?”

“A plaque?”

“Yeah, you know, something that shows our appreciation and maybe gives hope to anyone and their families who see it. Something with a message of hope, or inspiration.”

“Sounds like a great idea. What do you have in mind, I mean, what do you want it to say?”

“Something short and sweet. Something memorable. If it’s too long, no one will read it. Or remember it.”

Nikki, the ad exec, and Cami, the film buff, were very in tune with the fleeting attention spans of audiences.

“I’ve been playing around with some ideas,” Nikki said, sitting up straight as she grabbed a little notepad she had on the coffee table. “What do you think about this? ‘Miracles happen here. Believe it.’”

Cami nodded his approval.

“That would be in big letters,” Nikki said. “And below that, in a smaller font, the name of the hospital and all the doctors.”

“I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

“Great! I’ll get it made right away.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

WANTED (BRAIN) DEAD OR ALIVE

After the meeting at the Daily Grind, Emily sent the bullet points to update Maddie, Kyla, and Randy.

“Meeting with ‘miracle girl,’ Nikki, went great. Key points: She agreed to sign the release. Will follow up with another interview to flesh out the story. Will schedule photographer.”

Emily purposely left out one part she didn’t want to put in writing. She’d do that in person later. That was the benefit of working in close proximity to Randy.

After she sent the email to the group, Emily waited to hear back. But in the meantime, she just happened to stop by Randy’s desk.

“Did you get the email I sent about the ‘miracle girl?’”

“I saw you sent something,” Randy said. “Went well?”

Emily knew which part Randy wanted to clarify.

“It went great. You’ll be happy to know, she’s very attractive. A ‘hot babe…’ or was it ‘foxy momma’ that people in your generation used to say?”

Like a veteran comedian who no longer laughs at jokes but still appreciates them, Randy didn’t show any reaction. And he wasn’t offended by what others might see as insolence on Emily’s part.

“Send me a picture when you get one. Keep it under 300 words.”

Emily was satisfied, and, truth be told, a little proud and excited. She had the makings of a good little story, and Nikki’s looks were, she knew, a plus.

With a verbal go-ahead from Randy, she knew getting a sign-off from Maddie was a mere formality. Emily went ahead and arranged a time to chat with Nikki and scheduled a freelance photographer. She sketched out the type of quotes she wanted to solicit from Nikki and started thinking of possible ideas for the all-important NatEx-style headline.

Nikki couldn’t meet during the workday, but an evening meeting two days from now worked for everyone, including Cami, who again insisted on being there.

***

They all met at the appointed time. Cami’s concerns turned out to be unwarranted. Throughout the interview, he and Nikki both essentially said the same thing in different ways, noting how lucky they were and repeating their gratitude to the doctors and hospital staff.

Through a string of leading questions, Emily got the info she needed. She could massage the quotes to spice them up and give them the “Weird & Wacky” treatment she knew Maddie and Randy were looking for.

Outside of more extensive feature stories that required deeper investigation and fact-checking, the lead time at NatEx was short. With some photos and the follow-up interview now in the bag, Emily could write up these short, 300-word pieces in an hour or two. Maddie would then edit it and pass it along to Randy for a final| check before it went to the copy editors for proofing and a check with Legal.

Depending on the urgency of a story and any related print deadlines, Emily and Kyla’s “Weird & Wacky” columns usually got published online within one to three days. Print-first or print-only articles might take a bit longer to match the release date for supermarkets and other outlets.

After reading the final draft, Randy called out to Emily from his desk.

“Hey, Weirdo. Come here for a sec.”

Randy had warmed up to this new nickname for Emily. She found it more endearing than insulting, but she wondered if he called her East Coast counterpart “Wacky” in the same way. She somehow doubted that either Kyla or Maddie would find it endearing or office-appropriate, but she figured they’d find it at least as tolerable as being called “weirdo” in front of all their colleagues.

"You rang, sir,” Emily said with a sardonic tone as she peered into Randy’s office. She thought about clicking her heels and standing to attention with a crisp salute, but refrained. But it might have been worth it, she thought, just to see Randy’s reaction.

“Hey, nice job on the miracle girl piece.” Not used to easy compliments from her boss, Emily looked for a sign of sarcasm but didn’t see any.

“Thanks.”

“You know what I liked best about it?”

I think I can guess, Emily thought to herself. “What?”

“I like how the story is most likely complete nonsense, but it feels so believable the way you wrote it. Our readers eat that stuff up.”

Emily was pleasantly surprised. She knew Randy was leaving Nikki’s “hotness” unsaid, probably because, as much as he sometimes came across as a Mad Men-era misogynistic executive, he wasn’t an idiot. The HR hallways have ears, even at the relatively fast-and-loose NatEx. She guessed he was tempted to mention Nikki’s looks, and probably did with his male buddies. But Emily was still happy to get a compliment on her writing style, backhanded or not.

“Nice headline, too.” Randy tapped his finger on the printout: ‘Miracle Girl, Wanted (Brain) Dead or Alive.’”

“Thank you, Randy.” Emily was genuinely happy to receive what she sensed and wanted to believe was genuine praise.

“Now let’s see if you get any traffic and traction with it.”

Only slightly deflated, Emily knew Randy was serious about that admonition. She gave a friendly nod and smile, once again deciding against standing to attention and saluting.

***

Two days later, the “Miracle Girl” story appeared online, with plans for it to hit newsstands and supermarkets two days later. Emily called Nikki to say thanks and sent her a link to the story. She also mentioned she would mail Nikki five copies of the print version as a keepsake.

The article didn’t exactly make a splash, but it wasn’t a flop either. As “Weird & Wacky” pieces go, it was solidly above average, generating what Emily considered decent buzz on social media.

The photo of Nikki, her team all knew, didn’t hurt. Their audience was predominantly female, but even that demographic prefers a good-looking woman over a frumpy old lady. Even if it was just to critique Nikki’s hairstyle or outfit, she knew women like herself wanted to weigh in. “Weird & Wacky” readers were also more than happy to judge whether Nikki, from a single photo, looked sweet and trustworthy or like a snobby slut.

To help the small, but potentially promising, traction the story had, Emily and Maddie asked the Marketing folks to send out a push notification to give it an extra boost. Maddie also had them pin the post with Nikki’s photo to the top of their social platforms for 24 hours and on the “Weird & Wacky” section of the NatEx site.

Emily felt like she successfully satisfied her three main constituencies for the story: Randy, Nikki, and NatEx’s “Weird & Wacky” readership. She had certainly embellished it a bit, but felt she had portrayed Nikki’s experience fairly and accurately. She was confident she had not, as Nikki had initially feared, made her seem like a crazy person.

From coming up with the idea to getting all the necessary approvals to generating awareness of and engagement with the story, Emily felt the whole process put her in good standing with Randy. It was just a small one-off piece, but she believed her boss would see she could handle even bigger projects down the road.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

RIPPLE EFFECT

Nikki was somewhat embarrassed to admit it, even to herself, but she was a bit giddy with excitement at seeing her story shared with the public on a national or, dare she say, international scale. That seemed like hyperbole to Nikki, but it was true, even if it was in a supermarket tabloid.

Her immediate inclination was to send the story to her parents as well, but she decided to hold off until she and Cami had gone through it together at home that evening.

Thinking about it as she left the office and drove home, she wondered how Cami would react. Nikki felt it came out well, but sensed he’d have mixed feelings about sharing the story with the public, particularly with his own family.

There was no mention of Nonna or the old family tale of their family being related to St. Caterina.

As Nikki got close to home, her thoughts turned back to how Emily’s story had come out even better than she had hoped. She felt good about putting her trust in Emily. She had portrayed both Nikki and Cami in a way that neither came off as a nutjob. If anything, they came off as almost too nice, happy, and grateful. She wondered if they came off as sweetly plastic Barbie and Ken dolls.

As she pulled into the garage, she saw Cami’s car already there.

Once inside, she found Cami had already poured two glasses of wine. Dinner could wait. They sat down on the couch to discuss the article.

Like Nikki, Cami had already read it on his phone. They both agreed it was a basically accurate, albeit somewhat hyperbolized version of what they’d both been through. Now, as they scrolled through it together, they agreed it was much better than they, particularly Cami, had feared it might turn out.

Cami felt like they had dodged a potential bullet. He hadn’t overly resisted going along with Nikki’s wishes, and the story was essentially a non-controversial, feel-good fluff piece. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could be offended.

“And you look fantastic,” Cami smiled as he enlarged the photo to get a better look.

“God, how weird is that?” Nikki groaned at seeing her massive face appear on the screen. “Don’t make it so big.” She put her hand in front of the screen to cover as much as she could. “I’m not ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”

“Come on, you look great,” Cami assured her. “But you sound like a diva.”

“Well, I am a cover girl now, you know.”

“Well, it is NatEx… you know.” They both laughed. “And it’s not actually the cover. But you are officially the poster child of ‘Weird & Wacky.’”

“Gee, thanks.”

As the couple stared at the screen, neither had any illusions about how much reach this one, fleeting story buried inside one tabloid would have. Nonetheless, they also realized it was out there in the universe now.

Nikki couldn’t imagine that very many people would come across the story online or pick up a copy from a supermarket or one of those near-extinct newsstands. And of those who did, only a tiny portion would stumble upon the “Weird & Wacky” section and see Nikki’s photo or actually read her story. As an advertising exec, Nikki knew that people have to see an ad at least three times before it even starts to register. And nine out of 10 people only read the headline of a story and maybe the photo caption.

Cami’s thoughts were more paranoid than practical. Rational Cami knew that putting the story out there was like tossing a tiny pebble into the ocean. But, paranoid Cami speculated, if the right person was looking at the right patch of water at the right time, they might notice that tiny splash. Then what? What kind of ripple effect could it have?

“Oh… you wanna see something cool?” Nikki stood up and walked over to grab a package sitting on their kitchen table. “The plaque has arrived!” She picked it up and carefully unwrapped the protective covering.

Cami walked over and sat next to Nikki as she unveiled it. “That looks awesome. When should we bring it over?”

“I say tonight! Bernila should be working the night shift, so we can give it to her personally.”

***

Nikki texted Bernila to see if she and Cami could swing by for a quick minute. She had something for Bernila and the staff. They arranged to meet later that evening when Bernila could take a break.

When Bernila got a chance to step out, she went down to the emergency room lobby to meet them. It was on the same floor as the ICU, just down the corridor.

“My miracle girl!”

Bernila gave Nikki a big smile and a hug. The other patients turned to look at Bernila and the new arrivals.

“Let’s step over here,” Bernila said more quietly, realizing she had been a little too effusive for the ER. They walked over to a corner of the lobby farther from the entrance.

“We just wanted to give you a little something,” Nikki said. “To say thanks for everything you and your team have done.” Nikki unwrapped the plaque and handed it to Bernila.

“Wow, you didn’t have to do that.” She kept her voice down out of respect for the patients, but her face clearly showed how touched she was.

As Nikki and Bernila sat and chatted, Cami excused himself. “I’ll leave you guys alone to catch up.”

He turned the corner to the other side of the lobby. Cami’s attention was drawn to a middle-aged man who had come in with his wife and two young daughters, maybe in their very early teens.

The mom told the kids to take a seat, and she stood next to her husband as he explained to the receptionist on the other side of the plexiglass what was going on. Overhearing their conversation, Cami vividly remembered how he had felt when he had stood in that very same room not long ago, waiting to get let in to see Nikki in the ICU.

With the man’s wife doing much of the talking, the couple explained that he was feeling short of breath with some pain in his chest and left arm. Classic signs of a budding heart attack.

Although she hid them well, signs of professional concern were clear on the receptionist’s face. She turned her head to look at the triage nurse sitting at the desk next to her. The nurse heard the man’s explanation and immediately stood up to open the door and usher them into the triage room.

“Come in. Let’s see what’s going on.”

The couple looked very worried as they entered the room. Cami looked over across the waiting room to see Nikki and Bernila. The two women were quietly engrossed in whatever they were chatting about.

Without being too obvious, Cami turned his attention back to look at the middle-aged man’s two daughters. They were old enough to understand their dad was not well and that he was old enough for it to be of concern to them. If their mom hadn’t told them to stay put, they would have followed their parents into the triage room.

As Cami looked at them, he could only imagine what must be going through each family member’s mind.

Is Dad gonna be OK?

I’m too young to have a heart attack, right? If I die, what’s going to happen to my kids? Why the hell did I keep putting off getting life insurance?

What am I going to do if my husband dies? What’s going to happen to our girls if they lose their dad?

Cami couldn’t hear what the triage nurse was saying to the man as she tested his blood pressure and checked the screens in front of her. Cami couldn’t see or hear any details, but from the faces of everyone in that room, it didn’t look good.

Cami thought back to how hard he had prayed for Nikki when she got admitted to the ICU. Everyone, even devout atheists, prays when they feel helpless and in serious trouble. Maybe not to “god,” but everyone begs for help from someone or somewhere.

Cami didn’t know this man or his family, but why shouldn’t he say a prayer for them? It couldn’t hurt and can only help, Cami told himself.

He closed his eyes and prayed. Please help this man and his family. You performed a miracle for Nikki. Please perform another for this man.

“Falling asleep, old man?” Nikki tapped Cami on the shoulder with a laugh as Bernila stifled one of her own. “Getting a little late, huh. I mean, it is after 8:30.”

Cami just shrugged off Nikki’s teasing.

“You guys have a good chat?”

“Yep,” the ladies replied in unison with that natural harmony that only women seem to have.

“Thanks so much for the plaque. That means a lot,” Bernila said, looking at Cami. “Dr. Powers and everyone on the ward are going to love it.” She gave Nikki and Cami another hug.

“And thanks for sending the article,” Bernila added as she held the plaque. “You guys are gonna be famous,” she whispered with a smile.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

MOST PRECIOUS CARGO

The next day, Cami and Nikki both woke up early as usual to get ready for work.

Cami was having a cup of coffee and scrolling through the news before heading out to start his day. His friend Jason had given the piece of the Comic Assassin project Cami had been working on to another freelance special effects guy. The sudden change of plans on an already tight schedule was a setback, but Jason could hardly hold a grudge against Cami for taking care of his wife.

And Jason was always happy to use Cami for any FX work when he could, including this latest assignment for a couple of days’ work on another low-budget horror film Jason was producing.

As Cami took another sip of coffee before driving over for the new project, he looked over at Nikki sitting at the kitchen table. Later that morning, she would be making what she hoped would be a final campaign pitch to a cosmetics brand client for a new line of lipstick.

As Nikki told Cami about the project, he just smiled.

She suddenly stopped talking. “What?” she asked with suspicion. “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

“Nothing,” Cami replied, with a goofy smile. “I was just thinking how nice it is to see you back to normal. It’s been such a crazy time. I’m just enjoying seeing you sit here talking about work. Seeing you get ready to head into the office. You know, normal stuff.”

“Yeah, normal is good,” Nikki agreed. “We could definitely use more of that right now.”

They were both incredibly lucky, and they both knew and appreciated it.

“Let’s enjoy it while we can,” Cami said as the Camigliano snark kicked in. “I’m sure we’ll be having our ‘normal’ fights again in no time.”

“Just behave yourself like a good little boy and do as I say, and we’ll have no problems,” Nikki assured him with a grin.

She gave Cami a quick kiss, picked up her stuff, and started to leave. She was grabbing her keys when Cami’s phone rang.

“It’s Tony,” Cami said to his wife as he went to answer it. “What’s up, old man?”

In an instant, Cami’s face changed, stopping Nikki in her tracks.

“What’s wrong?” She started walking back toward Cami.

Cami just listened and raised one finger to ask Nikki not to talk so he could hear.

“Is she conscious?” Cami asked Tony.

“Who?” Nikki leaned in closer to Cami.

“OK. Well, Nikki and I will head up there right away. Traffic’s gonna be a mess, but we’ll get up there as soon as we can.”

Cami listened to his brother say something.

“Well, tell her we’re heading up right now. We’ll see you guys tonight.”

When the call ended, Nikki looked at Cami. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Nonna. She’s not doing well. The doctors think she had a stroke.”

“Oh, my god.” Nikki put her stuff down and hugged Cami. “I’ll call work and let ‘em know.”

With the shock of the news about Nonna, Nikki’s big meeting had slipped Cami’s mind.

“Right, you’ve got your pitch.” Cami felt like an idiot. “You can’t miss that. Nonna wouldn’t want you to miss that.”

“I know, but, hey, if I’ve learned anything from all that’s happened, it’s priorities. Nothing’s more important than family. And I want to see Nonna before it’s too late. We’re definitely going up there right now.”

Cami just nodded. She was right. Of course, Nikki was coming with him. He also realized that once again, he had had to call Jason and cancel another job at the last minute.

They hurried to get on the road to Sacramento.

“I guess this is our new ‘normal,’ Cami said with a frown devoid of sarcasm. “Back to the hospital again.”

***

Due to multiple car accidents, it took more than two hours for them to get through the worst of the LA traffic, past the San Gabriel Valley, and up to the Grapevine, all of about 80 miles. From there, it was relatively smooth sailing, with Cami and Nikki taking turns driving the 400 miles on the I-5 and I-80 to Sacramento.

Along the way, Tony filled them in on how Nonna was doing and which hospital she was at. Nonna was conscious, but disoriented. Tony said her speech was slurred and her facial muscles were out of whack, making her face droopy. All classic signs of a stroke.

“It’s gonna depend on how much fight she has left,” Tony said. “The doctors can try some things, but it really comes down to her at this stage.”

“How bad she wants to hang on.”

“Exactly.”

Cami thought back to that conversation he’d had with Nonna. It seemed a lifetime ago, but it hadn’t even been three months. “I’m dying,” she had said to Cami. Maybe now, she really was.

“And how’s mom doing?”

“About as good as you’d expect. But she’s glad you guys are coming up.”

***

Cami and Nikki finally arrived around 7 p.m.

Seeing Nonna hooked up to an array of machines and tubes was eerily similar to what he had just witnessed with his wife.

For Nikki, the scene showed what she must have looked like to Cami and her own parents. Thinking back to the conversation they just had earlier that morning, Nikki imagined Nonna would love nothing more than to get back to doing “normal” stuff again. Or to being young again.

“Hey, Nonna,” Cami said softly as he and Nikki gently touched her hand. Cami was sure she recognized them, but the stroke had changed her. Her facial expression wasn’t right. Her eyes… Cami couldn’t quite explain it. Something in her eyes was receding.

Cami had never watched someone die before, but he sensed this must be what it looks like. Her soul was preparing to leave her body. When it would leave, he couldn’t say, but it didn’t seem far off. And where it would go, he had no idea. But Cami felt these two entities, her physical body and her spirit, her soul, were separating.

People toss around the phrase “body and soul” without thinking about what that really means. And many people believe that flesh and bone are all we are. Once that body ceases to function, the soul, if it ever even existed, naturally disappears with it. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Something to nothing.

But Cami didn’t believe that. And as he looked at Nonna, he somehow knew she didn’t either. She was just discarding something she no longer needed. But her essence was separate and would continue to exist. In what form, he didn’t know and couldn’t know. But it would remain and endure.

Cami and Nikki tried to engage with Nonna, but she remained distant. Not disoriented. Distant. Disengaged. Like jettisoning a no-longer-needed rocket as the space capsule carrying the most precious cargo enters orbit.

Nikki nudged Cami and motioned to him to step into the hallway with her.

“Can you stay with Nonna for a second?” she asked Tony. “We’re gonna step outside for a second.”

Once outside, she turned to Cami.

“Can you save her? Like you saved me.”

Cami frowned, not out of anger or annoyance, but out of a strange fear. He wasn’t afraid that he might not be able to save Nonna. He was scared that he might be starting to believe that he could.

“I can’t save people,” Cami said flatly. “I know you think I somehow saved you, but that wasn’t me. I can’t work miracles. It was just a coincidence.” Cami held his wife. “A very happy coincidence.”

“It wasn’t just a coincidence,” Nikki said softly but firmly. “I don’t believe that.”

Once again, Nonna’s refrain crept into Cami’s mind: Believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth.

“At least try.” Nikki looked into Cami’s eyes. “At least try to save her. Coincidence or not, we both know miracles do happen.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CLEAN BILL OF HEALTH

It had been more than 24 hours since the middle-aged man Cami saw in the emergency room lobby had been admitted for what appeared to be a heart attack.

Switching between the day and night shifts, Sonya and Bernila continued to look after the man, Scott Taylor, age 54. He had, indeed, suffered a heart attack and was diagnosed with congestive heart failure, but not a stroke.

His legs were swollen around the ankle, a condition known as edema. It’s a result of fluid build-up due to reduced blood flow out of the heart. The doctors suspected severe blockage in Scott’s arteries and confirmed that with a coronary angiogram. Fatal if not treated, the cardiologist scheduled him for a triple-bypass the next day.

The man was perfectly lucid as Bernila monitored him. Earlier in the evening, his blood pressure had been a dangerously high 194/128. It remained precariously elevated in subsequent checks every 30 minutes.

Bernila told a younger male nurse to prepare Scott for tomorrow’s surgery, which meant a full-body shave. Any embarrassment or self-conscious male pride Scott might have had was unceremoniously ignored.

***

Early the next morning, Sonya took over for Bernila and did her first round of checks, with Scott’s wife Shannon standing nearby.

The man’s vitals were inexplicably improved. The latest blood pressure reading had dropped to a still-high but far less concerning 142/86.

“Let me run this again,” Sonya said when she saw the numbers.

“Why? Did they get worse?” his wife asked, already extremely worried about the upcoming operation.

“I just need to confirm the reading one more time,” Sonya said. “I’ll give it a minute, then do another test.”

A few minutes later, Sonya read the latest results: 134/80.

Scott and his wife could see the numbers on the monitor. “That’s better, isn’t it?” Shannon looked at Sonya. “Much better, right?”

Sonya looked at them both, not sure what to make of the sudden improvement. “I’m going to talk to the doctor. Give me a minute, and I’ll be right back.”

***

Sonya hurried back to the nurse’s station and got in touch with a cardiologist. She gave him the latest readings and explained that, yes, she had checked them multiple times.

Dr. Sharma, the cardiologist, was skeptical, but he knew Sonya was an experienced nurse and wondered if the machine might be faulty. But that seemed unlikely.

“What time is the bypass?” he asked.

“11.”

“OK. I’ll order another ECG right now.”

The doctor knew the chances were next to nil, but the thought of rescheduling the bypass did cross his mind. If the patient were no longer showing signs of heart failure and dangerously high blood pressure, he would have to at least postpone the surgery.

A triple bypass is not elective surgery. He would first see what the ECG revealed. If the situation appeared to be stabilizing, which experience told him was unlikely, he’d have a second cardio angiogram done right away. But that could take one to two days to get a result, in which time he’d put the surgery on hold and continue to monitor the patient.

Sonya returned to Scott’s hospital room and once again assured the understandably anxious couple that they were just going to run some more tests.

***

Within 30 minutes, they had the ECG results.

Just as Dr. Powers had been, Dr. Sharma was dumbfounded. The patient, who he had scheduled for open-heart surgery just the day before, now had an essentially clean bill of health with a blood pressure reading of 118/72. And the ECG showed normal heart rhythms.

But an ECG isn’t used to detect blocked arteries. That requires an angiogram.

“It’s unclear what caused this change,” the doctor said, “but your heart activity has shown a sharp improvement from yesterday.”

The couple looked up at the doctor with relief and excitement.

“So, no surgery?” Shannon asked, willing the doctor to give the all-clear as she held her husband’s hand.

The doctor wanted to temper such high expectations.

“It’s premature to make that decision. But, as I said, there are signs of significant improvement. I’m ordering another angiogram, the same test we did two days ago, to see if your arteries still have signs of blockage.”

He looked at Scott and Shannon to make sure they understood this point.

“I’m going to postpone the surgery for today. But, and I want to be clear on this, so we all manage our expectations, we may still need to do the bypass depending on what this new angiogram shows.”

Even after performing countless bypasses, Dr. Sharma never took for granted the incredible healing, truly life-saving power of the procedure. He wasn’t a particularly emotional or expressive man, and while he might not outwardly show it, he was touched to know that people got a new lease on life because of his skills as a surgeon.

But in the case of Scott Taylor, Dr. Sharma had done nothing. Yet, here was a man who came in with congestive heart failure and cardiac arrest two days ago and now has a seemingly healthy heart today. It was inexplicable. The doctor was staring at the results that didn’t make sense. He had not unclogged any arteries or changed any medication, yet this patient was demonstrably and dramatically better.

Taylor and Shannon hugged over the great news and thanked the doctor.

Assuming they had conveniently ignored his cautionary caveat, he reminded them of it. “Let’s see what the angiogram shows. We should have the results within 24 to 48 hours.”

As Sonya watched the scene a few feet behind the doctor, she also ignored his admonition not to jump to any conclusions. Professional discretion be damned, she couldn’t wait to get in touch with Bernila and share the news. Two miracles in the same hospital on the same ward. Their ward!

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

LIKE SOME WANNABE JESUS

After Nikki had pleaded with Cami to try to save Nonna, they went back to her room, where Tony and Cami’s mom stood by her side.

The four of them chatted quietly, trying not to disturb Nonna. But she woke up as the nurse came in to check on her.

“It’s probably time to change you,” the nurse said to Nonna.

She tilted her head toward Nikki with a defeated grin.

“Don’t get old, honey,” Nonna advised her. “This is what happens.”

Nikki just smiled awkwardly and held Nonna’s hand.

“We’ll step outside and come back when the nurse is done,” Tony said as Cami and Nikki also left the room. Their mom stayed with Nonna.

“Well, she’s still got her sense of humor,” Nikki said after they had stepped back out into the hallway. “That’s good, right?”

“She’s checking out,” Tony said matter-of- factly. While definitely a caring soul, he had never been particularly sentimental. “She’s been fading pretty quickly the last few weeks. She already has all the heart issues and high blood pressure. We’ve basically been watching her body start to shut down. And now the stroke. You can see the droopiness in her face.”

Cami and Nikki just nodded. What was there to say? Words of encouragement and hope seemed fake, futile. Cami could see Nikki looking at him for something. Did she really believe he could magically save Nonna?

He had prayed for Nikki when she was in a coma, prayed long and hard. But praying for a loved one in trouble is hardly unique. And rarely successful. Who didn’t beg for another chance when they or their loved ones found themselves in dire straits? But what infinitesimally tiny percentage of such calls for help actually got answered?

Nikki seemed to have some absurd notion that Cami acquired super healing powers by ingesting a magic potion he was supposed to safeguard for his delusional grandmother.

Who was the delusional one now, Cami wondered. Nikki, Nonna, me, or all three of us?

“Come on, let’s see if it’s OK to go back in.” Tony moved toward the door.

Once the nurse left, they all chatted for a few minutes, with Nonna sounding relatively good. Nikki found it encouraging, as did Cami. But what kind of reprieve or recovery was Nikki, or for that matter, Cami himself, hoping for? At best, Nonna might hang on a little while longer so they could say their goodbyes. Would that count as a “miracle?”

That seemed absurd to Cami. But he again thought back to Miracles by C.S. Lewis and the conversation he’d had in his own head while driving back from Sacramento following Nikki’s accident. If God somehow did hear Cami’s prayers and stepped in to heal Nonna, then, by definition, that was a miracle. Just like the farmer getting the rain he prayed for that God provided.

Cami had to force himself not to laugh out loud. Out of the seven billion people on the planet, was God really going to take a little time out of his busy day to cater to the pleadings of Michael Camigliano?

That sent Cami off on another mental expedition. Didn’t Christianity teach that God is everywhere, all at once, all the time, completely outside the human concepts of time and space?

Cami certainly didn’t, and didn’t want to, believe that he had special powers. But when he saw Nikki essentially brain-dead in a coma, there was one thing he believed without a question of doubt: prayer couldn’t hurt. And giving up hope was unthinkable.

Maybe, Cami realized, he was giving up hope on Nonna.

As Cami’s mom shared stories of when she was a little girl in Nonna’s old house, everyone just listened and smiled. Nonna seemed to recall and enjoy the memories.

Looking at his grandma, Cami wondered if he should confess that he drank the contents of the vial she had given him to pass down to future generations. Had he betrayed that trust? Had he done the right thing? Or was it simply a self-serving act of desperation?

In the end, is that all that prayer is, Cami wondered. Lord, if you get me out of this, I’ll never do whatever got me into this mess again! I promise!

Cami wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to Nonna. He just knew he didn’t want to say it in front of everyone.

He’d already permanently emptied the vial that Nonna believed contained the Blood of Christ. He had, quite literally, pissed away the last vestiges of proof Nonna had of the story she so passionately believed was true. But here was Nikki, standing by her bedside, healthy, happy, and fully recovered. Wasn’t that a miracle in itself? Would Nonna see that as a fair swap, trading in her precious legacy to save his wife?

Correlation is not causation, he reminded himself. Yes, Nikki was now in good health, but would Nonna believe Cami’s selfish action had anything to do with that? Would she believe that Cami, her grandson, who didn’t even go to church… her grandson that made low-budget, schlock devoid of any artistic value… would she buy the idea that he was now a performer of miracles like some wannabe Jesus?

But Cami recalled their bedside conversation from months earlier. “You're the right one,” she had told him. “Or at least that's what I believe.”

He could still vividly recall how she had nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders as she said it. Always on brand, Cami grinned to himself.

“Sorry to interrupt, guys,” Cami said as his mom continued to take them on this trip down memory lane. “Can I get a minute alone with Nonna?”

“Oh, sure. Of course,” his mom said. They all stepped outside, leaving Cami alone with his grandma.

Before either Nonna or Cami said anything, they just looked at each other. Both had heavy but different thoughts running through their minds.

Nonna broke the silence. “I’m done fighting. I’ve lived my life.” She looked down at her frail arms, skin so thin it seemed almost translucent. “I’m ready.”

Cami could sense that the disengagement of her soul from her body had begun.

He still had so much he wanted to say and wanted to ask. And wanted to confess.

Now was the only chance he had to do it, but was this the right time? He couldn’t let Nonna pass without his mom here, not to mention Tony, Nikki, and the other grandchildren who had planned to visit her as soon as they could later that night.

Nonna, it seemed to Cami, clearly had other plans. He selfishly wanted to spend these last few moments clearing his own conscience as best he could.

But watching his grandma slip away, Cami sensed he didn’t have time to confess what he had done. Plus, it would probably kill her immediately if he did. So, he stepped out of the room and called in everyone waiting in the hallway.

The look on his face conveyed what didn’t need to be put in words. As his mom, Tony, and Nikki came back in, Cami prayed silently.

Let Nonna hang on long enough to see her whole family. Let her hang on long enough for me to tell her what I have done.

As he prayed, Cami realized how self-serving his pleas were. He wasn’t looking for salvation for Nonna. He was looking for absolution for himself.

Yet, even as he prayed, he knew his level of belief in another heavenly intervention was nowhere near what it had been when he begged for God’s help on behalf of Nikki. Whether that was justified, given the age difference between Nikki and Nonna, or another self-serving rationalization to assuage Cami’s guilt, was beside the point. He had to admit that he wasn’t praying as fervently, desperately for Nonna as he had for his wife. He also wasn’t sure if Nonna wanted to be saved or just left alone to go in peace.

He chose to silently confess what he had done with the Blood of Christ and beg Nonna for forgiveness. Maybe that message would somehow come through, and he would receive absolution.

Within minutes, Nonna passed, surrounded by her daughter, two grandsons, and Nikki.

Cami had seen dead people before, but had never watched someone die. Her soul discarded her lifeless body like a tattered robe. Cami could only hope that she understood and accepted what he had done and forgiven him. But he had a hard time believing that she did.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

THE GOOD NEWS

Bernila started her shift, taking over from Sonya, who had already related the news of the second “miracle” on their ward. Their patient, Scott Taylor, had made such a remarkable recovery that Dr. Sharma had called off, or rather, at least temporarily postponed, the bypass surgery.

The two nurses knew the doctor still had to confirm Scott’s arteries were no longer blocked by checking the results of the angiogram, but both were sure what the answer would be.

Before Bernila officially ended her shift, they both walked down the corridor to see Nikki’s plaque.

Miracles Happen Here. Believe It.

“I, for one, believe it,” Bernila said.

“Me, too,” Sonya nodded.

As soon as she got her break, Bernila would text Emily the good news. What could be more perfect than this as a follow-up to her article on Nikki?

Bernila was sure Emily would be as giddy with excitement as she was. Nikki, too.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THE RIGHTEOUS WRATH OF GOD

For days, Manny had been stewing with righteous anger. The way he saw it, he had been banished by Fr. Bautista. Excommunicated, Manny believed, simply for being too devout. As a Christian, a true Christian soldier, that left him with no choice but to take up arms and fight. Not with weapons and violence, but with the Word of God. The righteous Wrath of God. Manny’s days of passively preaching at the DMV and churches were over. He had to infiltrate the ranks of the Christian hypocrites.

He would deal with non-believers later. First, he would target “believers” who only believed what suited their hedonistic, self-serving, sinful ways. Manny knew this crowd didn’t fear the repercussions of their sins. They only feared having those sins publicly exposed. And Manny was just the man to expose them. It would be his honor, his mission.

CHAPTER FORTY

TWO MIRACLES ARE BETTER THAN ONE

Emily looked down at her phone to see who was calling. It was Bernila.

Bernila started by telling Emily again how much she liked the story. “Nikki loved it, too.”

“Yeah, Nikki told me. That’s always good to hear. She was happy she didn’t come off like a crazy person!”

They both laughed. “But do you wanna hear something really crazy?” Bernila paused for effect.

“You know I love crazy.”

“This is perfect for you and NatEx,” Bernila said, the excitement clear in her voice.

“Do tell…”

Whatever it was that was on her mind, Emily could tell Bernila was enjoying having an “in” with a “journalist.”

“So, get this…” Emily could almost feel Bernila virtually tapping her hand to get her attention. “Nikki and Cami came by the hospital yesterday. They gave us a plaque to say thanks for everything. And guess what? It said, ‘Miracles happen here. Believe it.’ But that’s not even the crazy part…”

I sure hope not, Emily thought.

“That very same day, a man having a heart attack came into the ICU. The same ICU where Nikki had been. And you won’t believe what happened next…”

Heart attacks are no joking matter, but Emily was getting impatient waiting for Bernila to get to the punch line.

“I don’t know. What?”

“This man was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and atherosclerosis… You know, blocked arteries… just the day before. Then all of a sudden, nothing! No signs of a heart attack!”

Bernila paused to make sure Emily understood what she was saying.

“No signs of clogged arteries, perfectly normal blood pressure. It was like he’d never had a heart attack. It was a miracle. Another one!”

“Like with Nikki,” Emily said as she processed what Bernila the Nurse was saying.

“Two miracles in the same hospital!” Bernila could barely contain herself. “Can you believe it? Two miraculous recoveries in the same hospital. In the same ward. My ward!”

Emily took it all in. This has a follow-up piece written all over it. Perfect for “Weird & Wacky.” Randy’s gonna love this.

“What did Nikki say about all this?” Emily asked.

“I don’t know. She wasn’t around to see it. She gave us the plaque and went home before it all happened.”

“Well, you weren’t kidding,” Emily said. “That’s definitely ‘Weird & Wacky’ material.”

***

That very night, rather than wait for their weekly meeting, Emily sent an email to Randy, Maddie, and Kyla giving them a summary of what Bernila had told her. The angle was clear. One hospital, two miracles.

It was already late in New York, so she didn’t expect Maddie or Kyla to respond that night. And she didn’t expect Randy to be online reading emails from one of his junior staff writers either. She’d follow up in the morning.

***

The next day, Emily saw Kyla’s response.

“Interesting,” she had written, not wanting to commit one way or the other until her bosses had weighed in.

“Certainly interesting,” Maddie seconded. “Definitely a little hard to believe.”

A little later that morning, Randy rolled in. Emily waited for him to grab his coffee and settle in before walking over to his desk.

“Good morning, Randy. Did you happen to see the email I sent last night yet?”

“Nope. Anything urgent?”

“I don’t know about urgent, but it’s interesting.”

“OK. Bring it up in the weekly meeting.”

“If you have a minute, can I just run it by you right now?”

“Protocol, Weirdo. Always follow protocol.” He had no respect for protocol. He just didn’t want to be bothered at the moment.

But Emily had already developed a good read of her boss.

“Pros don’t follow protocol,” he was fond of saying, at least when it fit his own needs.

“30 seconds. That’s all I need.”

“Alright. Go.”

Emily sensed Randy was more impressed than annoyed with her gumption. She gave him the rundown on how a second miracle had apparently fallen into her lap.

“It would make a great follow-up, don’t you think?”

“Definitely got potential. But I’ve got one question.”

“Is it true or not?”

“No,” Randy scoffed. “I told you. I don’t care if it's a load of crap.”

“Do you want to know if this middle-aged guy is hot?”

Randy didn’t give up a laugh easily. He had a gruff reputation to uphold. Although he only cracked the slightest hint of a smile, he liked Emily’s spunk.

“That wasn’t the question I had in mind. He can be a fat old slob for all I care. Just make sure you include the miracle girl’s photo in any follow-up piece.”

“Will do,” Emily nodded. “So, what’s the question?”

“Do you think it merits a CI?”

CI, or cover inset, was the term NatEx used for the small photos inset on the cover of the print edition and on the homepage. Prime real estate. That was a coveted spot for sections like “Weird & Wacky,” which were normally buried deeper within both the print and online editions. It would give the story a much higher profile than Emily’s original piece on Nikki.

She was excited, but she also understood the inherent pressure of what Randy was asking. If she said the story did merit a CI, it had better perform. If she recommended taking that space over another piece and it bombed, Randy would not be happy. And it would not reflect well on Emily’s editorial judgment.

“Yes, I think it does,” she responded. “I think people are gonna love it.”

“They're better. I’m putting my neck on the line,” Randy said with his trademark sly grin.

“You mean my neck, right?”

“Of course. Isn’t that what I said?”

***

Emily now had her marching orders.

She typed up an outline of what she had in mind and sent it along to Randy and the rest of their team. She knew Maddie and Kyla would be annoyed with Emily going straight to Randy first, but she felt the story could gain some traction, and she wanted to move fast. Randy had already signed off on a CI, a point she made sure to stress in her outline to her East Coast colleagues, so there would be no pushback. Resentment, perhaps, but no resistance to pushing the piece forward.

In the outline, she also played up the story about the plaque Nikki and Cami had given to the hospital.

“How about this as the headline: ‘Miracles Happen(ed) Here, Twice,’” Emily had suggested. Maybe it could be improved, but it got the point across and had that clickbait feel that was NatEx’s bread and butter.

Emily went to work, lining up the requisite medical “experts” and releases from Scott Taylor and his wife. She’d also need to get OKs from Nikki and Cami since both would be featured in the new article.

The first stumbling block, but not an insurmountable one, was the refusal of both Dr. Sharma and Dr. Powers to cooperate. Neither would even take her calls. In fact, their receptionists had demanded the name of the publication and had instantly shunned her requests when they heard who it was. They took their roles as gatekeepers seriously, and there was no way they would patch through calls from a tabloid. Fully expecting that reaction, Emily got the quotes she needed for the story from her Rolodex of reliable and quotable on-the-record experts, including one she had used for Nikki’s piece.

Scott and his wife were easier to reel in. Using her tried and true technique of not initially mentioning the publication until meeting in person, Emily secured their approval. That just left getting the green light from Nikki and Cami. Since they already signed off on one feel-good story, why wouldn’t they sign off on another one in the very same hospital? Two miracles are better than one.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

REMIND YOU OF ANYONE?

Sitting at her desk in Los Angeles, Emily fired up her MacBook Pro, got ready to type in any notes as needed, and gave Nikki a call.

She planned to start by saying again what a great idea it was for Nikki to give the hospital the plaque. Emily had written down what the plaque said so she could reference it, knowing it would make a good segue into getting Nikki to participate in a follow-up story on Miracle No. 2.

Emily was sure she’d easily get Nikki and Cami on board. She’d even highlight the more prominent placement and promotion of the second article. But the call quickly took a different turn.

“Cami’s grandma just passed away,” Nikki informed Emily right off the bat.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Although Emily was conscious of how cold it felt to even be thinking this, she shifted gears to start planning how she could salvage the call and her big plans without offending Nikki or Cami.

“That’s awful,” Emily said. “How’s Cami holding up?”

“He’s devastated. They were very close.”

“That’s always so hard.” Emily was not speaking from experience. She had never lost a grandparent or other close family member. It just seemed like something appropriate to say.

“Do you mind if I ask how old she was?”

“In her 90s.”

“Well, it’s obviously hard no matter what age. But she had a long life. I’m sure Cami can take comfort in that.”

Nikki agreed as Emily continued.

“She also must have been thrilled to see your incredible recovery before she passed.”

“Yeah, that’s true. She was.” Images of Nonna’s last moments came into Nikki’s mind. “It just sucks that as soon as I get better, she has to pass away.”

“Yeah, that’s awful.” Emily could hear the love for Nonna in Nikki’s voice. She could also hear Nikki starting to cry. This clearly wasn’t just a hard loss for Cami.

Nikki took a deep breath to help compose herself.

“But, hey, you called me. What’s up?”

Emily couldn't have hoped for a better transition.

“Well, I hate to even bring it up at a time like this,” Emily said softly. “This can’t make up for your loss, of course, but… you know what… I should call you another time…”

While Emily’s call had forced Nikki to revisit the fresh loss, it was, at the same time, a welcome distraction to get her mind on something else.

“No, no, go ahead. What were you gonna say?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Well,” Emily began. “I was gonna say, and I know this is gonna sound strange, but in some ways, you might actually find it kind of therapeutic.” She paused to gather what she wanted to say. “There was actually a second miracle in the same hospital. The same ICU where you were.”

“What? Really? What happened?”

The tone in Nikki’s voice was encouraging.

“You remember Bernila, right? She said you and Cami brought in a plaque to say thanks…”

“Yeah, it was the least we could do.”

“Well, she really appreciated it,” Emily assured her. “But here’s what’s crazy. Apparently, later that same night, the very same night, she said a man came in who was having a heart attack.”

“That’s so awful.”

“But it has a happy ending. They got him all prepped for heart surgery the next day, but just before the operation, he was essentially cured.”

“What?! Is that even possible?”

“Well, was your recovery even possible?” Both women had to laugh at that. “The doctors couldn’t explain what happened to you, right?”

“You’re right. That’s true.”

“It was the same for this man.”

“How old was he?”

“In his 50s. Not that old, really.” Emily continued her story. “So, like I said, the doctors were all ready to operate, then all of his issues from the day before just disappeared.”

“Wow, that’s amazing!”

“Remind you of anyone?” Emily asked with a laugh. “Miracle No. 2 in the same hospital!”

“What are the chances of that?”

“Right? Like lightning striking twice in the same place.”

“The best kind of lightning,” Nikki added. “I gotta tell Cami. He’s gonna love this.”

“Absolutely,” Emily said, seeing this as her chance to broach what was most on her mind. “That leads to another thing I wanted to tell you about. I hope you don’t mind, but I told my editor about it, and he thinks it would make a great follow-up to your story. You know, two miracles, one hospital.”

With no prompting from Emily, Nikki said out loud from memory what was written on the plaque.

“Yep. ‘Miracles happen here. Believe it.’ What an incredible coincidence.”

“Right?! That is the mother of all coincidences!”

Both women laughed.

But as much as Nikki loved the story, it hadn’t pushed Nonna’s death out of her mind. Yet, as Emily had said it would be, talking about this second story of recovery was therapeutic for Nikki. Even if she didn’t know the man, it provided a much-needed piece of good news after watching Nonna pass away right in front of her.

Emily could hear Randy’s voice telling her to seal the deal. She again described the more prominent placement and promotion the new article would get.

“This follow-up is gonna get a LOT of eyeballs on it. I think you’ll be quite pleased. Another feel-good story to keep the good vibes going!”

Nikki said she’d talk with Cami right away. She figured he’d be just as excited as she was, and it would be a good way to start turning his grief over Nonna into happier, more hopeful thoughts.

She was wrong.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

DOUBTS AND DEMONS

Cami and Nikki were sitting in their mom’s living room with the adult family members, making plans for Nonna’s funeral.

When the conversation turned to choosing the flower arrangements and catering service, Nikki told Cami she had something to discuss in private, and they stepped out into another room.

Nikki was excited to tell Cami about her conversation with Emily. But as she shared the details, Cami became uneasy.

“You’re talking about the guy I saw in the ER,” Cami asked to confirm what he was hearing.

“Yeah. Crazy, right?” Nikki continued to relay the story Emily had shared. “Bernila said the next day, just before going into surgery, he magically got better. No signs of a heart attack!”

Cami looked at his wife, silently digesting what he was hearing, playing back the ER scene in his head.

It wasn’t lost on him that he had prayed for the man just as he had prayed for Nikki. Not as fervently or desperately as he had for his own wife. But he had silently offered prayers and words of hope on the man’s behalf.

Then Cami recalled how he had also prayed for Nonna. Same action, very different result. The stranger had recovered. But his prayers couldn’t save his own grandma.

So much for those healing powers Nikki hoped I had, Cami scoffed to himself. And so much for the Blood of Christ that Nonna wanted so badly to believe in.

Alongside these thoughts, he found himself contemplating other concepts that sounded equally absurd, starting with the myth of Jesus himself.

Part man, part God? Able to turn water into wine and feed a thousand men with one loaf of bread and a single fish? Able to raise Lazarus from the dead and resurrect himself from the tomb?

How is all that any harder to accept as truth than believing that praying for your wife to get better actually played a role in her recovery?

As a product of Catholic education, Cami had grown up accepting the basic idea of God. As a young adult, it made sense to him that the world would be a better place if people followed the bulk of the 10 Commandments. But that doesn’t mean you need to believe that some supernatural entity impregnated a young virgin through an “immaculate conception” and gave birth to a man-God who saved the entire world.

And if that was not believable, why pray to the God who said it was all true?

Yet, Cami had prayed to that God. And here was his perfectly healthy wife sitting right across from him, the beneficiary of a “miracle” the doctors could not explain. So, too, was a heart attack victim Cami had randomly prayed for, all healed, with no medication, surgery, or explanation.

Cami didn’t know what Nikki believed was the cause of this stranger’s inexplicable recovery. She wasn’t sure what led to her own recovery, either. She knew Cami had prayed for her. What husband wouldn’t?

But as far as Cami knew, Nikki didn’t know that he had prayed for the heart attack victim, too.

Cami wanted to find out more about what Nikki was thinking.

“Why do you think the man recovered all of a sudden?”

“Who knows,” she responded with a shrug. “But think about it. Two people in the same hospital, and on the same day we gave them that plaque. It’s one heck of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Do you think there’s a connection?” Cami paused for a second, not sure he wanted to actually vocalize the question. “Do you think I saved that man?” He looked at his wife, then added. “Remember, you wanted me to save Nonna, but I couldn’t.”

If he’d asked such a question before her own accident, Nikki would have fallen off her chair with laughter, then probably had him put in a psych ward. But the accident had changed everything. She wasn’t sure what to believe now, but she wasn’t ready to dismiss anything as impossible.

“Why would I think you saved him? Did you do something?”

“I don’t know anymore, to be honest. When I saw his wife and kids, I felt bad for them. So, I prayed for him to get better.”

Nikki didn’t dismiss what Cami was saying. The power of prayer had never struck her as far-fetched. And it certainly didn’t now. Maybe it was religion, maybe it was just the power of the universe coming together. Hoping, wishing, praying, whatever you call it, it’s the same, isn’t it? A desire to manifest positive change.

“Everybody finds religion when they find themselves in trouble,” Nikki said. “I guarantee that man and his wife and kids were also praying for some help.”

Trying to bring a lighter tone to the conversation, she continued. “What difference does it make if it was just luck of the draw or the hand of God?” Then one eyebrow raised as her mouth curled into a playful grin. “Or the hand of Cami?”

“Come on, stop.”

“Hey, who knows what caused it? But it's a great story, right?” Nikki sat up straight as she spoke. “Emily says a follow-up story could be even bigger than the first one. She says they’re gonna promote the heck out of it this time.”

“I feel like a fraud,” Cami said flatly.

“What?” Nikki gave him a puzzled look. “Why would you think that? A fraud for what?”

“I know it’s stupid. I haven’t done anything. And I haven’t claimed to have done anything. Yet I feel like…. like I’m turning into some flaming narcissist. Like, I’m starting to believe I have special powers. But you want to know the worst thing?”

“What?”

“I know I don’t. It’s like my ego wants me to think I saved you and this man, but at the same time, we’re sitting here planning Nonna’s funeral. So, one part of me wants to think I helped save you and some guy I don’t even know, but the reality is Nonna’s dead. I tried to save her, too, you know. I prayed way harder for her than I did for that total stranger. So why isn’t Nonna still alive?”

Nikki scooted over to give Cami a long hug.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “Maybe she was ready. Tired of fighting.”

Her words hit home with Cami.

“That’s exactly what she said. She said she was done fighting.”

Nikki held Cami tighter.

“See,” she said. “She was ready. I didn’t want to see her go either, but it sounds like she was at peace with it.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

He didn’t tell Nikki how he didn’t have a chance to say what he had hoped to say to his grandma before she passed.

“That’s probably why your prayers, and everyone else’s, including mine, couldn’t save her. It was just her time. No one and nothing could change that.”

They sat in silence for a minute, both thinking of their final moments with Nonna. Finally, Cami looked at Nikki.

“So, you want to do that article?”

“I’d like to. I mean, we both told my story; I think his story should get told, too. The world can use more hope and optimism.” Without waiting for Cami to respond, she added, “Emily did a good job on the first article, right? We didn’t come off as crazy people. I mean, I trust her. Don’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, what are you worried about?”

“I don’t know,” Cami said. “It sounds weird, but I’m worried about getting exposed, I guess.”

“Exposed for what?”

“I don’t know. Exposed for claiming to have healing powers I don’t have.”

“When did you ever claim that?” Nikki asked him in a leading tone. “Never. You’ve never claimed that to anyone. Don’t you think you’re overthinking this a bit? Why would anyone ever think you, or me, or that man, or anyone had anything to do with it?”

“I guess you’re right. There’s just something that makes me uncomfortable. Like something bad’s gonna happen.”

“What bad can come from a miracle? From two miracles?!”

“Look, I know you really want to do this, and I can’t explain why, but I’m worried.”

The concern on Cami’s face was clear. But it struck Nikki as strange at the same time.

“I see you’re worried, but I don’t really get why. You and I are the only two people who even know about the whole Blood of Christ idea and…”

“Because Nonna’s dead,” Cami jumped in.

Nikki nodded sympathetically. “Well, yes, unfortunately. That’s why it’s just the two of us now.” They stared at each other for a moment, both trying to gauge what the other was thinking.

“I get that you’re not sure what you want to do about the story. Like I said, I think it’s a good idea. But I don’t want to ask you to do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Well, I don’t want to do it,” Cami said, trying to shut Nikki down.

Aside from feeling like he was making a unilateral and, in her mind, irrational decision, she questioned what he was really afraid of.

“How about this?” Nikki said, trying not to get angry. She didn’t want to start a fight, especially right after her husband had just lost his own grandmother. But she knew if they were ever going to discuss the issue, now was the time to do it.

“You said you somehow feel like a fraud, which, if I’m being honest, doesn’t really make sense. You’ve never claimed to be a miracle worker.” Nikki paused, giving him a chance to object. “So, I say we do this: If you believe you do have the power to perform miracles because you drank what you believe to be the Blood of Christ, then let’s not do the article. We can just drop the whole thing right now.”

Cami listened silently.

“But if you do believe it,” she continued, “if you do believe you drank the Blood of Christ and you do believe it gave you the power to heal me and this man, then own it. Admit that you believe it. You don’t have to tell anyone else, and we never have to do another story about this. But tell me. If you believe you have that power, just tell me. And admit it to yourself. Admit that you believe it.”

Cami was trapped, and he knew it.

“I don’t know if I believe it or not,” he said weakly. “I just don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you’re just too scared to admit that you do believe it?”

Cami knew his sweet Nikki could be tough when she wanted to be. He just wasn’t used to her putting the screws on him.

“We all have our faith tested sometimes,” Nikki said sweetly, trying to soften the mood. “Usually a little less dramatically, though,” she chuckled. “But I think you’re just gonna continue to torture yourself if you don’t decide if you believe, or don’t believe, Nonna’s story. And, most importantly, your own part in it.”

Cami just stared at Nikki, not sure how to respond.

“I’m not trying to be mean. I’m really not.” Again, Nikki gave Cami an understanding look, but she knew he had to confront his own doubts and demons. “This is not really about a silly NatEx story. You decide. Do it or don’t do it. It’s up to you, and I’m happy either way. But you have to decide. If you don’t believe you have these healing powers, then you have nothing to worry about. No fear of getting exposed because you have nothing to hide and nothing to reveal.”

Cami just listened.

“But,” Nikki continued, “if you do think you can heal people, then don’t do the story. It’s not worth having that fear of somehow getting exposed hanging over your head.”

“Do you believe it?” Cami asked.

“Which part?”

Nikki purposely didn’t expand on the question. She wanted Cami to say out loud specifically what parts of the story he was referring to — the vial with Blood of Christ, her own recovery, and that of the heart attack man, Cami’s role in both “miraculous” recoveries?

Cami realized that other than a flat-out denial, he couldn’t say much of anything that wouldn’t sound patently absurd and like the ramblings of someone with a Jesus complex.

While pondering what to say, he thought about the one-man play he’d seen about C.S. Lewis. Called The Most Reluctant Convert, it portrays how Lewis, an ardent atheist in his youth, actively and adamantly resisted becoming a believer in God.

Two lines, in particular, stuck in Cami’s head.

“A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading. There are traps everywhere.”

The other expressed in one sentence the crux of what both atheists and Christians should, but usually don’t, consider.

“Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance.”

Cami had never thought of himself as an atheist. But there was always plenty of wiggle room. Can’t you believe in God as a concept but choose which parts of Christianity you want to really believe, and, most importantly and most troublesome, which parts you want to follow?

After all, Cami knew, the Bible was written by people, mere human beings. It might be the Word of God, but it was written by the hands of people, multiple people, at that. Too many human cooks in God’s kitchen spoiling the broth?

The Church was just man’s attempt to explain the unexplainable. A fatally flawed and inherently feeble attempt to help people wrap their heads around concepts that, on their face, make no sense, or at least, by definition, can never be empirically proven.

“This is crazy,” Cami said. “I can’t believe I’m even thinking this is a possibility. Me saving people, like a wannabe Jesus.”

“Hearing you say it out loud, I have to agree,” Nikki smiled, unable to disagree wholeheartedly. “It does sound crazy.”

They both sat silently for a moment as Nonna’s voice rattled inside Cami’s head: Believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth.

Finally, Nikki spoke up. “But, hey, you’re hardly the first person to struggle with what to believe.”

“Yeah, but how many people think they can play God?”

“Probably a lot more than you think,” Nikki smirked as they both laughed. “But don’t get me wrong, I think… I mean, I know your prayers helped me. And whether it was your prayers or Scott’s wife’s or his own, they helped him, too.”

Cami nodded. He felt a sense of relief, as if he’d turned a valve and released the pressure that had been building inside him.

He never considered praying to be irrational. But Cami or anyone else believing they could channel God-like powers just by praying for help certainly was.

Cami had always skeptically dismissed the idea that anyone could “manifest” what they wanted just by envisioning it. Was Cami now turning into a new-agey, crystal-carrying follower of The Secret? No, he wasn’t that far gone.

“Let’s do it,” he said to Nikki. “Tell Emily to go ahead with the story.”

“You sure?”

Cami nodded, and Nikki reached over to give him a kiss.

“I think it’s the right call. Nothing but good vibes can come from this.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT, BUT YOU SHOULD

Once she got the OK from Nikki, Emily put the various balls in motion.

She arranged a time and place to interview Scott Taylor and his wife and assigned a photographer. She also scheduled a time to do a follow-up interview with Nikki and Cami. Emily didn’t exactly need to twist Bernila’s arm, but she also got the nurse to agree to add some color with some extra quotes and even get a photo of the plaque.

With the green light from Maddie and Randy already in place, Emily knew she could have the story ready to go in a few days. The marketing ideas she, Maddie, and Kayla had discussed and Randy had approved would take an extra day or two to put in place.

It was exciting. Emily felt like this could be the first story she had worked on from concept to completion that could gain some serious traction. It was her first follow-up piece on any story. She felt proud that Randy saw some promise in her work, and she was starting to think, in her.

Emily joined the weekly meeting feeling good. As they went through the other stories on the “Weird & Wacky” editorial budget, Emily asked Maddie and Randy how the marketing was coming along. That came under their purview, not that of junior writers like her and Kayla.

“All coming together,” Maddie said. “Marketing’s putting the wheels in motion. So, we’re in good shape for print and online.”

“How about the headers and lede,” Randy asked.

Maddie looked at her reporter on the screen three thousand miles away. “Emily has some suggestions for that.”

“Here’s what I was thinking,” Emily said. “Miracles Happen Here, One hospital, two miracles. You won’t believe it, but you should.”

“Sounds OK,” Randy said. “Make sure it fits for print, and let’s get it going.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

MASTER PLAN

On the day of Nonna’s funeral, Cami felt all the emotions loved ones have on such occasions. But if he was being honest, he couldn’t deny another that was top mind: relief.

Nikki had forced him to confront his thoughts because they weren’t as powerful as he thought. He didn’t need to imagine he had any special powers. He realized he just needed to believe in the power of prayer.

Believe in God or don’t believe. It doesn’t matter. Everyone prays when they’re in trouble. Cami had prayed hard for Nikki, for Nonna, and even for that stranger. He’d prayed for untold numbers of people, including most definitely and most often, himself. And most of the time, those prayers just evaporated into the ether and disappeared, never to be answered.

Were recent events really that different? Yes, Nikki had recovered. But Nonna hadn’t. It was all random. There wasn’t, isn’t, and never will be any grand master plan that anyone can will or pray into existence.

Thankfully, Nonna had requested a closed casket. Neither Cami nor Nikki had any interest in seeing Nonna in that morbid state again. One time in the hospital was more than enough.

In his head, Cami rationalized that it was just Nonna’s physical body that was getting buried. Her spirit, her soul, what Cami had “seen” leave her body when she passed, would remain.

Two days later, Cami and Nikki headed back to Los Angeles.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

JUST A LARK

“Look, I’m not a religious guy, and I don’t believe in miracles.”

Scott Taylor was sitting next to his wife, Shannon, and Emily in their home. “But I tell you, when I think about what just happened to me, and what you say happened to this woman, maybe I need to rethink that.”

He said it with a grin to let Emily know he didn’t really have any intention of changing his thinking on that topic.

Scott and his wife had been quick to agree to the interview, and Emily had already filled the couple and their kids in on Nikki’s story. She had also given them the New York Times vs. NatEx pitch to get their sign-off on the new piece she had in mind. If nothing else, Scott thought it would make for a good story, just a lark to share with his buddies.

The day before, Emily had put Shannon in touch with Nikki to ease any concerns she might have about getting featured in the tabloid. Shannon liked Nikki and felt they could all trust Emily. As long as her kids’ names and photos were not included in the story, she was OK with it.

As the photographer took a few shots of Scott and Shannon talking, Emily asked some leading questions to build the narrative and get the quotes she wanted.

“I don’t know why I recovered so quickly,” Scott said. “But I’m sure glad I did. So, whoever or whatever made it happen, they get my vote in the next election.”

Even though he tried to act confident, he was secretly amazed. Confused might be a better word. Unlike his wife, Scott didn’t search Google, WebMD, and other sites to learn more about congestive heart failure, looking for precedents and the plausibility of Scott’s type of recovery. His wife also read through all the heart-healthy diets and exercise programs the hospital had sent them home with.

Prior to his heart attack, Scott had, for years, put off his wife’s pleadings to get the kind of routine checkups all men of a certain age need. He would be the first to admit, or at least couldn’t deny, that he was your typical stubborn male idiot.

But now, the ironic reality was that he didn’t have any of the heart issues. His latest tests had proved that.

It made sense, of course, to eat better and exercise more. But when Scott looked at the overly restrictive recommended menus the hospital had for post-heart attack victims, he knew there was no way in hell he would sign off on that. And why should he? He wasn’t sick.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

FREE HUGS

Emily looked over the final version of the follow-up story that Maddie, Kayla, and Randy had all signed off on. Maddie had done a great job shepherding the story through the production process, as well as lining up the promotion plan with the marketing team. Emily’s “marketing” role was limited to social media posts specifically for “Weird & Wacky.”

Maddie had arranged a wider push, with additional posts to the main NatEx accounts, push alerts to its readers, inclusion in the company’s various newsletters, in-story promos, and more.

Plus, with Randy’s approval, Maddie had arranged the all-important placement of Emily’s story on the NatEx homepage, as well as an eye-catching spot on the front page of the print edition.

This was by far the most promotion a story by Emily had ever received. Certainly, the most for any “Weird & Wacky” piece since Emily had joined the group. She allowed herself to fantasize about what kind of buzz the story might generate.

***

When the article rolled out online two days later, followed by publication in print, the reaction soon exceeded what Emily had hoped for.

Within 48 hours, the story had generated 748,312 page views, the most ever, by far, for any column under Emily’s watch. Rather than drop off, the next 24 hours saw traffic pick up even more steam as it went viral. Whatever the reason, it had certainly aligned with readers. And it was about to have an impact beyond just “Weird & Wacky” and NatEx.

“You’re not gonna believe this, Randy.” It was a little after 5 p.m., and Emily couldn't hide the excitement on her face as she poked her head into his office. “LA Weekly just included a link to my story and shared my Instagram post. Check it out.”

MacBook in hand, she turned the screen toward Randy. She then pulled up the real-time analytics.

“It’s gonna hit a million page views in no time. And look at the referrals. We’ve already had almost 7,000 from the LA Weekly .”

Randy just nodded and raised his eyebrows, which Emily took to mean he was quietly impressed. But her boss was about as likely to hand out free compliments as he was to walk the streets of Manhattan with a sign offering “Free Hugs.”

Looking at the traffic trends, they could both sense that the story had legs. Randy started thinking about what they could do to build on that momentum.

Emily saw a DM from someone at the LA Weekly asking for more info on the story. She held her phone toward Randy, an “I-told-you-so” look of pride on her face.

It was already late in New York, but Randy picked up the phone and gave Maddie a call. If the LA Weekly was reaching out, he knew they could get this on the radar of a lot more outlets.

Randy flashed his familiar, sarcastic smile and looked up at Emily.

“Time to get some real national exposure.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

BLASPHEMOUS HYPOCRITES

Continuing his online stalking following Emily’s original story on Nikki, Manny had also come across Emily’s article featuring both Scott and Nikki. As a self-proclaimed Christian soldier, he always stood ready to take up proverbial arms on behalf of his faith, especially against virtue-signaling hypocrites.

He read and re-read both of Emily’s stories. To say Manny was suspicious of the veracity of the narrative would be an understatement.

Most offensive to him were the insinuations that God had somehow intervened to save Nikki and Scott. The fact that neither article had made such claims didn’t matter. In Manny’s mind, they had.

Nothing enraged Manny more than mere mortals claiming the ability to channel the power of his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He despised all the fraudsters who claimed to heal the crippled and sick just by putting a hand on the head of these hopeless souls, who, Manny knew from countless documentary exposés, were in on the hoax.

The fact that neither Nikki nor Scott had made any such claims was lost on Manny. He zeroed in on one quote, in particular, from Scott: “I don’t even believe in God or miracles. But someone or something was looking out for me.”

People who didn’t accept Jesus as their savior, Manny knew, were destined to burn in Hell. And here was this guy denying the existence of God while believing Jesus had saved him.

It doesn’t work like that, pal.

Manny added Scott Taylor and his wife’s name to his list, alongside Nikki and Cami. This Christian soldier now had his marching orders: expose these hypocrites.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

MORE NATEX NONSENSE

The next three weeks were a whirlwind.

An LA Weekly reporter had indeed reached out to both Nikki and Scott. While not quite in the vein of a “Weird & Wacky” piece in NatEx, the article was heavy on sentiment and light on medical science. As Nikki had told Cami, it would be a lighthearted, feel-good story, a throw-away column to offset the local politics and Hollywood-centric entertainment that typically filled its pages.

Once again, there was Nikki’s photo alongside Scott’s gracing the LA Weekly website and newspaper. Seeing the story spread beyond the world of tabloids gave Cami pause. But bringing all that up again with Nikki would just lead to a fight. He had his chance to take a stand and call it off, but he didn’t. That ship had sailed.

***

Randy, in particular, was enjoying the still minor, but growing buzz around the latest article. Had he still been based in New York, he probably wouldn’t have picked up on it, at least not as quickly. But now he was in Los Angeles, regularly mingling face-to-face with entertainment media executives, as well as Hollywood producers and, on occasion, celebrities of varying levels.

Always on the lookout for ways to boost ad revenue and circulation numbers for NatEx, Randy had off-handedly mentioned the story at a party or two. He was genuinely caught off guard when he overheard one partygoer bring up the article about “two miracles” at the same local hospital.

“Just more NatEx nonsense,” he heard the man say. “But you gotta give ‘em kudos. They know their audience!”

We do, indeed, know our audience, Randy thought to himself. Can’t always say the same for you, woke Hollywood elitists.

Randy saw an opportunity in that comment. Like ants and cockroaches, if you see one media industry executive talking about a story, there are sure to be others out there. He made a mental note to mention the story to industry colleagues and have Maddie reach out to other outlets that might be interested in the storyline. He’d be sure, of course, to have any publications that ran with the story to mention and link to NatEx as the original source.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

THE CANDLE COALITION

Like the beacon it was designed to be, the national headquarters of the Candle Coalition had become a distinctive landmark just off the 405 freeway in Irvine, about 40 miles south of Los Angeles. Especially at night when its 40-foot high “flame” was illuminated, the endless stream of commuters who drove past it could not miss the bold, architectural statement, or eyesore, depending on one’s point of view. Floodlights also showcased the church name and its tagline, “Lighting the Path to Christ.”

The grounds of the complex had that new-money, some might say the Stepford Wives-style atmosphere of Orange County. To faithful members, the prosperity validated the Candle Coalition’s righteous and noble aspirations. To critics, it stood for wealth gained the wrong way and smelled of corruption and hypocrisy.

The pastor was Edwin Eldridge, a vibrant, charismatic 46-year-old who, if not in looks, certainly in style, resembled a certain controversial leader of a cult-like group famous for having Hollywood A-list actors within its flock. Each week, an average of 3,000 people attended the Candle Coalition church in person. But the number of people who watched its masses and events online was much larger.

Proud of believing he had his finger on the pulse of pop culture and the answer for curing its ills, it didn’t take long for Nikki’s and Scott’s miracle story to show up on Reverend Eldridge’s radar. Since several church members, as well as his own staff, had shared the story with him since it came out a week ago, he wasn’t even sure when he had first become aware of it.

But like Randy, who had a knack for spotting opportunities, Reverend Eldridge instantly saw potential angles for the Candle Coalition to leverage. Understanding the power of the personal touch, he had his staff arrange to have him call Nikki and Scott directly. And while he would never say so out loud, it didn’t take a genius marketer to see from their photos in NatEx and the LA Weekly that Nikki would work best for what he had in mind. Scott… he could take or leave.

Reverend Eldridge was, if nothing else, a self-aware man. He knew all the naysayers viewed him as a huckster, a hypocrite only preaching for profits. Haters, in his mind. But he sincerely believed that his message resonated with people not because of him, but because of His message, the Word of God. He also understood that a young, pretty face has wider appeal than a frumpy, middle-aged man. No judgment; just reality.

He had grown a little-known local church into arguably the largest and most influential megachurch in the country. That doesn’t happen by accident.

The reverend often reminded his assistants that even Jesus had help in the form of apostles. They were His marketers. Empowered with Jesus’s message, those disciples live on today through dedicated believers like the organizers and members of the Candle Coalition. In today’s society, sick with anxiety, despair, mistrust, violence, and hate, they are the torchbearers lighting the path to Christ.

“Personal wealth is fleeting,” Reverend Eldridge liked to remind his followers, especially the group of executives. “Personal growth is forever.” To enhance one’s own growth, one had to constantly look for ways to inspire others by spreading the Word. It was a calling, the most important one of all.

As Reverend Eldridge took another look at Nikki’s photo, he knew her face and her story would tug at the heartstrings of his followers. He also sensed Nikki’s “miracle” could expand awareness beyond his current congregation and bring other lost souls into the Light.

CHAPTER FIFTY

A NEW LEASE ON LIFE

“Absolutely not.” Cami had reached a tipping point. “This is getting out of hand.”

Cami and Nikki weren’t a squabbling couple, and he couldn’t remember the last time they had a serious fight about a major issue. It helped that they shared the same core values and political views.

Maybe because it was their most recent, the biggest squabble Cami could recall was his reluctance to agree to do the initial interview with NatEx. To outsiders, it was hardly an argument worth mentioning. But Cami could tell when Nikki was annoyed, and she had been when he first tried to squash the story on the grounds that it made him uneasy.

But despite his hesitations, he had agreed to cooperate on both the initial and follow-up articles. Now, however, Cami was adamantly opposed to Nikki’s new idea. She wanted to accept an invitation to do an interview on Candlelight, the monthly podcast on the Candle Coalition network.

“What do you mean, ‘absolutely not’?” Nikki was visibly annoyed. “Since when is that your call to make?”

Unlike some women of her generation. Nikki didn’t obsess over the “patriarchy” or “mansplaining.” She saw such concerns as certainly historically legitimate and still often valid. But she believed they were often overblown, misguided, and, in the end, self-serving excuses for one’s own personal flaws or insecurities.

Nonetheless, she didn’t appreciate Cami’s attitude or tone. She probably would have been more willing to just drop it if Cami had at least entertained the idea or asked to discuss it. But his one-sided refusal rubbed her the wrong way.

“I don’t need your permission,” she told him. “I’m not asking you to join me. In fact, you’re not even invited.”

Cami took a deep breath, trying not to heat up the argument.

“I’m not telling you what you can or can’t do…”

“You just did,” Nikki cut him off.

“I guess I did. Sorry.” Cami paused. “But this whole thing is just spiraling out of control.” Trying to hit the restart button, Cami continued.

“Can you tell me again what this is about?”

Nikki didn’t want to fight either.

“Someone at the Candle Coalition saw the article in the LA Weekly and said they want to interview me for their podcast.”

Just like he had had his doubts about NatEx, Cami certainly had his doubts about the Candle Coalition. Other than its obnoxious building off the 405, Cami knew little about the group. The name gets mentioned on the news from time to time, usually not in a positive light. It seemed to have the reputation of a typical megachurch, probably well-intentioned, certainly well-heeled, and, giving them the benefit of the doubt, probably a few steps above a cult.

“So, you want to do it?”

Nikki knew why he was asking. Cami had the same old concerns they had already gone over, and she had thought, already resolved.

“Look, I know you’re still uneasy about being so public about all this,” Nikki said. She touched his hand softly, happy to see the tension de-escalating. “It’s a fantastic story, both my recovery and Scott’s. This is just an opportunity to tell it to a new audience.”

Cami nodded.

“But neither one of us knows how or why all this happened. No one knows why Scott or I got better. But we did. That’s the story. It gives people hope, and maybe a little faith in second chances. That’s why I think I should do the podcast. Same reason we did the LA Weekly interview. The world can always use more hope.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Just be happy. For me and for Scott and his wife and kids. We all got a new lease on life.” She leaned over and kissed Cami.

“You’re overthinking it,” Nikki assured him. “Believe in the miracle. I’m living proof it happened. So, is Scott. Isn’t that enough? The why and how part is the mystery. And no living person will ever solve that puzzle.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

A PSYCHOTIC ARCHEOLOGIST

As gruff and old school as he was, Randy was a good boss. He was fair in the truest sense of the word, which can be terrifying for incompetent people.

With Randy, you get what you deserve, whether it’s a slap on the back or a kick in the butt. He rarely got angry for no reason. If he was pissed at someone, they deserved it.

He liked Emily. The young writer wasn’t intimidated by him. Most importantly, she was more than just competent and hard-working. She took initiative and had a sixth sense for good story angles.

Her piece on Scott and Nikki was proving it had legs. In addition to getting picked up in the LA Weekly, the story had gone viral on X, Instagram, and TikTok, with some paid boosts by Maddie and her marketing team. That, in turn, led to minor but noteworthy mentions in a growing crop of Substacks, newsletters, and even more prominent, mainstream outlets, including the New York Post, USA Today, and, most surprisingly to Randy, WSJ Weekend. At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Old Gray Lady herself stooped low enough to reference a NatEx story within her esteemed pages. Not gonna happen, but Randy enjoyed the mere thought of it.

As a reward, Randy invited Emily to join him at a small party hosted by Larry Kravens. A very successful producer and showrunner. Kravens held a weekly movie screening party in his home, always inviting an actor, director, screenwriter, or someone else with a connection to the film. Several well-known Hollywood actors or industry players often attended.

Randy knew Emily would enjoy getting to hobnob with this crowd. He also sensed she could hold her own in such an environment and not embarrass herself, or, more importantly, him.

Randy had prepped Emily on what to wear and who might show up. She was much more nervous about what she would wear than whom she might meet. She self-consciously thumbed through her wardrobe, trying to find something appropriate for what Randy had assured her would be a low-key affair, something that would make her look like she fit in without trying too hard.

Randy pulled up outside Emily’s apartment at the appointed time. While she didn’t want to admit it, she was checking Randy’s face as she got in the car to see if he approved of her outfit, figuring he was probably the type to tell her to go back in and change if he didn’t. He didn’t say anything, so she assumed she passed this first test.

As they made their way across the Pacific Coast Highway, Randy once again gave her a rundown on what to expect.

“It’s very casual. Larry serves pizza. Always pizza. He has a wood-burning oven in his home and the kind of home theater you’d build if you had millions of dollars in royalties pouring into your personal coffers every year.”

“I thought carbs were banned in Hollywood.”

“Only for those in front of the camera,” Randy grinned. “So, what’s next in Wacko world?” he asked, changing subjects.

She mentioned a couple of things she, Kaya, and Maddie had in the pipeline, most of which Randy was already aware of from their weekly meetings. When there was a little lull in the conversation, Emily thought about asking Randy some personal questions to get to know him better. Hobbies, favorite movies, Yankees vs. Dodgers… typical harmless small talk. But she held her tongue and stayed silent.

As the silence stretched on, Randy chuckled.

“Good for you. That’s gonna serve you well.”

“Umm… what is?”

“Silence.” Randy looked over at Emily. At first, she thought he might be barking an order for her to shut up, but he wasn’t.

“Most people get nervous when there’s a lull in the conversation. And they start babbling mindlessly.” From his tone, Emily understood he was making a point, not accusing her of being such a person. “And when they do, they forfeit any edge they have in the negotiation.”

“I didn’t realize this was a negotiation.”

“Life is always a negotiation.” Randy turned his head to look at Emily like a professor to his student. “He who speaks first loses. He who shuts up and listens wins.”

His point was clear. At the party, she should do more listening than talking.

***

As Larry’s pizza chef prepared a variety of toppings, few of which you’d find at your local Domino's, the group of 18 people gathered inside his screening room.

The guest of honor was Roman Melsnik, the 82-year-old director of tonight’s featured film, Unraveled. Released more than 50 years ago, it was an avant-garde, rather bizarre mystery involving time travel, an Egyptian mummy, and a psychotic archaeologist.

About as far removed from a blockbuster as you can get, when Larry asked for a show of hands from those who had seen the movie, only five people had. And three were probably lying. But as a fan of oddball, arthouse fare, Randy legitimately raised his hand.

There was a set format for these screenings. After the guest of honor introduces the movie, they all watch it from beginning to end. Then they gather in another room to eat pizza, discuss the making and the merits of the movie, and let the mingling begin.

Emily wasn’t much of a pizza eater. But she was impressed with the salads, particularly one with arugula, strawberries, and glazed pecans served with a yuzu dressing.

She helped herself to a generous portion of the salad and one slice of Marguerite pizza with fresh basil and mozzarella cheese, while Randy stuck to what essentially looked like an upscale version of the Meat-Eaters Delight.

While finishing his last slice, a man around the same age as Randy walked up to them.

“Good to see you, Randy. Back on the right coast, I hear.”

“Yep,” Randy stood up to shake his hand. “Back in the land of the uncouth and uncultured.”

Arnold “Arnie” Carbolli had first met Randy probably 10 years ago at some film opening in Hollywood. One of those rare LA natives, Arnie had grown up in the San Gabriel Valley before becoming a successful “connector,” as he called it.

From his mid-20s, Arnie made it his goal to have breakfast every morning with someone who he thought might be able to advance his career and connections. Twenty years on, he was an established industry player who was hard to label as just a producer. Arnie had countless Executive Producer and Producer credits to his name, but he viewed his job as someone who uses his Spidey-sense to sniff out talent, stories, and trends, then package them all together to initiate and execute projects.

Early on, he realized a great story pitch was just one small part of securing a deal. He had developed direct or indirect relationships with directors, screenwriters, casting agents, cinematographers, editors, sound designers, and even catering companies, all the people who made the impossibly complicated task of making a movie actually possible. And he had developed a reputation among studio executives for putting together the right team to handle all the details to get them done on time and on budget.

Arnie had reached the point in his career where, with a few phone calls, he could wrangle together the required teams and have a legitimate budget proposal ready to go within three to five weeks. So, whenever Arnie was pitching a project, studios knew he could move with lightning speed if they signed off on it.

“Let me introduce you guys,” Randy said. “Emily Watson, this is Arnie Carbolli. He’s one of those Hollywood types your mother warned you about.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Emily reached out to shake his hand. “You’ll have to forgive Randy. He missed the HR training… over the last 15 years.”

Arnie laughed. “So, Emily, what do you do? I assume you’re with NatEx.”

“Yes. I co-write a weekly column, ‘Weird & Wacky.’”

“‘Weird & Wacky’…I’ve heard of that.”

“Really? You have?” Emily assumed he was just being nice. Then she looked over at a grinning Randy.

“Arnie knows your work.”

“Yeah, I saw your piece on the miracles in the LA Weekly. Amazing story. So, tell me, is it true?”

Emily realized Randy had set it all up. She didn't know if he had sent Arnie the story or if he truly did come across it in the LA Weekly, but her invitation to this dinner was no accident.

“Sweet” wasn’t a word she associated with Randy, but this was definitely a sweet thing for him to do. Here she was at a Hollywood party with someone who actually knew she existed, whether contrived or not.

“Well, the doctors can’t explain how either of them recovered so quickly,” Emily told Arnie. “I don’t know if they really count as ‘miracles,’ but they’re definitely real people with real recoveries. I’ve met with both of them, and you would never believe that Nikki was essentially brain dead a couple of months ago and Scott had just had a heart attack.”

“That’s just amazing,” Arnie said. “You gotta give me the name of the cardiologist!”

Arnie took a sip of his wine, then turned serious, lowering his voice. “You know, this might make for a good movie. I want to look into securing the rights.”

Wow, thought Emily. This is moving fast. Movie rights?

“Emily can reach out to them and see if they’re interested,” Randy offered, looking at Arnie. “I’m sure there’s room in there for a NatEx credit.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect this when I came here tonight,” Emily said with genuine surprise. “But, yes, absolutely, I can reach out to Nikki and Scott.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

MIRACLES IN THE CANDLELIGHT

Ever since Fr. Bautista kicked him out of his church group, Manny had continued to stew with resentment. He was most offended and insulted by the hypocrisy. He was kicked out for being too religious by a priest, of all people.

In his mind, Fr. Bautista symbolized all that was wrong with the church, which was so willing to water down the Word of God to make it palatable for self-proclaimed Christians who had no intention of actually being one. Fr. Bautista and people like him were seen as a threat to true Christianity.

None were worse than the mega churches, always led by fabulously wealthy TV evangelists. Worst of all, in Manny’s mind, was the Candle Coalition.

He wasn’t sure what he despised the most, its flashy 40-foot candle by the freeway or the dishonest Reverend Eldridge. Who was paying for all his fancy suits and those flashy headquarters? Suckers. Suckers who deserved to be duped for believing in such a charlatan.

And it wasn’t like they couldn’t see right through Reverend Eldridge, Manny was sure. Anyone could. No, the suckers who kept donating to his organization wanted something in return. They sought absolution from their current sins and the right to keep committing future ones, guilt-free.

Manny had joined the Candle Coalition mailing list so he could laugh at these fools and rage about the audacity of people like Rev. Eldridge, who claim to speak for Jesus.

A week or so ago, the subject line of one of their mass emails caught Manny’s attention: “Miracles in the Candlelight.” He read the short intro and saw they had just released the latest episode of the video podcast, featuring none other than Nikki Camigliano from the NatEx and LA Weekly stories he had read.

The email mentioned how it must have been the hand of God at work. In Manny’s mind, it was just one more heavy-handed solicitation for money from the Candle Coalition. He figured the Candle Coalition was probably colluding with NatEx to peddle these outrageous claims to get their gullible followers to send in money so that maybe, just maybe, they, too, could experience a “miracle.”

What a scam, Manny thought to himself. The blatant hypocrisy didn’t just fuel his rage. It set in motion the battle he had been seeking to fight as a true soldier of Christ.

He realized it must be God’s will that put him in close proximity to the Candle Coalition and these two “miracle” patients. It was his obligation to heed this call and act.

A quick Google search revealed the addresses he was looking for. Manny vowed to expose them as the blasphemers he knew they were by closely monitoring how they lived.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

COME UP WITH A FIGURE
THAT MATCHES YOUR FAITH

Nikki had driven down to the Candle Coalition’s office days before to do the podcast. It had gone just as she had expected. Better, in fact. Like Cami, she had preconceived notions of the mega church, but they weren’t based on any first-hand experience.

At least to herself, she admitted that she had decided to do the podcast mostly just to let Cami know she didn’t need his permission to do it. She hadn’t bothered to read up on the group in any kind of detail. The little she did learn struck her as being a bit overzealous, but harmless. Besides, she wasn’t going to Irvine to get converted or indoctrinated. She would just have a chat about what she had gone through, and maybe a few people would find it inspiring.

Nikki was pleasantly surprised to find the producer, the host, and the few staff running the show perfectly friendly and polite. Normal people. She thought the 45-minute interview went well, removing any reservations she may have had.

The Candlelight team had made clear that they had final approval of the show’s content, but promised to send the edited version of the interview to Nikki at least 24 hours prior to release. Fulfilling their promise, they sent a password-protected link to the yet-unreleased podcast to Nikki a day later.

***

“Grab your popcorn, babe!”

Nikki plunked down on the couch next to Cami, keeping a light-hearted vibe as she got ready to show him the interview. She hadn’t seen the edited version yet either, so they’d find out together how it had turned out.

Nikki hit play, and the lead-in began.

“Impressive graphics,” Cami said as the surprisingly high production-value podcast kicked off. “Looks more like CNN than some local church program.”

“See, I told you it was legit.”

“Well, let’s see how it turns out.”

The host was Felicity Walker, an attractive woman in her mid-30s who wouldn’t be out of place on Fox News or MSNBC.

Felicity Walker? Come on, that can’t be her real name, Cami thought to himself.

The intro was straightforward. Felicity laid out the basic facts of what Nikki and Scott had gone through. Cami had expected more over-the-top hyperbole from some bible-thumping preacher soliciting donations from his flock. As he watched, Cami’s mind drifted off to the “religious portion of the evening” lyric from an album by Tom Waits, his favorite artist. “Just see if you can come up with a figure that matches your faith.”

As Nikki told her story, the host pushed the narrative to what she wanted her audience to hear.

“So, Nikki, when did you realize your recovery was a miracle that science and doctors just couldn’t explain?”

Here we go, Cami thought to himself.

“Like I said, I really wasn’t aware of what had happened. I remember taking a tumble while skiing, and I remember going to get a coffee the next day. But then it’s all blank. Next thing I knew, I was in a hospital bed surrounded by doctors and nurses and a freaked-out husband.”

60 Minutes-style, the camera cut to a very empathetic and concerned-looking host.

“Terrifying,” Felicity said softly.

“Then I saw Cami, my husband, and his family staring at me like some alien who had just landed on earth from some unknown planet. They were amazed that I was awake and talking!” Nikki laughed at the memory. “I thought it was just normal old me. But they keep saying how amazing it all was. And the doctors and everyone were saying the same thing. They were acting like I was some kind of miracle patient. I was like, ‘Why is everyone so surprised that I can walk and talk? You know, I can probably even chew gum and walk at the same time, too!”

Felicity laughed as the camera cut to her, then back to Nikki.

“That’s when I realized that maybe I was some kind of miracle patient. It all felt normal to me, but to them, it was some kind of miracle, I guess.”

“So, what about now? Do you still think it was a miracle? Did God save you?”

“Maybe. Who knows? I know now that Cami and his family certainly prayed like crazy for me when I was in a coma. I mean, the doctors said I was essentially brain-dead one day and walking and talking the next day like nothing had happened! I don’t know if I believed in miracles before, but I do now!”

With the dexterity of a true pro, Felicity looked at the camera to make viewers feel that she was talking directly to them.

“How about that, folks? If that doesn’t prove the power of prayer, what does? And that was just one miracle! As we mentioned at the top of the show, another man, in the very same hospital, in the very same intensive care unit, came in after having a heart attack and walked out completely cured just days later, with no signs of any heart problems at all.”

They spent the next few minutes discussing Scott’s story. Felicity made a point to emphasize more than once how Scott’s miracle began the day after Nikki and Cami had visited the hospital to bring in a plaque thanking the hospital staff.

“Can we show everyone a shot of the plaque?” Felicity looked toward the producer off-screen. A few seconds later, the plaque appeared, and Felicity read it out loud: “Miracles happen here. Believe it.”

“Wow, folks. Just a coincidence? I don’t think so!” The camera cut to a close-up of Felicity as she spoke directly to the viewers at home. She then turned to Nikki. “If anyone didn’t believe in miracles before, I think you’ve made everyone a believer today, Nikki.”

“It was nothing I did, that’s for sure. I was in a coma the whole time! I give credit to my husband. He’s the miracle worker! He stuck by my side, praying his butt off!” Nikki caught herself as soon as she said it. “Sorry about the language! Do you need to bleep that?”

“We’re not that uptight,” Felicity laughed. “I hardly think that counts as a bleepable offense in today’s culture.”

The interview wrapped up a few minutes later.

“Well, what did you think?” Nikki asked Cami as she turned it off. “Did you like it?”

Cami had his poker face on as he took it all in. “Well, first of all, you looked great.”

Nikki knew it was a throw-away compliment as he gathered his thoughts and decided how to respond. She smiled in silence as she waited for him to elaborate.

“I have to admit, it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Or feared, I guess.” He left out his unease about Nikki calling him a “miracle worker.”

Cami had to admit it didn’t have the cult-like, fire-and-brimstone vibe he had envisioned. He saw the episode as a classic example of confirmation bias, simply reaffirming the beliefs this particular group already held. Besides, who else would even see it, anyway?

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

NOTHING TO FEAR

“These guys don’t waste any time, huh?”

It was early Monday morning, just a day after Emily’s first Hollywood hobnob, courtesy of Randy. Arnie Corbelli had already sent a text to both Randy and Emily saying he was serious about acquiring the rights to Nikki’s and Scott’s story. He wanted to get them secured before word spread, as he suspected it would.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Randy replied to Emily as he looked at the text. He was sitting in his office with his junior writer standing in front of his desk. “Arnie knows the game as well as anyone. He may have no intention of making the movie, but if he locks in the rights on the cheap, he locks in the leverage to shop it around.”

“So, what do you want to do?” Emily asked.

“I want to get NatEx a seat at that table. Get in touch with Nikki and… what’s the guy’s name again?”

“Scott Taylor.”

“Right. Set up a meeting with Nikki and Scott, and let’s get them on board. I’ll talk to Legal and get one of their guys to start vetting it.”

Marching orders in hand, Emily reached out to Nikki and Scott to arrange a sit-down in the NatEx offices.

Since everyone was local, Randy wanted to meet in person and get the spouses there, too. He was curious to meet Nikki face-to-face. Plus, he wanted to confirm for himself that the spouses would sign off on the project if it did move to the next stage. Randy was acutely aware of the stigma that an association with NatEx carries, and he wasn’t interested if whether NatEx wasn't assured of its due credit for finding the story.

***

Scott and his wife quickly agreed to the meeting. As a sales representative for a mid-sized building supplies firm, Scott knew nothing about the film industry beyond whatever got portrayed in the movies. But if somebody wanted to give him some money for doing nothing, why not? He was already flabbergasted by the whole episode from the NatEx and LA Weekly stories and beyond. If there was a gravy train in the making, he was more than happy to hop on board. And if it turned into nothing, it was no skin off his back.

Unaware of Cami’s concerns about how the tale of the two “miracles” was expanding, Emily assumed Nikki’s approval was a sure thing. When she got Nikki on the phone to discuss it, she was surprised to sense some hesitation in her voice.

“I’ve got Cami right here,” Nikki said to Emily. “Do you mind if we switch to FaceTime and bring him in?”

When Cami came on screen, Nikki asked Emily to explain the situation.

“As I told Nikki, Randy and I met a producer who wants to buy the rights to you guys’ story.”

The look on Cami’s face showed more questions than excitement.

“Well, first off, who’s Randy?”

“Oh, sorry. He’s my boss, managing editor at NatEx.”

“OK…. And what’s this about a producer and movie rights?”

Although Cami didn’t get involved in such conversations as an effects guy, he understood the basics of how the business worked. Once again, he was starting to wish he had never signed off on the first NatEx article. Now Nikki’s story had already made its way into the LA Weekly, even finding its way onto the social sites and/or pages of USA Today, New York Post, and more. And now some producer wants to secure the movie rights?

As Emily gave the couple more background on Arnie Corbelli and how Randy wanted to meet to go over the idea and include the NatEx lawyers, Cami looked for any new arguments he could make to squash the idea, preferably without creating another fight with Nikki. He couldn’t come up with any.

The essential elements he had already agreed to, and Nikki wanted, were still valid. With Nonna gone, there was nothing and nobody to connect Cami to his grandma’s belief that she had possessed the Blood of Christ, traced, in her probably deluded mind, back to St. Caterina. He believed Nikki would never mention that wild tale, and he certainly wouldn't.

Ignoring his paranoid trepidation, Cami had to admit that the chances of such a randomly bizarre notion ever popping into anyone’s mind were as remote as a movie about their story actually seeing the light of day.

He had nothing to fear, and he gave the go- ahead without voicing any reservations. Having expected some pushback, Nikki was pleasantly surprised to hear Cami’s reaction.

Emily got some available dates and times for Nikki and Cami to meet with Randy and ended the call.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

THE MIRACLE WORKER

Manny’s apartment was a nondescript, rundown place in the heart of what people from outside of Los Angeles might call a ghetto. But it was normal for the neighborhood, no better, no worse.

Inside, Manny’s one-room studio apartment was surprisingly tidy and organized. A firm believer that “cleanliness is next to godliness,” he kept a spartan, orderly home.

He didn’t own a TV. Aside from rent, food, and utilities, his only significant expenses were phone and internet bills. YouTube, podcasts, and an eclectic selection of what he referred to as “apps for pagans and pious hypocrites” were his lifeline to the outside world. Having now latched onto his identity as a self-proclaimed Christian soldier, he fed his crusade to expose fake Christians by monitoring the newsletters, podcasts, and other output of high-profile religious leaders.

The Candlelight podcast from the Candle Coalition perfectly fit the mold of what Manny despised. He replayed the parts of the interview with Nikki he had taken note of as he plotted how to expose her and her husband.

One line, in particular, caught his attention. Nikki had said, “I give credit to my husband. He’s the miracle worker!” He also dwelled on her reference to some plaque she had made with the inscription, “Miracles happen here. Believe it.”

Filtered through his own skewed interpretation of the interview, Manny only heard what he believed, not necessarily what was actually said.

This Nikki chic is definitely in cahoots with the Candle Coalition, he thought to himself. Some scam to dupe donors and get a little something on the side for herself and her ‘miracle-performing’ husband.

Although most of the cases were before his time, as a self-appointed student of religious hypocrisy, Manny had come across more than one infamous husband and wife team that became fabulously rich by spewing holier-than-thou, donate-now-so-we-can-save-your-soul nonsense.

He wasn’t sure yet what this latest scheme was, but Manny was certain it was a scam being coordinated by the Candle Coalition. Having already started to stalk Nikki and Cami online and to some degree in person, Manny made a note to expand his surveillance to “Reverend” Eldridge.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

HOPE. NEVER. FADES.

Raymond Riley had been an active member of the Candle Coalition for several years. In addition to being a devout Christian and family man, he had been a very successful entrepreneur.

Starting his career as a certified public accountant, he got his first taste of the restaurant business about 10 years later while working with a client who owned seven franchises of a rapidly growing burger chain.

Raymond, nobody called him Ray, became intrigued when his client built up his little empire, then sold it to a private equity group that was acquiring small franchisers across the West Coast and beyond. Seeing the life-altering payout his client had received was a wake-up call for Raymond. The real money was in ownership, not consulting, which was essentially all he did as a CPA.

But rather than buy into an established and relatively slow-growing franchise system, Raymond wanted to get in early on a fast-growing company with the potential to go national. He began spending his evenings and weekends exploring such young and promising start-ups. He did a deep dive on market trends and demographic shifts, and it didn’t take long to see the shift away from what Raymond called the “fast-food, slow-death” industry to chains offering fresher and healthier fare. The added bonus was that these healthier restaurants also fit his desire to do well by doing good. He had no interest in making money by expanding this world of disease-riddled diabetics.

While understanding the risky nature of restaurants, the vast majority of which fail within the first three to five years, Raymond had also seen the financial promise. His timing turned out to be spot on. Within several years, the chain he had teamed up with, Yoroko, had over 120 locations in 18 states. The name was a butchering of the Japanese word yorokobu, which meant to be happy.

Raymond had used his financial, operational, and negotiating savvy to establish personal control of the enterprise, owning 51% of the voting stock and control of the board.

With the popular chain still growing rapidly, with room to expand to more states and overseas, Raymond sensed the time to sell had come. Seeing no contradiction with being both a capitalist and a Christian, he understood from working with his former burger-chain client that it’s best to sell out while the chain was on the upswing and private equity players and other businesses would be willing to pay a premium for the perceived potential.

When he finalized the sale of Yoroko some years earlier, he hadn’t been focused on just making a one-time killing. As part of the deal, he also took a small percentage of the gross sales of all existing stores at the time of the sale for the next 10 years.

With that background, Raymond was not just a very active member within the Candle Coalition; he was also a very wealthy one. And with that wealth came clout. For the last three years, he had been on the board of the organization, and for the last two years, a member of a steering committee formed to expand the group’s outreach.

Now retired, Raymond had plenty of time to devote to his personal interests, which included the two dearest to his heart: the Candle Coalition and the Hope Never Fades Foundation.

Founded over 50 years ago, the mission of the foundation was to research and eradicate childhood cancer and provide free care for children suffering from the disease in its many forms. Raymond had begun donating to the Hope Never Fades Foundation several years ago, soon landing a seat on the board.

As a board member of both the Candle Coalition’s powerful steering committee and the Hope Never Fades Foundation, Raymond was always on the lookout for opportunities to combine the two.

He found one when he saw the Candlelight podcast interview with Nikki.

Here was a young and attractive woman, smart with great energy. And talk about an example of hope never fading, her miraculous recovery from a coma would give hope to all the kids his foundation serves, as well as their parents. Plus, the other miracle for a heart attack victim only added to the remarkable narrative.

Raymond had raised the idea with his fellow board members at the Hope Never Fades Foundation. He suggested having Nikki speak to the group. They could invite as many parents and kids as they could fit into their small conference room and stream it to all the rooms in the hospital to watch. They could also put it on YouTube or do a tie-in with the Candle Coalition to expand the audience as far as they could. Always looking for ways to raise money for his beloved foundation, Raymond knew Nikki’s story would tug at a lot of heartstrings. And since it would help sick kids, he saw a whole host of fundraising opportunities.

He wasn’t all that surprised when he got some pushback from certain board members at the foundation. As someone who had taken on a tremendous amount of risk to grow a fledgling business into a profitable and growing enterprise, he was used to dealing with people who said no or disagreed.

These fellow board members saw the potential of what Raymond had in mind with his Nikki project, but they noted that the medical community and related government regulators would not approve of such an obvious trick based on a claim they did not trust.

By instinct and by the advice of lawyers, Raymond was always quick to note that the foundation never made any medical claims. While his organization certainly did endorse and encourage prayer, its primary focus was on medical research and children’s health care.

Another point of pushback from board members was that touting Nikki’s and Scott’s recoveries would send the wrong message to the kids and parents. Giving such false hope, they argued, was simply cruel, especially since many, if not most, of the young patients would never get better. It would, they told Raymond, be the opposite of an effective fundraiser. It would damage the reputation of the foundation and bring unwelcome scrutiny from the medical community and, possibly, from the Federal Drug Administration, which oversees medical claims.

The most vocal opponents thought to themselves, but didn’t say to Raymond’s face, that his well-known involvement with and financial backing of the controversial Candle Coalition wouldn’t help the cause.

Raymond wasn’t blind to the fact that their concerns had merit. But he didn’t get to where he is by backing down in the face of opposition to something he believed in.

While as headstrong and stubborn as anyone, he didn't have an in-your-face, argumentative personality. He skillfully (some would say, connivingly) concealed a single-minded force of will with a seemingly collaborative, willing-to-compromise approach.

“Look, I hear you,” Raymond had said to a small group of board members as they discussed the pros and cons. “Your concerns are valid. And I share them. No one, least of all me, wants to do anything that would endanger the reputation of this great organization. And for sure, we’d never want to, and we never will, do anything to hurt our kids or their parents. God knows, they’ve been through enough already.”

Edwin looked at the board members, who nodded in agreement.

“But we also have a commitment to not just our kids and their parents, but to the great doctors and researchers working tirelessly to help the kids and hopefully one day find a cure for this awful disease. And our commitment to them is right there in our name: Hope Never Fades. I’m not gonna let it fade under my watch, and I know each and every one of you won’t either.”

Raymond paused to let that sink in.

“That’s why I absolutely love working with all of you. Like I said, I get your concerns. But we can solve those. We can figure out how to have this young woman share her unbelievable story. It’s an incredible story of hope that everyone involved with our great big family wants to hear, from every kid and parent to every doctor and lab technician working tirelessly on a cure. It’s not false hope. It’s hope. Even the sickest of our kids know they may not recover, or that the kid in the room with them might not make it. They know that because they’ve lived it. Many of them, unfortunately, have seen it. That, sadly, is their reality. And our reality.”

Raymond again looked around the room.

“They may lose a friend. But you know what they don’t want to lose, what they can’t lose, and what we will never allow them to lose? Hope. That’s our job. Hope. Never. Fades.”

Raymond walked around the room, softly touching the shoulder of each board member as he continued.

“Say it with me and let’s find a way to make our kids believe it, too. Hope. Never. Fades. Hope. Never. Fades. Hope. Never. Fades.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

MIRACLE MILE

Cami and Nikki arrived at NatEx’s West Coast office for the meeting Emily had set up. Just down the road from the La Brea Tar Pits and LACMA, the LA County Museum of Art, NatEx shared a floor in a 25-story building on Wilshire Boulevard.

“Ironic, huh?”

“What is?” Nikki asked.

“We’re meeting on the Miracle Mile to talk about getting the rights to a story about miracles.”

The Miracle Mile was a stretch of road in Los Angeles on the historic Wilshire Boulevard. From an unpaved farm road in the 1920s, that section of Wilshire quickly sprouted into a collection of high-rise buildings and high-end shopping as the automobile forever changed the LA landscape and culture. It was that deliriously rapid development that gave the neighborhood its name: the speed and scale of its rise was simply miraculous.

Cami and Nikki gave their names to the front desk attendant, who ushered them to the elevator for their ride to the 18th floor.

Emily was there to greet them as the couple entered the NatEx lobby.

“Thanks so much for coming,” Emily said as she gave Nikki a hug. “I’ll get Randy and meet you in the conference room.” She pointed to the glass doors on the other side of the hall. “This is all so exciting, right?”

A few minutes later, Randy and Emily came in. After quick introductions, Randy pointed to the impressive view.

“That’s LACMA over there. Right on the Miracle Mile,” he told them. “Ironic, right?”

Nikki and Cami looked at each other and laughed.

“That’s literally what he just said,” Nikki pointed out. “Like our plaque says, maybe miracles will happen here, too!”

Just then, a man a good deal younger than Randy gently tapped on the glass door and walked in.

“Ah, good timing,” Randy said. “Nikki and Cami, this is Stuart, our CYA man. You know, our lawyer. He’ll vet any talk about movie rights.”

With that, Emily summarized what Arnie Carbolli had floated about securing the rights to Nikki’s and Scott’s story so he could start pitching the idea to his contacts in the film industry.

Such discussions were actually handled by attorneys in NatEx’s New York headquarters, but as the lone company lawyer based in LA, Stuart would essentially do the initial legal arbitrage and pass the pertinent info onto his colleagues back east for a detailed review.

“I’ve got the gist of it,” the lawyer said after listening to Emily’s overview. “I’ll reach out to New York, and they can take it from here.”

As he left the room, Randy turned to Cami.

“You’re a movie guy, right? What do you think about this?”

“I have to say, I think it’s a miracle whenever any movie actually gets made,” Cami told him. “It’s always safer for the suits to say no than yes. And there’s so much that can go wrong at every step of the process.” Randy nodded as Cami wondered if he was being overly negative. “But rights are above my pay grade. I just work on the effects,” Cami added.

“If you want to make heads explode, Cami’s your guy,” Nikki jumped in with a laugh, patting her husband on the shoulder with mock pride.

“Don’t tempt me,” Randy said with one of his well-honed evil grins. “I can think of a few candidates for that here in this office.”

When the meeting had ended, Emily walked Nikki and Cami to the reception area and handed them a parking validation ticket.

“This is exciting,” Emily said. “Who knows if anything will come of it, but I’ll let you know what the folks in New York say.”

After saying their goodbyes, Nikki and Cami took the elevators to the building’s first-floor lobby. As they crossed the corridor to go to the Visitor Parking area, they didn’t notice a man around their age sitting in the lobby.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

NEW NORMAL

For Cami and Nikki, the next few weeks were an odd mix of normal routines and decidedly abnormal developments.

Cami returned to his special effects work, including some small but profitable projects for his friend, Jason. Nikki got back to her work at the ad agency.

The couple had managed to keep their work and daily lives together even as all the NatEx, LA Weekly, and other media distractions vied for their attention like an impatient kid pulling on his parent’s coat. And Emily added a new wrinkle as she got Arnie Corbolli pursuing the rights to their story.

“I guess this is our new normal, huh?” Nikki shook her head in disbelief as they thought about all these recent developments. “It’s all so crazy.”

“Well…” Cami started to say, but Nikki jumped in.

“I know… you told me so.”

At least they could still laugh about it. Without having to verbalize it, they were both happy to have finally given up arguing about whether they should or shouldn’t keep pursuing this narrative and whether they did or didn’t believe that Cami had played some role in Nikki’s and Scott’s miraculous recoveries. The time for could-a, would-a, should-a had passed. Having set those wheels in motion, all they could do now was hop on and try to enjoy the ride.

Earlier that week, Cami and Nikki had looked over the rights agreement that Arnie had put together with Randy and the NatEx lawyers. While the attorneys still needed to finalize the details, the terms seemed fine to the young couple. They even stood to get a small cash advance upon signing the contract. Nothing even approaching life-changing, but their take could be potentially even more if the movie somehow ever got made and, far more unlikely, ever turned an actual profit after all the creative accounting studios were notorious for.

“But wait, there’s more,” Nikki said in her best infomercial voice. “Check this out.”

She turned her phone so Cami could see a spreadsheet Emily had sent showing outlets that had either published, posted, or linked to the story about the two miracles. “Several have already reached out to her or Randy directly.”

Cami looked down at the list as Nikki scrolled. It had certainly expanded.

“So the NatEx virus on society is starting to go viral,” Cami joked. “That’s fitting, I guess.”

He tried to look indifferent. But it still bothered him that there was no way to put the toothpaste back in the tube.

“Well, on that happy note, Danny Downer, you wanna hear about an interesting email I got yesterday?”

Nikki had been waiting for the right time to tell Cami about it, but she realized now was as good as any. While he certainly wasn’t eager to promote this whole narrative, after agreeing to the NatEx and LA Weekly stories, the Candle Coalition podcast, and not freaking out over this new list Emily had just sent, or the movie rights contract, Nikki figured he wouldn’t put up a fight.

“So I got this email from a guy who works with something called the Hope Never Fades Foundation. Ever heard of it?”

“Nope.”

“They help kids with cancer. Apparently, it’s well funded, and they cover the costs of the care, so the parents don’t have to worry about going broke just trying to help their kids get better.”

“Sounds like a good cause.”

“Right? Could you imagine if your kid got cancer? And then some insurance company starts hitting you with massive bills?”

Cami nodded sympathetically, knowing Nikki was crafting whatever she was about to pitch like she was trying to close a deal with an advertising client.

“But what’s that got to do with you?” he asked.

“Turns out this guy who emailed me is a board member at this foundation, and he’s also on the board of the Candle Coalition. He saw the podcast I did and wants me to do something with the kids at his foundation. He wasn’t sure what yet, but he thought the story about me and Scott might inspire the kids.” Warming to her pitch, she added, “You know, give some hope to the kids at the Hope Never Fades Foundation.”

Cami wasn’t stupid enough to blurt out “absolutely not!” He’d already made that mistake once. But his body language showed how he felt.

“I can see you’re thrilled,” Nikki said sarcastically, but not meanly. She understood that he had already agreed to go along with a lot.

“Is this how you pitch your clients?” Cami raised his eyebrows like he was raising a white flag.

Nikki laughed. “Yep, I always start by talking about kids with cancer. It really hooks ‘em.”

Cami just shook his head in defeat as he smiled at her. “I’m sure it does.”

“So it’s a yes?”

“How can I say no to kids with cancer?”

Nikki leaned over and gave him a kiss.

“Come with me,” Nikki said. “It’ll be great to meet the kids. Raymond, that’s the guy from the foundation, he said every time he goes there, he gets a charge from how positive the kids are. He says they do more to lift his spirits than the foundation does for them. He says that to outsiders it sounds like a depressing place, but it actually exudes, that’s the word he used, he said it actually exudes so much positive energy.”

“You don’t have to keep pitching,” Cami assured her. “I’m sold. I’m in.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

MR. HOLLYWOOD

Once a month, Randy convened with his fellow top NatEx executives and their boss, publisher Sara Winston.

As the only West Coast-based member of the seven-member team, Randy was the only one who joined via Zoom. He could see the others sitting around the conference room table when he popped onto the screen.

“There’s Mr. Hollywood,” Sara said as Randy’s face appeared. “How are you doing, Randy?”

“Living the life, Sara. How are you?” Randy looked around the room. “Morning, all.”

Sara jumped right into the monthly agenda, looking for quick updates from her chiefs in Content, Revenue, Technology, Marketing, HR, and Legal.

Randy had been with NatEx for almost 20 years, all but the last few months in New York. Sara had him move to Los Angeles to try to breathe new life into their entertainment coverage.

With an official title of Chief Content Officer, Randy had Maddie and other staff to handle the daily details, but he essentially saw himself as managing director and West Coast editor all wrapped up in one. A hands-off manager he was not.

“Randy, go ahead and kick it off. What’s going on with your ‘miracle’ story? Gene says you have a movie-rights deal on the table?” Gene was NatEx Chief Counsel Eugene Slater.

Randy explained how a producer friend of his wanted to secure the rights to Nikki’s and Scott’s story.

“Our readers eat that crap up,” he said. “As you know, LA Weekly and others have already picked it up, and more keep reaching out to us. It definitely has legs. And my friend is ready to throw a little money at it and see if he can package and pitch it.”

“It’s a straightforward deal at this stage,” Gene added. “I don’t see any harm in locking in the rights. No cost to us, and if it turns into something, it’s more free exposure.”

Neither Sara nor Gene nor anyone else asked if the story was true or not. A good story was good enough. Sara knew Gene would make sure NatEx was protected from any legal complications that might arise.

“Just don’t spend a lot of time on it,” Sara told Randy. “It’s just an idea, a pipe dream with no script at this stage.”

Randy nodded and moved on to the other items he had on his agenda. The other executives gave their updates, and Sara called the meeting to a close.

CHAPTER SIXTY

YOU PRAY, WE PREY

For several weeks now, Manny had been stalking the “miracle hypocrites,” the term he used for Nikki and Cami and, to a lesser degree, Scott Taylor. His animus was, in no small part, spurred by how he saw Nikki as one of those beautiful Hollywood types, the kind who would never show any interest in men like him.

In addition to physically following Nikki and/or Cami every few days, Manny had already snooped around online to dig up what info he could find.

Manny found that Nikki’s current agency worked with a number of well-known fashion and lifestyle brands. As he looked at photos of Nikki, Manny imagined her pitching glamorous ad campaign ideas to well-heeled clients, schmoozing the men and intimidating the women with her looks.

Cami’s handful of credits listed on IMDb.com provided more info for Manny. He hadn’t heard of any of the handful of movies Cami had worked on, most of which seemed to be low or medium-budget horror and sci-fi flicks.

Not long after seeing Nikki in the Candle Coalition podcast, he came across a note in their newsletter that she was scheduled to attend an event called a “Hula Hope,” which was apparently some kind of meet-and-greet with the children and parents at something called the Hope Never Fades Foundation.

The connection with the ultra-well-funded Candle Coalition caught Manny’s attention. Digging around online, he discovered that some guy named Raymond Riley sat on the boards of both organizations. And like the Candle Coalition and its leader, Rev. Eldridge, this Riley character was filthy rich. He owned the Yoroko chain of restaurants that had sprouted up across California and beyond.

Manny could smell the greed oozing from the pitch for this “Hula Hope” event. Milking money from the gullible Candle Coalition members was bad enough. Now these hypocritical fat cats were preying on the parents of kids with cancer. It was sick, about as low as one could stoop.

“You pray, we prey,” Manny scoffed with disdain. He liked that. He jotted it down in his notebook.

Hypocrites, Manny said to himself. All of you.

He was sure Nikki and her husband were somehow cashing in on all this newfound fame. They were probably getting a piece of the action for any donations that came in from Nikki’s budding media blitz.

It all fits. The marketing muscle of the Candle Coalition, led by a millionaire restaurant magnate, is using a hot chick to fleece in as much money as possible from this flock of easily deceived and delusional devotees.

You evil temptress… You bastard. Manny looked again at the photos of Nikki and Cami. You beautiful she-devil.

Manny recalled a biblical quote from Matthew on children. After a fruitless search for it in his well-worn bible, he found it online.

Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

You will never enter the kingdom of heaven, Manny said to himself as he looked at the photos of Nikki and Cami. Together, with all the scumbags at the Candle Coalition and the Hope Never Fades Foundation, their disgusting exploitation of kids and their desperate parents for their own financial gain was revolting. It revealed how uninnocent, how unchildlike Nikki and the others were. Manny didn’t need to look up the next quote that popped into his head.

It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.

Manny made a note of the date of Nikki’s upcoming visit to the Hula Hope.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

EMPTY PROMISES

Raymond Riley was a natural-born marketer, motivator, and mover.

He had grown Yoroko with a level of self- belief that cowed anyone who harbored any doubts about their own abilities. He might fail, but he would always — always — go down swinging if he did.

Despite his background as a successful accountant with a reputation for crossing every T and dotting every I, he was inherently comfortable with risk. In fact, his later success as a restaurateur happened because he loved placing huge bets, particularly on himself. He had his flaws and was self-aware enough to know it, but suffering paralysis by analysis was not one of them.

Within two weeks of latching onto the idea of having Nikki appear with the kids at the Hula Hope event, he had persuaded the board to make it happen.

***

The night before the event, Cami got a call from his mom. She said she was just phoning to check in to see how he and Nikki were doing, but that was something she never did prior to the current media buzz around her son and daughter-in-law. Before their 15 minutes of fame, it was always Cami who initiated any calls since she had plenty of children and grandchildren living in the same neighborhood to keep her company.

Since she had asked what he and Nikki were up to, he mentioned the Hula Hope event. He figured he should probably also tell his mom about how a movie producer was interested in getting the rights to Nikki’s story, but he didn’t have the energy to get into all that. Brevity was not only not her strong suit, but it was not in her vocabulary. Neither was focus. Like a dog seeing a squirrel, the slightest distraction could send her off on a complete tangent.

Any thoughts of her grandkids often triggered such ramblings. This call was no different.

As his mom proceeded to rattle on about her brood of grandchildren, Cami thought about tomorrow’s get-together at the Hope Never Fades Foundation. While he had already committed to it, the idea that he and Nikki were supposed to inspire these kids with cancer once again made Cami just feel like a fraud.

How the hell do you give hope to kids with cancer? Sure, he could talk in platitudes, encouraging them to stay positive and assure them, “You can beat this.”

But can they? Can they really beat cancer?

To innocent children, such platitudes could come off as promises, promises Cami knew neither he nor Nikki could keep. Those promises were as empty as Nonna’s precious vial that her grandson had promised to pass down to future generations.

Only half listening as his mom droned on, Cami found his segue to bring the “conversation” to a close without sounding rude.

As he hung up, Cami continued to think about the Hula Hope event and the kids. He knew Nikki wanted to believe her visit might inspire the children and their parents to keep up the fight. He did, too. But was this just a case of false prophets bearing false hopes?

At the same time, he also understood that hope was all these kids really had. What was the advantage of giving up on the belief that they could get better? Believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth, as Nonna said. But for these kids, not believing that hope exists is essentially a death sentence, just one without a predetermined date of execution.

***

When the day of the event arrived, Nikki and Cami parked in the Hope Never Fades Foundation’s parking lot, not aware that Manny was already parked and watching them walk in.

As the couple entered the lobby, it felt like a hall of contradictions. The Hawaiian decorations for the Hula Hope festivities felt downright weird for a gathering of kids with cancer.

Raymond Riley and Edwin Eldridge were chatting near the reception desk when they saw Nikki and Cami come in. Raymond sensed what the couple was thinking from the confused looks on their faces amid the luau-themed decorations. A young assistant came up and placed leis around their necks.

“Our guest of honor!” Raymond walked over to introduce himself. “And you must be Cami. Can I call you Cami?”

“Everybody does.”

Cami could feel the glad-handing salesman personality, but it somehow didn’t feel as fake and practiced as he figured it must be. By calling him Cami, it was clear Raymond and team had done some homework to prepare for the event.

“I’m Raymond Riley. I’m on the board of the Hope Never Fades Foundation. And this is Edwin Eldridge, founder and head of the Candle Coalition.”

As they shook hands, the same young assistant placed leis on both Raymond and Edwin.

“It feels a little strange, right?” Raymond said with an understanding laugh. “To have this festive atmosphere when we’re talking about something as serious as cancer.” He looked around the hall. “Especially when we're talking about these amazing kids cursed with that awful disease.”

“All the more reason to bring a little joy and hope into their lives,” Edwin added. “You being here, Nikki, is going to be great. The kids are going to love you.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that, but I’m glad to be here. I can’t imagine what it must be like for them. And their parents.”

“I think you’ll find, as Edwin and I have, that just being in the presence of these kids is the most inspiring thing you’ll ever experience. We so-called adults sit around all day complaining about our ‘problems,’ minor things compared to what the kids go through every day. These kids are the real heroes, without even knowing it.”

“Amen,” Edwin added.

It all felt more than a little Pollyannaish to Cami.

“But there must be times when they get angry about the cards they’ve been dealt.”

“Of course,” Edwin said. “They get down at times like we all do. Who wouldn’t? Obviously, they talk about how they wish they could run around and play like the other kids, but I never see them get jealous or mad at the healthy kids. They just want to get better and go home. And, God bless ‘em, they absolutely believe they can and will.”

“They really are beautiful souls,” Raymond chimed in. “After you’ve spent some time with these kids, I guarantee that both of you are gonna be walking on air when it’s all over.”

Raymond waved over his nearby assistant. As she walked over, he turned to Nikki and Cami.

“Just have a good time hanging out with kids,” Raymond told them. “They’re endlessly curious little guys. I’m sure you’ll get peppered with questions.”

“About that,” Nikki jumped in, “I know you said I didn’t need to prepare anything and I would just chat with the kids, but are there any subjects or questions I should avoid?”

“Nope. Just be yourself,” Raymond assured her.

“And have fun with the kids,” Edwin added. “That’s all they and their parents are looking for. A chance to hang out, have some laughs, and get to know your story.”

“I’ll give a short introduction,” Raymond said, “then Amber here will take you around to the kids’ rooms. Just be yourself and have fun.”

***

A few minutes later, Raymond gave a short speech to about 200 people, including children, their parents, and some doctors and staff from the foundation.

At the end of his introductory comments, Raymond told the audience that rather than do a formal Q&A, Nikki and Cami would visit the kids and parents in their rooms, and they could chat and ask questions then.

As Amber guided Nikki and Cami around the hospital rooms, it could easily have been a sad and heartbreaking scene. Almost all the kids, boys and girls, were bald from the chemo.

But it wasn’t a depressing scene for either Nikki or Cami. Sad, to be sure, but even cancer couldn't extinguish the natural sparkle of youth and innocence shining in the eyes of these kids.

Amber walked over to the bedside of Harper, a nine-year-old girl with leukemia. Her sickness couldn’t squelch her bubbly spirit.

“This is Nikki,” Amber said. “And her husband, Cami.”

Harper laughed. “That’s a funny name.”

“It is a weird name, isn’t it?” Nikki agreed. “But Nikki is normal, right?”

“Yeah,” Harper nodded. “You’re pretty.”

“Ah, thank you! That’s sweet. But you’re the beautiful one. You must be a princess!”

Harper lit up with a big smile and looked over at her parents, who were standing off to the side looking on.

“You’re our little princess,” Harper’s dad called out. Her mom gave the mixed-emotion smile of a parent who sees the inner beauty trapped inside a sick child.

“Are you really a miracle girl?” Harper asked Nikki.

Nikki and Cami had, of course, expected such a question. Cami gave a sideways glance at Harper’s parents as Nikki gave her semi-prepared answer.

“Well, I don’t know if it was a miracle, but I’m very lucky to be here talking with you, Harper.” Nikki looked over at her parents before continuing. “I was very sick for a while, but I got better.”

“Will I get better, too?”

Cami could see the uncomfortable look on her parents’ faces. He thought back to looking at Nikki lying in a coma just a short time ago.

“Tell me, Harper, do you know the name of this hospital?”

“Yes. Hope Never Fades.”

“Exactly! Do you know what that means?”

“It means you can do anything if you believe you can and just keep hoping.”

“Look at you! You’re not just a beautiful princess, but you’re so smart, too!”

Harper again smiled brightly and looked over at her parents, both of whom were smiling back at her as they fought off tears.

“As long as you believe you can, then Hope Never Fades.” Nikki bent down to give Harper a hug.

“You’ll come see me again, right?” Harper asked as Nikki started to go visit other children.

“Yes,” Nikki said. She meant to, and wanted to believe it.

Cami and Nikki shook hands with Harper’s parents as they thanked them for visiting. The two couples looked at each other, feeling both sympathy and doubt.

They all knew that hope was all they had, and no one wanted to see it fade.

***

With Amber guiding them, Nikki and Cami continued to make the rounds. It was the most natural thing in the world for them to silently pray for each kid they met.

About an hour into their visit, Raymond joined them in a hallway with Amber.

“How’s it going so far?”

“Great,” Nikki told him. “You were right. These kids are beyond inspiring.”

“It’s amazing how resilient they are,” Cami added. “I know I’d be depressed if I were in their shoes. But they’re not. They’re all so positive.”

“Exactly,” Raymond nodded. “They inspire all of us every day.”

By the time the day ended, Nikki and Cami felt renewed and uplifted, just as Raymond had said they would.

Nikki and Cami were not blind to the reality of the situation for these children, but they could not deny, for lack of a better word, the pure beauty of what they had just witnessed.

Cami thought back to a friend from college who had spent a year abroad working with special needs children. His friend had noted that the simplicity of their minds meant they stayed forever young, without the worries and complications of adults.

At the same time, Cami didn’t harbor any illusions of happy-go-lucky kids with cancer. Another Tom Waits lyric crept into his mind, adding a dose of cynical, real-world reality: There ain’t no devil. There’s only God when he’s drunk.

It was all so random. Nikki makes a miraculous recovery from a coma, while these kids remain stricken with cancer. It’s in God’s hands, went the cliché. All you can do is hope and pray. Hope. And pray.

Cami knew he’d be foolish not to expect that some parents resented any false sense of hope Nikki’s visit may have given the children. Yet he also wanted to believe that her story gave some hope to at least as many.

As Cami and Nikki drove out of the parking lot, Manny made a note of what time they left.

Mimicking what he had seen in the movies, Manny waited a couple of beats before pulling out into the street to follow the couple’s car.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

SEE ANY PATIENCE IN MY OFFICE?

As a producer, Arnie Carbolli understood all too well that movie projects are like sharks; they need constant movement to stay alive. Resuscitating a stalled or derailed film or series can quickly become futile at any stage of the very complicated process.

From acquiring rights, to developing a workable script, to casting, to budgeting, to putting together a crew, to greenlighting a project, to navigating the myriad of obstacles that always raise their ugly heads on the road to completion, Arnie knew most movies died stillborn without ever making it to the big or small screen.

Whether it was nature or nurture, Arnie was not a patient man. “If you have patients, be a goddamned doctor,” he was fond of yelling at his team. “You see any patience in my office?”

It was a stupid turn of phrase, but it amused Arnie. And his small crew had quickly learned to take it to heart.

Moving fast, Arnie had pushed hard to finalize and sign the contracts with Nikki, Scott, and NatEx. Rights now in hand, Arnie ratcheted up the pressure to take his movie idea from an aspirational project to an actual paycheck.

He had already assigned a scriptwriter friend to put together a treatment he could begin pitching to industry execs. Arnie thought Christian movie studios would be the low-hanging fruit, the most likely to approve the project. But he also hoped to work with a big traditional studio and reach a larger, mainstream audience. That was a long shot to be sure, but if he could come up with a script that a popular actor would attach to, it was not outside the realm of possibility.

But all that, Arnie knew, was just a pipe dream until he got a treatment and an actual script in the hands of the right people.

Arnie didn’t know it yet, but the treatment he was working on was about to get a bit more complicated, and a whole lot better.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

A PROBLEMATIC IPO

Soon after Raymond sold Yoroko, the private equity firm that had acquired it began the process of taking the company public by filing for an initial public offering, or IPO.

As part of the original sale, Raymond was guaranteed a small percentage of Yoroko’s gross sales for 10 years, with seven years now remaining. Fully intending to take Yoroko public after the sale, the private equity firm was not happy to lock in a long-term deal that gave away even a tiny portion of future revenue. But Raymond had the leverage, and he used it.

He and the private equity partners knew the biggest potential payoff would be from a successful IPO. If the newly minted stock soared in value, Randy stood to make a fortune as the share price rose. And if sales continued to rise as Yoroko’s expansion continued, Raymond would cash in on that as well for the next several years.

When companies get ready to go public and start trading on the open stock market, they go on what is called a “road show,” where the CEO and other top executives travel the country promoting the promise of the enterprise to mutual funds, banks, and other large institutional investors. The goal, of course, is to convince these big-money players to open their wallets and invest now to get in early on the stock.

Doing their “due diligence,” these institutions deploy their teams of researchers and analysts to scrutinize the company going public, in this case, Yoroko. It also involves providing detailed financial information to the Securities and Exchange Commission.

Before offering shares to be bought by these financial institutions and the general public, all potential IPOs must also reveal any risks the company faces. Such risks include not just any outstanding debt or other financial issues, but also potential or looming industry-wide and company-specific threats or obligations.

Raymond’s lock on a small percentage of Yoroko’s gross sales for the next seven years was one issue. The private equity firm, as well as the bank underwriting the IPO, knew investors despised that arrangement.

To eliminate that issue, the private equity firm had pushed Raymond to agree to give up future revenue in exchange for a one-time buyout. But he had refused. Always willing to take smart risks, he calculated that if Yoroko’s growth continued to expand as he believed it would, that revenue stream would be worth far more than the one-time buyout the private equity firm was offering.

Another factor that made Yoroko a problematic IPO was more culturally complicated.

Raymond’s ties with the Candle Coalition could potentially cause reputational harm to Yoroko. Fairly or not, the high-profile religious organization had a cult-like tinge to it. Were that image to spread to Yoroko, the envisioned expansion and growth could be derailed.

But, Raymond continued to argue, his involvement with the Hope Never Fades Foundation could provide a counterbalancing saving grace. Who would have an issue with helping kids with cancer?

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

INDULGENCES

Manny was feeling proud of his investigative skills.

He had successfully followed Nikki and Cami, as well as Scott and Shannon, on multiple occasions without being detected. He was certain of that. He had also gone down multiple rabbit holes online, digging deeper into the backgrounds of the Candle Coalition’s Edwin Eldridge and the Hope Never Fades Foundation, as well as Raymond Riley’s Yoroko.

Manny wasn’t a stock market guy, but he had come across mention of Yoroko’s potential IPO. He had even dug into some arcane financial filings from the company. He didn’t really understand them, but he superficially scanned enough of the financial coverage by outlets like CNBC to know that Raymond stood to make a fortune.

It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

While Raymond went around bragging about his oh-so-wonderful work for the children at his foundation, Manny was certain it was all a facade, a ruse to keep people from focusing on his real ambition: to get even more filthy rich. Manny had read that this hypocrite would even continue to rake in money from Yoroko for years on top of the millions he’d make when the company went public.

Why not just donate all that money to your beloved kids with cancer, Manny wondered with disgust and disdain. Giving away a pittance of his massive — and growing — fortune was just a modern form of medieval indulgences. Just one more ultra-rich elite paying to erase his past and future transgressions.

But, Manny knew, Raymond Riley couldn't fool Jesus. Neither could “Reverend” Eldridge.

No matter how much money they amassed, they could never repay the costs of their sins or even put a dent in the spiritual debt they had accrued. As a Christian soldier, it was up to Manny to make them understand that their money was no good in God’s house.

But first, Manny had more worldly needs to address. To cover rent and the rest of his monthly nut, he had to wrap up the two handyman jobs he was already behind on. He’d have to hold off on stalking his targets for now so he could complete those projects.

Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, Manny muttered to himself. And unto God the things that are God’s.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

TWISTED TURN OF EVENTS

Three days after Nikki’s visit to the Hope Never Fades Foundation, a beautiful bouquet of flowers arrived at her home with a handwritten note from Raymond thanking her and Cami for spending time with the kids.

The next day, she sent an email thanking them for the kind gesture. After a few days had gone by, she got a call from Amber.

“Hi, Amber. How are you? Thanks for the beautiful flowers!”

“Of course! You were great with the kids.” Oddly, Amber sounded both anxious and excited. “I’ve got Raymond on the line. Can I transfer the call?”

A few seconds later, Raymond’s voice came on.

“Nikki, thanks again to you and Cami for taking the time to make it such a great day, for the kids and for all of us at the foundation.”

“Our pleasure. The kids are fantastic… as you already know, of course.”

“They are. They really are.” Nikki sensed the same mix of emotions she had heard in Amber’s voice.

“I’ve got some news that I wanted to share with you personally.” He paused for a second before continuing, sounding like he was preparing both himself and Nikki.

“OK,” Nikki said, not sure what to expect.

“These calls are always hard. And this one… This one is particularly tough because it’s both sad news and wonderful news.”

The yin and the yang all at once, Nikki thought as she silently listened.

“Let me just explain what has happened since your visit, and then we can discuss it all. OK?”

“OK…”

“I know you met a lot of kids that day, but do you recall meeting a young girl named Sierra? A beautiful little girl. Her parents are Brett and Tonya.”

“Sierra…” Nikki tried to recall this girl from the many she and Cami had met. As she tried to connect the name with a face, she got a sinking feeling. Based on Raymond’s tone, she suspected this was the bad news. Afraid of what the answer might be, she told him, “I’m pretty sure I remember her. How is she?”

Raymond’s pause said it all. “Unfortunately, Sierra lost her battle two days ago.”

Nikki’s heart sank. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“She was a beautiful soul trapped in a troubled cage. But she’s free and at peace now.” As much as it sounded like a rehearsed line and something Raymond had probably said to countless grieving parents over the years, Nikki believed he truly meant it.

“That’s just awful. I don’t know what to say.”

“Unfortunately, it’s something no amount of money can prevent, no matter how much we spend on research. I wish we could save all the kids all the time, but we can’t. But eradicating this awful disease is our goal, and one day we’ll make it happen.”

Raymond paused to keep his own emotions in check. While his belief in the Hope Never Fades Foundation was unwavering, it was painful every time they lost one of their kids. But he also understood that the foundation’s research, in the long run, would find a cure or way to prevent cancer from even rearing its ugly head in the first place. And that would be the enduring legacy of kids like Sierra.

“Well, please let Sierra’s parents know that our hearts and prayers go out to them.” Nikki thought about saying more or suggesting she and Cami attend the funeral, but she held back. They didn’t really know Sierra or her parents, and it would just be presumptuous to even bring it up.

“I’ll certainly let them know.” Raymond waited for a moment before switching to a happier subject. “But I did mention that I also had some wonderful news I wanted to share.”

“Yes, please do.” Nikki didn't want to sound flippant, but she could use a lift after such depressing news.

“Amber tells me you spent some time with Harper, too.”

“Yes, we did. Harper’s a great kid. I definitely remember her.”

“Well, she’s not the kid you remember anymore.”

“Oh…What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, she’s looking much, much better.” Raymond paused, not sure how much he wanted to say so soon after Harper had made a sudden turnaround. “She’s still here in the hospital for some extra testing, but as far as the doctors can tell at this point, she appears to be cancer-free. All signs of leukemia have vanished.”

“That’s amazing! The cancer’s gone?!”

“As of now, that seems to be the case. But they need more tests to verify that.” Raymond continued, “She seems to be another miracle girl. Like you. The doctors can’t explain it.”

“That is awesome news! Totally awesome! I can’t wait to tell Cami! That’s the best news ever!”

As soon as she said it, Nikki’s thoughts turned to Sierra and her parents. Her celebratory mood soured as she imagined Sierra’s parents viewing a casket with their child in it while Harper’s folks joyously hugged their daughter.

Nikki’s comment had triggered a different thought in Raymond’s mind.

“I wanted to tell you right away, but for now, we’re not going public with Harper’s recovery. We don’t want to jinx it before we do more tests. ”

“What about Cami?”

“I suppose Cami’s fine,” Raymond replied. “But not to anyone else until we get more confirmation from the doctors.”

“Sure. Of course. That makes sense.”

In this twisted turn of events, Nikki’s sadness returned as she wondered if a miraculously cured Harper and her parents would attend Sierra’s funeral, putting a damper on her eagerness to share the news with Cami.

***

After his call with Nikki ended, Raymond contemplated what to do next.

His marketing brain wanted to promote even more awareness and donations to the Hope Never Fades Foundation by tying Harper’s recovery to Nikki’s visit. Not in a cause-and-effect way, but as a wonderful, heartwarming coincidence.

But at the same time, any exploitation of Sierra’s death and Harper’s miracle was nearly as repugnant to Raymond as he knew it would be to the rest of the world. Nearly.

Yet Raymond believed there was an acceptably tasteful middle ground to be found. He asked his PR team to draft a press release for him to review, one that the foundation’s community and Harper’s and Sierra’s parents could embrace.

Like many self-made and equally self- assured men, Raymond was not surprised by his success. He understood the role of luck but put more weight on hard work and a willingness, in fact, an eagerness, to take risks. Calculated risks.

While there had been no guarantees that Yoroko would grow to the level it had, Raymond had fully expected it would. And once he got involved with the Hope Never Fades Foundation, he fully expected they would eventually find a cure for these kids and cover the costs to their parents in the meantime. It might take a decade or two longer than he hoped, but he had no doubts they were on the right path to make discovering a cure a reality.

What he hadn’t expected was the severity of the backlash as soon as he put out what he wanted to believe was an innocent and positive press release. He certainly could not have imagined the scale of the public uproar and how it would eventually impact him and the Hope Never Fades Foundation. Even the Yoroko IPO, which he intended to be his crowning financial legacy, would come under threat.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

ROUND TWO

“I’ve got notes.”

Arnie was on the phone with Dustin Grenier, his gun-for-hire screenwriter, who had just turned in the first draft of the script about Nikki and Scott. Mostly Nikki. The working title was “Miracles Happen Here.”

“It lacks conflict. Rising and compelling conflict,” Arnie barked into the phone. “This reads like some feel-good Hallmark Movie of the Week. It’s garbage.”

Arnie had worked with Dustin many times before and knew he could do a lot better. It felt like he had just banged this out to meet Arnie’s ridiculous deadline, which he had.

“I get it,” Dustin replied. “You’re not wrong.”

It wasn’t his first rodeo either. He knew how Arnie operated and how to manage him. Dustin harbored no illusions about his job. He was a working screenwriter, writing scripts on demand in the way songwriters like Neil Diamond and Carole King used to anonymously bang out songs for music publishers back in the day.

Dustin knew, as did Arnie, that he’d come back with a more polished storyline in round two. Just as Arnie had no qualms about dressing down the hired help, Dustin had no fear of getting fired. He was an in-demand writer who had no problem reminding Arnie he could have the script good, fast, or cheap — choose any two.

Arnie, being Arnie, of course, wanted all three. But he knew Dustin would come through with a workable script on a reasonable deadline. And Arnie and Dustin both understood that the initial deadline was anything but reasonable.

These “notes” were mainly an opportunity for Arnie to vent and remind Dustin of the urgency of the project. In the meantime, Arnie had other embers to stoke and fires to put out while juggling the various balls he had in the air.

“I’d tell you to relax,” Dustin kidded Arnie, “if I thought you understood the meaning of the word.” He got no more than an ornery grunt from his boss.

“Give me two weeks, and you’ll get what you want.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

TRIGGERING THE STORM

“What the hell have you got yourself into? Sounds like all hell is breaking loose.”

Tony didn’t bother with any pleasantries. After seeing all the news involving Nikki, he wanted to check in on his little brother. “Mom is freaking out.”

The last few weeks had been total chaos, a true media circus.

Raymond’s press release on Harper’s recovery was triggering the latest storm. In retrospect, Cami could see it had been brewing for some time, and he wondered at what stage he could have contained it, or at least tried.

“It’s gone completely insane.” Cami had the matter-of-fact tone of someone who had lost any semblance of control and was watching the train go off the rails, with him inside it.

He had voiced his objections to Nikki about doing the first NatEx article. But in the end, he had gone along with it, and held his peace as the whole thing began to slowly, then quickly snowball.

Harper’s recovery, apparently, was the final spark that turned a relatively small fire into a raging inferno. Cami’s hope that it would all eventually just fade away and disappear was now officially dead. That hope, it was clear, would never fade.

“The New York Times called Nikki for comment,” Cami told his brother. “The New York Times, for Christ’s sake!”

Nikki’s voicemail was filled up with messages from producers and editors from CNN, Fox, NBC, CBS, USA Today, and God knows who else. Even tiny California-based bloggers and freelancers were searching for local angles to jump on the bandwagon.

“Can’t wait to see you guys on 60 Minutes soon.” Teasing his little brother was Tony’s way of trying to “help.” “Your 15 minutes of fame are turning into a full hour.”

“That’s just what I need,” Cami groaned.

Against his natural instincts, Tony refrained from expanding on his smart-ass comments. “Well, how’s Nikki holding up?”

“Surprisingly well, actually. She’s taking it more in stride than I am, to be honest. I’d put her on, but she’s on the phone right now.”

“No sweat. But, hey, is it true there’s a movie in the works?”

That was another element that had started to gain traction, seeping out of trades and into more mainstream outlets.

“If it’s true, I hope they don’t hire you to work on it,” Tony smirked, returning to form. “Mom would never forgive you if you made one of your horror flicks with Nikki in it.”

“Who knows?” Cami ignored the comment, not mentioning that they had indeed agreed to sell the rights and that a script was in the works. “But mom’s got nothing to worry about. Movie ideas don’t go to Hollywood to get made. They go there to die.”

Cami didn’t tell his brother that Nikki was in the other room on a Zoom call with Arnie, Randy, and Emily. He was set to rejoin them as soon as he hung up.

Cami meant what he said about the extremely slim chances of any movie ever getting made. But with everything seeming disengaged from reality like an untethered astronaut floating off into space, he wasn’t sure where anything was headed anymore.

***

Raymond and Edwin had also both had better weeks.

Edwin was well-accustomed to the controversies and rumors that permanently swirled around the Candle Coalition at varying levels of intensity. So, he wasn’t at all surprised that the media soon latched onto this story about the sudden recovery by some girl at the Hope Never Fades Foundation and immediately connected it, with their typical suspicion, to his group. Like sharks sensing a weakened prey, they stood ready and eager at all times to pounce on Edwin and his ultra-successful and ultra-wealthy organization.

And pounce, they did. But the founder and his team were battle-hardened and well-equipped to not just fight, but to counterattack in such situations.

For years, the Candle Coalition had developed a well-earned reputation for filing preemptive lawsuits. As Edwin and team intended, that reputation made the owners of these media empires and their top-level attorneys put pressure on mere editors and journalists, i.e., the hired help. Both Edwin and these business magnates knew that even the high-paid on-air talents were not immune to fear of losing their high-profile positions and cushy paychecks. They would only pursue a story so far, understanding the powers that be and the potential consequences they faced. It was a dynamic that Edwin understood well. Without having to say a word in most cases, the owners and their legal teams would keep their journalists in line.

Raymond Riley found himself in potentially more financially treacherous waters.

He was already very rich and on the verge of becoming much richer with the pending Yoroko IPO. That, plus the fact that he was a Candle Coalition board member, had the media buzzing. A one-percenter entangled in controversy, particularly a right-wing, religious one, was like fresh meat for salivating journalists.

The only reason you couldn’t call them vultures, Edwin laughed to himself, was because they were jonesing to go in for the kill while their victims were still very much alive.

After years of business battles, Raymond didn’t need to prove he wasn’t one to back down from a fight. But he couldn’t deny he was having second thoughts about sending the press release promoting Harper’s recovery.

He had, of course, been careful not to even insinuate that he or his foundation claimed any kind of credit for somehow saving Harper. But Raymond was rightfully thrilled for her recovery. Too many of “his kids” weren’t so lucky.

But knowing that the “haters” would take a different and darker angle, did purposely stirring up the hornet’s nest with the press release make sense? Yes, the story would have come out with or without the release, but did he need to put his personal fingerprint on it? In retrospect, Raymond realized he should have let the story grow organically rather than give it the extra push it probably didn’t need.

Screw it, he thought to himself. The added awareness of his foundation, Raymond believed, would outweigh any temporary blowback once this news cycle had passed. Whether people believed Harper’s, Nikki’s, and Scott’s recoveries were miracles or just fluky coincidences, if they pulled in more donations to further the research of the Hope Never Fades Foundation, then it was worth any negative reactions from people who would never have contributed financial support anyway.

He put investors’ jitters surrounding the IPO in the same boat. The company’s financial performance and growth potential would overcome any unease or objections from Wall Street.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

DEN OF THIEVES

Manny had cut down on his stalking of Nikki, Cami, Raymond, and Edwin. It wasn’t just due to the time commitment or the cost of gas. He no longer needed to do the legwork. Journalists from all over the country were doing the work for him. He just sat back and let the info come to him.

The headlines only confirmed what he already suspected, what he already knew. The whole thing, Manny was certain, was a calculated and premeditated scam.

Think about it, Manny told himself. Nikki has some “miraculous” recovery, and it just so happens her Hollywood husband sells the movie rights to her story to NatEx and some Hollywood producer looking to cash in.

And who’s pulling all those strings? Edwin Eldridge, the powerful, celebrity-loving cult leader, and Raymond Riley, his filthy rich partner in crime. How, Manny thought, could all the gullible sheep not see through this scheme?

But now, Manny was certain, they had gone too far, exploiting “kids with cancer” by faking another “miracle.” How convenient that this girl’s recovery just happened to occur at Raymond Riley’s Hope Never Fades Foundation after Nikki — Miracle Girl No. 1 — went on a publicity tour with Edwin Eldridge’s Candle Coalition.

What a coincidence, Manny seethed, his voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and hate.

He turned off his monitor and pushed his chair back from his desk.

You’re the hypocrite, he told himself. Talking a big game, but always afraid to enter the arena. Christian soldier, my ass.

The Bible says, “A good soldier of Christ should endure suffering along with Him.” And “those who love the Lord must hate evil.”

From everything he’d read, Manny knew Nikki’s recovery was suspicious at best. And who was this Cami guy, really? He was like some Zelig character who just happened to show up every time one of these “miracles” occurred.

The media were too blind to put the pieces together. But not Manny.

Nikki in a coma? Enter Cami to save the day. Scott Taylor has a heart attack? Cami conveniently happens to be in the same hospital to come save the day. And now Harper? Oh, poor little Harper. Not fooled by the fabricated sob story, Manny was sure Raymond and Edwin had concocted this tale of woe and salvation to drum up donations for their slimy organizations.

Brain-dead patients, heart attack victims, and kids with leukemia just don’t get up and walk away. Unless, of course, miracle man Michael Camigilano is in the house!

You don’t fool me, Manny said under his breath, glaring menacingly at NatEx’s professionally shot photo of Nikki and Cami. Or Jesus.

Manny searched online for the Bible quote he had in mind to justify his righteous wrath and read it silently. “My house will be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of thieves.”

Led by “Reverend” Eldridge and Raymond Riley, the Candle Coalition and the Hope Never Fades Foundation established this as a castle of crooks. And there was no doubt in Manny’s mind that both Cami and Nikki dwelled there.

Manny recalled a Bible verse he knew by heart from his preaching: “For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”

But there would be no more meaningless preaching at DMVs or trying to make nice with weak-kneed “men of God” like Fr. Bautista at wannabe Christian church groups.

Manny was ready to confirm his commitment and prove his faith as a true Christian soldier… marching as to war.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

CANDLE HOLDERS

“We should just get away for a few days.”

Sitting next to Nikki, Cami stared blankly at the turned-off TV across from the sofa as he suggested to his wife that they go away for a weekend, maybe longer.

Normally not one to bicker or gossip about her coworkers, Nikki had recently started complaining to Cami about the changing climate at her work. She did her best to compartmentalize and stay focused on the projects at hand, but it was impossible to ignore the new atmosphere. It wasn’t that she was bothered by questions from colleagues. She got increasingly fewer of those as the headlines and rumors spread.

Nikki would have been happy to talk it out, but her co-workers had clearly become too uncomfortable to even bring it up. Instead, they seemed more than eager to whisper insinuations about her cultish beliefs and Hollywood-obsessed dreams of stardom behind her back.

It was ironic, she thought. The more famous- for-all-the-wrong-reasons she became, the more isolated and ostracized she felt.

Sensing how stressed she was, Cami leaned his head against hers in sympathy.

“This isn’t something that’s gonna blow over in a few days,” Nikki said, looking straight ahead with a blank stare. “I wish we could just hit reset and go back to the way things were.”

“Too late for that.”

Cami had no desire to re-open the I-told-you- so can of worms. Events had taken on a life of their own, and there was no reset button or Men in Black neuralyzer to erase all memory of the last few months.

“People think I’m a member of the Candle Coalition,” Nikki suddenly said. “They say I’m a ‘candle holder.’” She put up her fingers for air quotes with a disgusted look. “They think I’m cashing in on my coma! Well, excuse me for getting better!”

Cami sighed and stroked her hair as she looked up at him, clearly emotionally drained.

“Candle holder” was what followers of the Candle Coalition now called themselves. After years of controversy and accusations of being a cult, the term had a decidedly negative connotation among non-followers. But in an act of defiance, followers came to adopt it with pride.

There were parallels with the term “Christian.” Originally coined as a derogatory term meant to insult followers of Jesus Christ, it had become a badge of honor for the devout. And just like how today’s elitist non-believers often deride Christians as anti-science, uneducated simpletons, many see the “candle holders” as ignorant cult members looking for a savior to lead their league of lemmings.

As it had countless times since all the chaos began, Cami’s conversation about the vial with Nonna's voice seeped into Cami’s head. More than the non-believers, she feared the religious zealots who would believe that she did indeed possess the Blood of Christ.

“Just ignore them,” Cami said to Nikki about her co-workers. “They don’t know you, or what you’ve been through.”

But while he believed Nikki and he had done nothing but try to spread a little hope and gratitude, he also knew ignoring the haters was easier said than done. It didn’t help that he and Nikki had both signed the contract giving the rights to their story to Arnie’s production company, with NatEx and Randy also involved.

Nikki wasn’t paid to go on the Candlelight podcast. She wasn’t paid to visit the kids at the Hope Never Fades Foundation. She didn’t get a dime to do interviews with the media. But Cami and Nikki had come to understand that the optics didn’t look good.

They hadn’t publicly disclosed the amount of money they had received for selling the movie rights. Maybe they should have. Maybe they should now. The amount was a mere fraction of what the media and the internet rumor mill had been speculating.

It would never be enough money to change their life, even if the movie was a blockbuster hit, Cami knew. But it was clearly more than enough to really screw it up.

“I wish we could go back in time and just call it all off,” Nikki said wistfully.

But with the contracts signed and the hard- driving Arnie pushing aggressively ahead, that turbo-charged ship had sailed.

***

As soon as news about Harper’s recovery started to make national headlines and the media jumped on the controversial connection with the Candle Coalition, Arnie Carboldi had gone into beast mode.

He ordered his screenwriter to immediately shift gears and rework the script around this new development. Arnie wouldn’t wait to secure the rights to Harper’s story. He’d just steamroll the project forward and tie up those loose ends as soon as he could.

If they weren't already, he knew Hollywood players would be salivating to acquire the rights to this story, and he had to move fast. But he also knew he had two distinct advantages over the competition.

First, he already had the rights to Nikki’s and Taylor’s story. Harper’s recovery was the perfect and obvious extension. Still, Arnie needed to lock in Harper and her parents before the competition got to them.

Second, based on his years in the industry, he knew the major studios moved more slowly than the stereotype of hard-charging movie moguls would suggest. Feeling it was safer to say no than yes, mid-level execs, AKA human roadblocks, would give Arnie the extra time needed to get his ducks in a row.

Forty years ago, it would have been different. But today, the creative, risk-taking visionaries have been replaced by glorified accountants, the much-maligned bean counters. And if there was one thing that group hated, it was controversy. It would take weeks, maybe even months, of committee-laden discussions before a medically questionable, overly religious tale of multiple “miracles” would get a green light. The “suits” were deathly afraid of offending the ardently atheist, liberal elites they went to dinner parties with.

With Dustin reworking the script, Arnie went to work getting Harper and her parents on board. Reading whatever he could find about the young, former-cancer-victim’s story, he knew he already had an ally on the inside.

The media had latched onto stories of the connection that Harper and Nikki had apparently made at the Hope Never Fades Foundation. And keen to exploit any potential advantage he saw, Arnie immediately reached out to Nikki to see if she would put in a good word to Harper and her folks and their signatures on a contract. get

CHAPTER SEVENTY

THEIR POMPOUS ASSES

Randy poked his head out from his office and looked over at Emily sitting at her desk.

“Hey, Weirdo, come here.”

When she stepped into Randy’s office, he was looking over a pile of newspaper clippings. The scene was decidedly old school. To Emily, it felt like a black-and-white photo come to life.

“You really set off a firestorm, didn’t you?” Randy’s default sardonic grin was even more pronounced than normal. “Once again, NatEx drives the narrative. Everyone else just follows.”

Emily smiled and did her best imitation of a favorite Randyism. “They wouldn’t know a good story if NatEx didn’t shove it up their pompous asses.”

“You’re learning,” Randy chuckled. “But seriously, kudos to you. You really knocked this one out of the park.”

“Thanks.”

Having apparently filled his quota for handing out compliments, he immediately switched gears.

“But your butt is still parked on the bleachers, enjoying the view like a spectator. Now get back in the arena.”

Emily didn’t quite get the reference, but she fully understood his point. “Get me more on this Nikki-Harper connection,” Randy told her. “There’s gotta be another angle to explore there. And remember my motto…”

Emily jumped in. “You’re fine with BS, but you can’t stand boring.”

“You’ve learned well, grasshopper.”

Emily was too young to know where it came from, but old enough to know the phrase. She felt oddly proud to be both a weirdo and an insect.

“And just so you know,” Randy continued, “I spoke with our friend, Arnie. He’s redoing his script to weave in Harper.”

As he thumbed through the clippings on his desk, he also highlighted the controversies surrounding the Yoroko IPO, Raymond Riley, and Edwin Eldridge.

“This is your story. Own it. Exploit it. Don’t just keep working it on the edges. Blow it up into something new. Something huge.”

Randy looked Emily straight in the eyes. “We’re sitting on a gold mine. Think big. Act bigger.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

NO TURNING BACK

“Guess who called me today?”

Nikki set her purse down and leaned over to give Cami a kiss as he sat on the couch.

“Who?”

“Arnie Corbelli. And guess what he wants?”

Nikki knew his request wouldn’t exactly delight Cami, but the couple had resigned themselves to the fact that, at this point, there was no turning back.

“He wants me to talk to Harper and her parents, to talk them into selling the rights to her story like we did with mine. With ours.”

“The plot thickens.” Cami’s tone dripped with sardonic surrender.

“Yeah, and speaking of plots, he’s already rewriting the script to work in Harper.”

“Of course he is.” Cami would have done the same if he were in Arnie’s shoes. It had all the makings of a good story. Cami just wished he and Nikki weren’t characters in it. “Do you think they’ll agree to it?”

“I don’t see why not. We did.”

“True.”

“Hey, what do you say we go out for dinner?” Nikki suggested, changing the subject. “We could walk over to Luigi’s.”

A walk and some fresh air, she knew, would do them both good.

As Nikki and Cami left their apartment, Manny was sitting across the street watching them. Even though he was more than able to stalk his prey online from the comfort of his apartment, he still got off on doing his snooping in person when he could.

He had been parked outside of Nikki and Cami’s place for over an hour at this point when he spotted the couple heading out into the darkening evening. As they walked down the street, Cami was sure he had seen this car, Manny’s car, before. Multiple times. Cami wasn’t the paranoid type, but recent events had begun to change that.

This wasn't one of his neighbors’ cars, but maybe it was just one of their friends’. Slowing his stride, Cami tried to see if anyone was inside.

It was dark inside the car. Seeing Cami and Nikki walking toward him, Manny had turned his head to face the other way, his hoodie covering his head. Cami paused for a beat to see if he might get a look at the driver’s face, but he didn’t want to be too obvious. He continued walking.

“What’s wrong?” Nikki asked as Cami slowed his pace. “Do you know him?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

After a few steps in silence, Cami looked toward his wife as they continued their walk. “I’ve seen that car here a lot lately. Have you?”

Nikki started to turn her head back to look.

“Don’t turn around,” Cami said as he nudged her gently to look away.

“How can I tell if I’ve seen it before without looking at it? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’ve just seen that car on our street. More than once. More than normal.”

“Really?” Nikki fought the urge to look back. “You’re kinda scaring me. What’s going on?”

Cami tried to write it off with a laugh. “I’m probably just being paranoid. Just ignore me.” He gave her a quick kiss to change the subject. “So, what are you in the mood for? Pizza or pasta?”

“You’re acting weird,” Nikki said, ignoring the meaningless banter about a place they’d eaten at a million times. “I’m not in the mood for anything until you tell me what’s going on.”

There really wasn’t much to tell, Cami assured her. “Seriously. Just ignore me. I’m just talking nonsense.”

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about the car and the unknown man inside that made him uneasy.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

NOT EVEN THE POPE WOULD NOTICE

“What have we got ourselves into, Edwin? I feel like I should be wearing a trenchcoat.”

“Or a straitjacket,” Raymond replied with a mix of disgust and intrigue.

Media interest in the Candle Coalition, the Hope Never Fades Foundation, and Raymond’s financial ties to the pending Yoroko IPO was, to say the least, making life difficult for both men and their organizations.

Meeting at offices in either the Coalition or the Foundation would draw the kind of attention neither man wanted. So, they had arranged a clandestine meeting in Tustin, an industrial town just outside of Irvine.

“The media has always had it in for us,” Edwin said. “Always insinuating we’re some kind of cult.”

“Insinuating?”

“Accusing,” Edwin admitted. “We bring some light and hope into these dark times, and we’re the controversial ones? They shove their anti-God, pro-depravity propaganda down people’s throats, and we’re the ‘cult’? Tell me, brother, does having drag queens prancing around in preschools while banning religion from public schools make sense to any sane and mentally stable adult?”

As an active board member of the Candle Coalition, Raymond was completely simpatico with Edwin on just how upside-down modern culture had become.

“In the Bible, you could swap out Sodom and Gomorrah with San Francisco and LA, and not even the Pope would notice.”

Both men gave a forlorn grimace. They sipped at their coffee, then got to the matter at hand.

“This is not our first rodeo,” Edwin said. “And it won’t be our last. But we’re taking heat from these political hacks. They want some scalps to display on their mantles.”

Harper’s recovery had added to the string of what the media were now referring to as “so-called” or “alleged” miracles. Neither man nor their organizations would ever make such claims regarding Harper’s or Nikki's recoveries, and their legal teams would never allow it.

To these men of faith, it was prayer that saved these people, and they had no qualms about stating that. People could choose to believe that or not. That was up to them. Same for the doctors and medical experts who had come out of the woodwork to grab their 15 minutes of fame.

“They can call for scalps all they want,” Raymond said dismissively. “And they can call us a cult. But the fact is, these people were knocking at death’s door, and now they’re healed and healthy. I can’t give a medical reason for that.”

“Neither can the doctors,” Edwin agreed.

Raymond nodded. “So, who’s to say it’s not a miracle? It’s as good an explanation as any.”

“It’s the proverbial leap of faith,” Edwin agreed. “It comes down to one’s worldview.”

Edwin paused for a beat and looked at his friend before continuing.

“We’re under an inordinate amount of pressure. Financial pressure.” He paused again. ”There’s talk of reviewing our 501 (c) status.”

“What’s new about that?” Raymond scoffed. “We’re both hearing that. At the Coalition and at the foundation.” He looked questioningly at his friend and partner. “Come on, Edwin. How many times have we both seen that movie?”

“Many times.”

“But this time it’s different?” Raymond gave a sarcastic laugh.

“It is different this time. Washington’s all over this. And you know who I’m talking about.”

Raymond knew he was referring to Akhila Bakshi, a 52-year-old social activist lawyer who had become commissioner of the Internal Revenue Service when a new administration came to power a little under two years earlier.

A long-time promoter of social justice, Bakshi was also a well-connected and effective fundraiser, a top “bundler” in D.C. circles. When the new President suggested an ambassadorship as a thank you for her help in the election, she had quickly declined, suggesting she head the IRS instead.

The savvy political operator, who had passed both the CPA and bar exams in her twenties, knew tax policy was where she could wield the kind of influence she desired. From her years of operating in the shadows and backrooms of Congress, she understood, and played, the game as well as the most veteran politicians. Better, in her mind.

While studying both law and accounting, she had taken a deep dive into the infamous R&D Tax Credit and how politicians and political action committees, or PACs, used it. Folks on both sides of the aisle raised, she knew, raised money by pitting one side against the other. Only naive idealists argued over policy and what was “best for the American people.”

Bakshi, on the other hand, subscribed to the Saul Alinsky School of “persuasion.” Her studies showed, and her career as an activist and Washington insider proved, that rational persuasion was no match for raw power. And what better way to wield power than through arcane, government-enforced tax law?

During her nomination for commissioner, she deftly paid lip service to the need for an agnostic, non-partisan IRS. But once in power, it wasn’t long before she found ways to emulate her hero, Cass Weinstein, and start “nudging” the IRS and organizations, particularly non-profit groups, to adapt rules, regulations, and tax policies to create a fairer and more equitable playing field. While that sounded good in principle and on TV, a level playing field was not her goal or that of the President’s team. She focused on manipulating regulations and outcomes. The concept of fairness was fungible and fickle. Getting the desired results, by any means, was all that mattered.

Now, not quite two years into her position as head of the IRS, she was starting to achieve those results. While religion remained a formidable force in the United States, Bakshi continued to chip away at that power through the avenue she knew best, tax law.

What made her so effective as a fundraiser and power broker, and dangerous as an opponent, was how she never let idealism get in the way of her practicality and unwavering, laser-like focus on implementing her plans.

She wholeheartedly supported the separation of church and state. Not for the ideals espoused by the Leftist activists who railed against all things religious. Bakshi embraced the modern interpretation of this “separation,” which she was well aware was nowhere in the Constitution, as a tool, a weapon, she could wield in her favor.

For the first century and a half of America's existence, there was no such separation. The Founders never intended to keep God out of schools or the public square. The First Amendment simply said that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”

But over the ensuing decades, the interpretation of that ban had morphed into something altogether different.

Religion, particularly that of the Judeo- Christian variety, came under attack. It was not by coincidence that those attacks coincided with the rise of the aggressively secular, anti-religion, anti-nuclear family Soviet Union, starting in the first quarter of the 20th century. Many intellectuals in the West shared that sentiment. And as time passed and people of that political persuasion deliberately infiltrated and assumed control of America’s educational infrastructure, the separation of church and state subtly morphed from a tool to protect individual rights into a weapon to destroy them, particularly rights of the religious variety.

Gradually but always unceasingly, the Left wielded that weapon to suppress the teaching of Judeo-Christian values in schools. It took decades, but eventually Christmas became Xmas, Merry Christmas became Happy Holidays, and BC became BCE, semantic nonsense changing Before Christ to Before Common Era. It didn't seem to matter to those who pushed this change that the “Common Era” still began with the birth of Jesus.

In her own mind, Bakshi was much too practical to believe in Christianity or Judaism or Islam or any religion. But she was also far too astute not to see the anti-faith movement for what it was: a replacement of one religion for another.

Whether it was Christmas songs and prayer in school or the latest climate change hysteria, it wasn’t a question of being pro or anti-religion. It was simply a matter of choosing which religion to believe.

Bakshi often laughed to herself at how the greatest thing the devil ever did was to convince people on the Left that they were not “religious,” that they had no god. They proclaimed themselves pro-science. This freed them up to impose on everyone what was, in fact, their own religion, conveniently sanctioned by and separate from the state.

From climate change, trans rights, and drag queen classes for kids, to abortion up until the time of birth, they had free rein to do as they pleased. The state only shackled those who had the gall to profess a belief in and adherence to a “religion.” The secular crowd had freed itself from such restrictions.

And Bakshi took full advantage. As every good lawyer and accountant — or carpenter, for that matter — knows, the devil is in the details. While she didn’t believe in either God or the devil, she understood details, understood them exceedingly well.

With her powers as IRS commissioner, she worked effectively and, as Edwin was coming to realize, ruthlessly to give advantages to organizations and activities she favored, while constructing obstacles for those she didn’t. Like the Candle Coalition.

The fact that many people, including a large swath of Christians, viewed the Candle Coalition as a cult made accomplishing her goals much easier. Few people had sympathy for a controversial group with movie stars and celebrities as members, one that had a history of hunting down heretics who dared to leave the flock. Targeted tax regulations and restrictions on charitable donations were easier to manipulate within Congress when the target was seen by many as an unpopular, vindictive, religious cult.

Edwin had seen trouble brewing since Bakshi became commissioner, and it was only intensifying. Recent events surrounding the Candle Coalition and Hope Never Fades Foundation had him directing his army of lawyers to find a solution. And now they may have found a potential sacrificial lamb, Raymond Riley.

“You’re not going to like this,” Edwin told his friend.

“If that’s your opener, I’m sure I won’t.”

Edwin explained how his legal team had received backdoor messages from Bakshi’s closest confidants that they might be willing to make a deal, a trade of sorts.

The pressure stemmed from the complicated and convoluted tax strategy Edwin and team had constructed years ago. Like an opaque and nearly impossible-to-decipher collection of shell companies used to hide assets, the Candle Coalition’s tax-exempt status was complex. In the eyes of many, including Commissioner Bakshi, such complexity was the most convincing evidence of fraudulent intent.

Edwin’s high-powered attorneys made sure that evidence was virtually impossible to find, let alone prove. The Candle Coalition’s 501 (c) status involved an inscrutable web of leases-turned-sales-turned-donations of the organization’s extensive land holdings and a myriad of other assets.

Bakshi was hardly the first to suspect the complicated financial structure as a front to hide Edwin’s enormous personal wealth. But generous donations to politicians on both sides of the aisle, along with a fiercely loyal community of believers, tended to stymie such suspicions.

The convoluted financials were essentially impossible for anyone to decipher, even if they wanted to. But the well-promoted good deeds and charitable works of the organization were impossible to miss. Even Christians who questioned the organization’s tactics could not deny the tangible benefits it provided for underserved groups like the poor, homeless, battered women, and the mentally ill. Whether people believed it was genuine or simply self-serving, the goodwill had long provided a cloak of protection and respectability.

But Bakshi was clearly fixated on putting an end to that cozy arrangement.

Edwin turned to his friend, raising the most delicate issue at hand.

“She wants you to step down from the board. And in exchange, she ‘might’ loosen the financial screws she’s been putting on us.”

Raymond let out a groan and leaned back in his chair. He pondered the suggestion. Or was it a demand?

“There’s also something else this Bakshi witch wants,” Edwin added.

Raymond was taken aback by his scathing, venomous tone.

“She’s out for blood,” Edwin said more softly, with resignation in his voice. “She wants to hurt you personally and financially. And deeply. That’s the only way she’ll back off from crippling the Coalition.”

He paused to let the seriousness of the threat sink in.

“Hurt me financially?”

Raymond had the unmistakable confidence of a self-made man. The megarich billionaires, of which he was not yet one, had far more money than he did. But Raymond had far more money than he would ever need. He hadn’t bought or inherited this financial freedom. He had built it. And the Yoroko IPO was about to create a monetary moat of even larger proportions.

“She says you have to divest your interest in Yoroko or no deal,” Edwin told him. “Non-negotiable.”

“That’s blackmail, Edwin. Not to mention illegal, unconstitutional, and downright un-American.”

Edwin didn’t disagree. Both men thought silently as they weighed possible options to protect their respective own fiefdoms.

“It’s an existential crisis,” Edwin finally said. “And you know I don’t use that term lightly.”

If Bakshi didn’t collect a fresh scalp, she wasn’t going to back off. And from talks with his most-trusted advisers, Edwin believed the only way to save his beloved Coalition (and the perks it awarded him) would be to throw his friend, as gently as he could, under the proverbial bus.

“I have no doubt it’s a serious threat,” Raymond said. “But do I really need to tell you how I respond to threats? Especially threats from self-righteous, unelected officials who’ll be out when the next administration comes in?”

It was a fair point. Politically appointed officials like Bakshi serve at the pleasure of the President. They come and go.

“Bakshi might have two more years in power,” Edwin conceded. “But she might have six if this President gets re-elected, which seems likely at this point. Whichever it is, she can do a heck of a lot of damage. Institutionalized, potentially permanent damage.”

“Nothing’s permanent, my friend.” Raymond leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, keeping his eyes locked on Edwin. “Not even bankruptcy.”

“There are financial circumstances you can recover from,” Edwin granted. “But there are some from which you can’t.”

He was loath to even vocalize the word, but the threat of rescinding the Candle Coalition’s non-profit status, or spending tens of millions of dollars to try to avoid that fate, could certainly lead to bankruptcy. And rebounding as a “disgraced and corrupt cult,” as he knew his church would be called, could prove impossible. To Edwin, the decision was clear.

“Our team has explored every possible alternative, but there simply isn’t one. It’s the only way to ensure the Coalition’s survival to carry on our mission.” Edwin looked with sympathy at his friend. “I wish there were another way. Any other way.”

Raymond stared ahead, his poker-face expression obscuring his internal reaction. Finally, he just gave a steely grin.

“I’m just the appetizer,” Raymond smirked. “They’ll just eat you last.”

He argued that submitting to such blackmail would only accelerate this government overreach. If Raymond just lay down and scurried away in the face of Bakshi’s opening salvo, her attacks would snowball, making it just a matter of time before she took down Edwin and the Candle Coalition. If ever there was a time to fight, it was now.

“Sometimes in war,” Edwin said, “a temporary retreat is the most effective attack. The only viable means of survival.”

“So, now you’re McArthur?” Raymond raised his eyebrows with a laugh.

“If we’re going to live to fight another day, we first have to survive.”

Raymond slowly shook his head, chuckling at the melodrama of the moment.

“It’s a legal battle for Christ’s sake. Not your first and not mine. We can fight this in the courts, drag it out until this Bakshi lady gets sent packing when the next regime comes in.”

“That assumes we can survive until then,” Edwin replied. ”And I don’t think we can.”

After what he felt was a sufficient pause, Edwin leaned forward and pulled out what he saw as his final trump card.

“This obviously stays between you and me, but we may have one last-ditch strategy to make you whole when all this blows over.”

Raymond waited for Edwin to continue.

“Understand that this is all predicated on you stepping down from the Coalition board. And severing all financial ties to Yoroko.”

“In other words, total capitulation.”

“No,” Edwin said. “A strategic pause. A de- escalation. Just until we can survive and regroup.”

“Regroup around what? And for what? I’m not starting over from scratch, Edwin. Not without first putting up one hell of a fight.”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Edwin assured his friend. “We’re gonna fight. But we’re going to fight smart. If we go in guns ablazing right now, we’ll get destroyed. All of us. The Coalition. Your interest in Yoroko, maybe even Yoroko itself. And your Foundation, too.”

“OK, McArthur, I’m listening. What do you have in mind?”

Edwin began a high-level explanation of a plan he had been quietly discussing with his most trusted tax and legal advisors. Like the other legal labyrinths that have served him well over the decades, he outlined a complex plan to establish a web of trusts, non-profits, and shell companies built around the Yoroko assets Raymond would be seemingly washing his hands of by donating them to his beloved Hope Never Fades Foundation.

Edwin assured his friend that such a carefully constructed maze would shield the Yoroko-generated millions from any association with Raymond. While it would take time, the generational wealth that was rightfully his would be protected.

“I promise you’ll be made whole. And we’ll do it right under Bakshi’s nose.”

Raymond just looked at his friend. He would reserve judgment until his own team reviewed exactly what Edwin had in mind.

“Well, the devil is indeed in the details,” Raymond granted for now. “And we all know that heaven is for the sinners, but hell sure ain’t for the saints.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

I’M NOT A MOVIE STAR!

At the kitchen table in Harper’s home, Arnie was seated next to the young girl and her parents. He gave them a copy of the contract for the rights to the story of the girl’s miraculous recovery, a copy both sides had just signed.

Arnie explained how much progress they had already made on the revised script, with Harper’s story now mingled in with Nikki’s.

“It’s a fantastic story. You guys are gonna love it.” He smiled warmly and excitedly at Harper. “Now we just have to figure out who’s gonna play you in the movie!”

Harper blushed and let out a girlish giggle as she looked toward her parents.

“Is somebody really gonna play me in a movie?”

“Would you rather play yourself?” Arnie teased her.

“No!” Her cheeks turned even redder. “I’m not a movie star!”

Everyone laughed. Of course, Arnie had no intention of casting her, but he was eager to get Harper and her parents excited about finding the right actress to play the part. The quicker he could assemble all the pieces to the puzzle, the faster he could get the project greenlit and into production. Any delays or complications could easily derail the momentum he had been building for several weeks.

“I tell you what, Harper,” Arnie told the young cancer survivor. “I’m going to send you some ideas I have for a young girl to play your part in the movie. I’m going to talk to her first, but as soon as she agrees, I’ll let you know right away. Sound OK?”

Looking at both Harper and her parents, he continued. “And then all three of you can decide if you agree on who it should be. But if I can get the girl I have in mind, I think you guys are gonna be excited. Very excited.”

“What about Nikki?” Harper asked. “Who’s gonna be Nikki?”

“I’ve got an idea for her part, too,” Arnie assured her.

“It’s gotta be somebody pretty,” Harper said with the earnestness of youth. “Cause Nikki is so pretty. And so nice.”

“I agree. I won’t let you down, Harper. I’m gonna find someone pretty and nice. Just like Nikki. And you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

AN EPIPHANY OF HER OWN

For some time now, Emily had been thinking about Randy’s decree for her to take ownership of the story and exploit any angles she could find to blow it up even bigger. She had read much of the media coverage surrounding Nikki, Harper, and Scott, as well as the connections to the Candle Coalition and the Hope Never Fades Foundation. She also read everything she could about the controversial Yoroko IPO and the buzz it was generating in the financial press.

But those angles had lives of their own, leaving Emily behind and forgotten. Hearing Randy’s voice in her head, berating her, she could feel the biggest story of her career slipping out of her control.

Scrolling through the news while curled up on her sofa only further depressed her. Aside from an occasional, buried reference to her NatEx articles, most coverage predominantly referenced “legitimate” outlets like the LA Times, USA Today, and New York Times.

How could poor little Emily and her “Weird & Wacky” column compete with those behemoths?

Struggling not to wallow in self-pity, Emily continued to swipe from headline to headline. It didn’t help that she kept coming across photos of Nikki and Harper that she had actually commissioned. Yes, NatEx got a photo credit in such cases, but that was basically it. Just as Randy had warned, Emily’s story had outgrown her.

It was obvious to see why the media focused on the beautiful Nikki and the cute little Harper. Advertisers have forever known that the three Bs — babes, beauties, and beasts — drive sales.

Then Emily stumbled across a photo of Scott. Decidedly neither cute nor sexy, the juxtaposition of Scott’s photo next to those of Nikki and Harper was jarring.

I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on this earlier, Emily thought to herself.

But now she had an epiphany of her own. She had found her angle: Cami.

With Randy’s command still ringing in her head, she knew her epiphany might be bogus, but it wasn’t boring.

When Nikki had her miraculous recovery, Cami was there in the room. And just before Harper suddenly shook off cancer like a mild case of the sniffles, both Nikki and Cami had visited her at the Hope Never Fades Foundation.

But when Scott Taylor was rushed to the hospital with a heart attack, it was Cami who had sat close by outside the emergency room. While it seemed an off-handed comment at the time, Emily now thought back to her conversation with Bernila following Scott’s inexplicable recovery. Bernila had noted that when she was talking with Nikki in the hospital lobby, Cami had excused himself. While Nikki and Bernila chatted, Cami had sat silently outside the triage room next to the ER entrance. Emily was well aware of Bernila’s love for the dramatic, but now she recalled how Bernila had said Cami looked as if he had been praying.

In subsequent talks and texts with Bernila, the nurse had always focused on how Scott’s recovery marked the second miracle in the same ward in the same hospital. It was all about Nikki and Scott. Later, when Harper suddenly became cancer-free, everyone, including the media, became obsessed with Nikki and Harper. Scott had become somewhat of an afterthought.

But now Emily’s new angle was crystallizing in her mind: Cami was the glue that held them all together. What she had no way of knowing was that an ex-con and religious zealot had recently stumbled upon a similar epiphany.

What role Cami actually played in this drama was beside the point. Not bound by the same rules and regards for the “truth” as “respectable” publications, NatEx was free to embellish connections for the sake of a good story. Emily knew Randy would expect no less.

Right under the snobby noses of the “legitimate,” and, she knew, often lazy, echo-chamber journalists, she had done some digging around into Cami’s background on both sides of his family, something she correctly guessed others wouldn’t bother to do. After discovering that Cami’s grandmother’s maiden name was Lagomarsino, rudimentary Google-level research also led her to stories of one St. Caterina Lagomarsino, with unsubstantiated references to some lineage to Cami’s maternal grandmother’s side of the family.

To Emily, it didn’t matter if St. Caterina was actually related to Cami’s family or if she had really performed the stigmata miracles for which she had been canonized. She also knew that a media filled with the ultra-progressive, anti-religion journos was not inclined to know, or care, about an obscure holy person who died 200 years ago.

Besides, Emily thought, this is NatEx. And Randy. Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

It was an angle Emily knew she could be the first to exploit, one that would make Randy proud.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

COME AND GET IT

Manny was pretty sure that Cami and Nikki didn’t recognize him sitting in his car when their paths sort of crossed outside their apartment. Cami had paused and tried to peek inside, but it was dark, and the couple had just kept walking.

Nonetheless, it felt a little too close for comfort. Manny would need to be more careful when doing his stalking in person. He had to assume it was his car that had almost given him away since he was sure that neither Nikki nor Cami knew what he looked like. Hell, they had no reason to even know that he even existed. He was just being paranoid.

The paranoia may have just been in his head, but Manny’s rage was real. Rage against the “miracles” that Nikki and her Hollywood husband were exploiting for profit in the name of his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Rage against hypocritical, fake believers like Fr. Bautista and his church-group posers and against the manipulative exploitations of the likes of those scumbag leaders of the Candle Coalition and the Hope Never Fades Foundation. Even rage against that little girl and her parents, who, Manny was sure, were also in on the scam.

It was all there for the whole world to see. All anyone had to do was simply open their eyes to the truth.

Karma’s a killer, Manny laughed to himself. These greedy scumbags, every last one of them, were about to get fully exposed. And punished. Either by the press or by Manny himself.

Glorious and grandiose thoughts of revenge were giving Manny the clear purpose and course of action he had been searching for.

The LA Times had run an in-depth, less-than- favorable profile that read like an opening salvo of a major expose of the Candle Coalition and the Hope Never Fades Never Foundation.

Edwin Eldridge and his Candle Coalition, in particular, were certainly no strangers to controversy. Now, Raymond Riley was under increasing scrutiny as the media latched onto the windfall coming his way with the Yoroko IPO right as his foundation was making headlines with Harper’s miraculous recovery, right after a brain-dead Nikki had awoken like a modern-day Lazarus. To feed the narrative, the media also showcased Scott Taylor’s inexplicable recovery.

Simultaneously with these “miracles,” the LA Times’ writers had pointed out that the Candle Coalition and Hope Never Fades Foundation were soliciting donations around these recoveries. And in addition to fixating on the riches Raymond Riley stood to reap with the Yoroko IPO, they highlighted the new movie about Nikki and Harper, said to be in the works.

Manny smiled smugly as he took it all in. Your comeuppance is coming, my friends. Come and get it. Come and get what you deserve.

Being careful to insert terms like “allegedly,” “reportedly,” and “according to anonymous sources,” the LA Times piece outlined potential legal and financially painful problems Edwin Eldridge, Raymond Riley, and their organizations faced.

But Manny wasn’t looking for the media or anyone else to do his dirty work. As a soldier of Christ, he would join the fight, not merely watch from the sidelines.

Manny would give praise to God as these infidels suffered the fate they deserved, and garner some glory for himself at the same time.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

FAMILY LORE

The Hollywood storyline added glitz to the buzz already surrounding Nikki, Scott, and Harper. The trades were reporting details and rumors surrounding the film and who would sign on to star in it. And the mainstream media happily stoked those fires.

For Arnie Corbelli, it was a movie producer’s dream. For Cami and Nikki, it had turned from nuisance to nightmare, increasingly wiping out any semblance of their once-normal life.

Amid the hype and hoopla, it wasn’t lost on Cami that Nonna’s passing merited not a single mention beyond an obituary in the local paper.

And now, no longer obliged or inclined to clear stories with Nikki and Cami, Emily stirred the pot with a new story focused on Cami as the common denominator tying everything together. Cami suspected Randy of being the behind-the-scenes puppet master.

Whether it was Randy or Emily, someone at NatEx had done some digging and “discovered” some flimsy connection between Cami and St. Caterina Lagomarsino. The tabloid speculated that she was a distant but direct relative of Cami based solely on Nonna’s maiden name.

Even after Nonna had revealed her “secret” about St. Caterina to her grandson, Cami had assumed this alleged bloodline was nothing more than family lore. When he was just a kid, he remembered hearing the story of how they were descendants of St. Caterina on his grandmother’s side. It had made more sense in those days before a quick Google search could dispel such speculations or at least muddy the waters swirling around such dubious claims.

Years later, out of curiosity and well before his bedside talk with his grandmother, Cami had Googled the family name and was genuinely surprised to see there were both Camiglianos and Lagomarsinos all over the world. The surnames he had assumed were rare were not nearly as uncommon as he had assumed. It would be overly dramatic to say that discovery shattered his faith in family fairy tales of their direct connection to St. Caterina, but it did prove that the chances of Nonna’s story being true were, at best, suspect. Any one of those Lagomarsinos he had found across from Italy, Arizona, New Jersey, Melbourne, Scotland, or anywhere else could just as easily and plausibly make that same claim on a family lineage.

Nonetheless, when he saw Nikki lying unconscious in a coma, he had figured what did he have to lose. Whether it was God’s doing or Nonna’s or Cami’s or Nikki’s or just some cosmic coincidence, it didn’t matter. She did recover.

And it certainly didn’t matter what Cami believed to be the cause of her recovery. Like Nonna told him, believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth. The truth was, Nikki had recovered.

The same applied to Harper and Scott. Who saved them? Michael Camigliano, grandson of a saint on his grandmother’s side of the family? That was patently absurd on all counts, except one. All these “miracles” had indeed happened, whether Cami was involved or not.

Whatever was true or false, he had to admit that Emily’s latest story rattled him.

His earlier irrational fears of getting “exposed” seemed to be nearing their target, like an artillery gunner recalibrating his sights for a direct hit with the next round.

In the initial days after Emily’s latest piece had come out, Cami had tried to take solace in the fact that it was NatEx, the UFO-loving tabloid, that had broken the story, not a more “trustworthy” news outlet.

He had to give Emily credit for connecting him with the historically provable existence of St. Caterina, no matter how tenuous that connection to Cami’s lineage might actually be. To him, the idea of a direct lineage fell somewhere between absurd and implausible.

It also didn’t matter, at least not to an increasingly paranoid Cami, that even if someone somehow proved he was actually related to St. Caterina, no one would be either imaginative or delusional enough to suspect he had anything to do with the recoveries of his wife, Harper, or Scott. As far as he knew, now that Nonna had passed, he and Nikki were the only people who had ever heard of his grandmother’s wild tale.

Yet, he couldn’t deny that in a moment of desperation, he had consumed what Nonna had insisted was the “Blood of Christ.” It didn’t matter if it was or wasn’t what she had believed it to be. Looking at his beautiful wife lying in a coma, he had betrayed Nonna’s trust by consuming the contents of that little vial as his last, desperate attempt to save her, as absurd as it sounded then and still does.

Mere coincidence or not, it had worked. And then came Scott. And Harper. And movie rights. And a media storm of cults and controversies.

As they say, a lie can travel around the world before the truth has time to put its boots on. Cami just wasn’t sure who he was in that metaphor. The only thing he could say with some certainty was that he felt the walls closing in, and he was about to find out.

Lying in bed one night more than a week after Emily’s new story had added fuel to the media firestorm, Nikki snuggled her head on Cami’s shoulder as the couple both stared blankly ahead.

“We need an escape plan from our own lives,” Nikki half-joked. “Maybe I’ll make a go-bag in case we need to run away on a moment’s notice. You know, like pregnant women do when they know their baby could come any day.”

They simultaneously nodded in agreement and shook their heads in disbelief, still unable to fathom just how strange and abnormal their lives had become.

Little did they know that an ex-con and religious zealot was about to put an end to any hopes of a return to normalcy.

To Manny, Emily’s latest article wasn’t conjecture or conspiracy. It was confirmation. Confirmation that Nikki and Cami were not innocent pawns in this giant grift. They were the ringleaders.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

TWO THINGS CAN BE TRUE AT ONCE

To his friends and many industry insiders, Arnie was a hard-driving producer who knew how to put teams together and get things done. To his critics, he was just a self-centered sleazebag. As they say, two things can be true at once.

Barely two months had passed since Arnie had signed the deal with Harper and her parents. Rights secured for her story and those of Nikki and Scott, he had incentivized Dustin Grenier to finish his rewrites to the script to bring in Harper’s character and storyline. Simultaneously, Arnie had worked his contacts to get in touch with the actress he thought would be perfect to play Nikki: Tara Cerese.

The right age with a tomboyish-ly sexy look, Cerese had another trait that Arnie figured he could use as an angle to get her to sign onto the project. She was openly Catholic, somewhat of a rarity in Hollywood circles.

While not a surefire box office draw, Tara’s biggest IMDB credits were her role in one big-budget action fantasy. Years earlier, she had also rather convincingly portrayed a strung-out teen in a gritty indie film that later became somewhat of a cult classic, giving her street cred to go along with her more recently found fame.

Arnie had guessed, correctly, that Nikki’s story would appeal to Tara. She had read Dustin’s script and immediately connected with Nikki’s character and liked the subplot exploring the ambiguity of the medical industry’s relationship with science, positive thinking, religion, and the power and delusion of prayer.

Tara was also intrigued by Cami’s part in the script. As Tara read his character’s role as the “starving and struggling” low-budget effects guy, she was soon reading the lines in her head in the voice of the effects guy she had worked with on her indie film.

As soon as Tara had finished the script, she texted Arnie to say she was on board. She even had some ideas on actors to play the roles of Harper and the effects guy.

***

As Arnie had expected, he had not garnered much enthusiasm from the big studios. Only one had given a flat-out no, while the others had either not responded or had simply passed his proposal onto some anonymous assistant to maybe review. The wheels were turning far too slowly for the always impatient Arnie.

Having learned to always have a plan B, he had reached out to the second-tier studios as soon as he had sensed hesitation from the major players. Twenty years ago, he would have had fewer cards to play, but the rise of independent studios, including several with a family-friendly, religious bent, had greatly expanded the number of potential outlets.

Arnie had quickly targeted Pietas Pictures, a studio that had found success by bridging quality entertainment with a non-preachy, spiritual message.

Derived from the word piety, or faith, Pietas Pictures had already produced a string of profitable hits. Unburdened by the bloated budgets of the blockbuster studios driven by big-name, high-cost talent, Pietas also had the advantage of a built-in and passionate audience eager for an alternative to the typical Hollywood fare. Particularly for its adult-oriented movies, Pietas consciously avoided the saccharine, God-is-Great trope typical of “religious” movies.

Billing itself as “Enlightened Entertainment,” Pietas Pictures was receptive to Arnie’s pitch. They liked the story, and Tara, in the leading role, had appeal on multiple levels. In addition to her name recognition, social media presence, and public reputation as a person of faith, she was a financial fit for the studio. Casting her wouldn’t break the bank.

At an impressive clip, all the pieces were falling into place for Arnie. And now Emily’s provocative piece, hinting that Cami might be the linchpin behind the recoveries of Nikki, Scott, and Harper — and related to an actual saint — was adding gasoline to the fire.

Loving this unexpected gift, Arnie didn’t care if the Cami connection was true or not. Even before Emily’s latest story came out, Pietas Pictures had shown clear interest in making the movie. And Arnie knew he could easily incorporate this new twist into his script.

This new world order of fake news masquerading as misinformation and disinformation had metastasized far beyond tabloids like NatEx. Mainstream outlets breathed new life into the story, stirring both interest and outrage among religious factions and disdain and derision among anti-faith atheists, particularly those on the Left.

Nothing like a good, old-fashioned culture war to stir up the fighting factions and curiosity among agnostic bystanders. The trick, Arnie knew, was not to find common ground, but to find common enemies.

If he played his cards right, Arnie figured he could piss everyone off.

While he pitched the script as a story of faith and miracles, Arnie knew the real selling point was controversy and conflict.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

IF YOU DON’T HAVE A SWORD

Emily’s story on Cami had been the final straw for Manny.

It was one thing to take the Lord’s name in vain. It was far worse — unforgivable, in Manny’s mind — to take credit for the Lord’s work. This hypocritical, little Hollywood scumbag was now claiming he was Christ? With the healing powers to save people? While cashing in at the same time?

It didn’t matter that neither Cami nor Nikki had ever claimed such power. Only a fool or a liar could not read between the lines and connect the dots. And Manny was neither.

He didn’t know how much money Nikki and Cami and Harper and Scott and NatEx and Pietas Pictures and those Candle Coalition cultists were raking in, all in the guise of some manufactured “miracles.” He just knew they all had their fingers in the pie.

Manny’s faith and his God were real. The “religion” of these hypocrites was just the “opiate of the masses” at best, or cynical, self-serving greed at worst.

As Luke had written, “If you don’t have a sword, sell your cloak and buy one.”

For Manny, the time for staying silent and docile had passed. Was he a Christian soldier or a pious patsy? He was being called to take up arms. He resolved to answer that call.

It was time to pay Cami a visit and confront him.

CRUCIFIXION

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

THE LINCHPIN

More than six months had now passed since Nikki’s skiing accident had set off a chain of events neither she nor Cami could have imagined. The level of media coverage had reached ludicrous levels and showed no signs of slowing. From daytime hosts to network talking heads to young YouTubers and TikTokers, the incessant coverage went after every possible storyline, no matter how absurd.

True or false, embraced or rejected, the media’s obsession with the miracle's narrative had uprooted the young couple’s life like a mudslide, contaminating everything in its wake. Cami and Nikki felt rudderless, with no brakes to slow the momentum or mitigate the impact of a seemingly inevitable crash.

The final straw was Emily’s article suggesting that Cami was somehow the linchpin that tied all these events together.

As that storyline took on a life of its own, Cami and Nikki decided their only hope was to bypass the media. To try and regain some modicum of control of the “narrative,” they would tell their story in their own words.

Nikki fiddled with the mini tripod they had set up and hit record. Cami began talking.

“I would never tell this story to anyone – let alone share it publicly – except for one thing. You already know me. And my story.” He looked up at Nikki standing out of view. “Our story.”

As Cami continued to describe the events of the last few months and the craziness it had stirred within the press, Nikki came around to join him on camera.

“We’re normal people,” Nikki said, as she sat next to her husband, looking directly, almost pleadingly, into the camera. “I don’t know why I recovered so quickly, or why Harper and Scott did, either. I don’t know if it was a ‘miracle,’” she said, holding up air quotes. “But I’m definitely thankful, and happy for everyone involved.”

Before starting the recording, Cami and Nikki had talked about setting the record straight by insisting they had absolutely nothing to do with Nikki’s or anyone else’s sudden recoveries. These events were just wonderful and random.

But as much as they were inclined to state that clearly and emphatically, neither quite believed it.

Cami, in particular, didn’t want to disrespect Nonna. She had absolutely believed that the little vial passed down to her contained the Blood of Christ. And in an act of desperation that only Nikki and Cami knew he had done, he had consumed its contents.

Only a fool, of course, would believe doing that had somehow given Cami the power to heal. But here was Nikki sitting right next to him, fully recovered.

If Cami and Nikki were now to publicly deny that his act had anything to do with her recovery or that of the others, it would be a betrayal of Nonna’s trust, a flat-out rejection of her fervently held belief.

Cami listened as Nikki tried to dispel the crazy rumors that her husband was somehow behind all these inexplicable recoveries, but without emphatically denying them either.

“Cami is not some egomaniac with a God complex for Christ’s sake!”

The choice of words caught them both off guard. And as soon as they came out of her mouth, Cami and Nikki began to laugh.

The nervous tension of the last few weeks seemed to gush out like a burst pipe. It was that nervous, uncontrollable laughter that always comes at the most inappropriate times. The more they thought about how stupid they must look, the harder they laughed.

Just then came a loud, angry banging on their front door. Nonstop.

Cami didn’t know how or who, but he instinctively felt someone had tracked them down.

The couple had scoffed at the notion of preparing a go-bag when Nikki had half-jokingly suggested they might need one a few weeks earlier. But hearing the thunderous pounding on the door, Cami was glad Nikki had insisted on both of them making one.

The couple grabbed their stuff and headed out the back door. They could find out later who was pummeling the door and why.

As they fled, Cami and Nikki couldn’t see the deranged look on Manny’s face as he slammed his fist on their front door. Righteous rage was rushing through his veins.

CHAPTER EIGHTY

GOOD LUCK FINDING THE PEARLS

Raymond had come to realize he had no option but to accept that his financial interest in Yoroko was over. Superficially, that is.

IRS commissioner Bakshi was a shrewd and able adversary. To deny that would be foolish. But to cave would be fatal. He had studied Bakshi’s background. She was ambitious, aggressive, cunning, and arrogant. An excellent student of human nature, Raymond instinctively knew that would prove to be her weakness.

While Raymond shared many of the same traits, but prided himself, oddly enough, on his ability to control that pride. From a young age, Raymond took to heart the saying that “pride goes before the destruction.”

Keep your pride in check and give people what they want, he understood, and they will give you what you want.

He had given much thought to Edwin’s plan to circumvent his financial destruction by giving in to Bakshi’s demand that Raymond sever all ties with Yoroko. Her desire to get vengeance would give Raymond the cloak he needed to shield his ultimate endgame from her field of vision.

He would publicly walk away from Yoroko and the riches the IPO promised, handing Bakshi the scalp she so clearly wanted. He would take the high road. He would walk away from millions of dollars and donate it all to the Hope Never Fades Foundation to show the IRS, Wall Street, and the world that neither the Foundation nor Yoroko had ever been about the money.

“Just think of all the good those funds can do,” Raymond said to Edwin as they chatted privately.

“Absolutely. It just goes to show that capitalism is at the heart of true compassion.”

Both men nodded knowingly.

“You and I both know that all the bleeding- heart do-gooders do nothing,” Raymond told his friend. “Whether it’s you building the Coalition or me funding the Foundation through Yoroko profits, without doers like you and me, the Bakshis of the world wouldn’t have anybody to steal from. It’d just be one big government circle-jerk of people putting their greedy hands into a world of empty pockets.”

As they patted themselves on the back for being so selfless, what Raymond didn’t tell his friend, because he didn’t have to, was that his army of lawyers was already building an impenetrable labyrinth of shell companies to ensure his rightful share of the Yoroko bounty funneled into his own pockets, a funnel that would be virtually untraceable.

He also understood that once Bakshi basked in the thunderous praise of all the good she had done “for the people” and how her actions had proven that government can be the true force for good, she would move on like a full-bellied lioness looking back with pride at the bloody carcass of her latest kill.

Even if Bakshi believed it was all a ruse, which she likely would, she would be long out of office and power before she could even begin to try and prove it. And public interest would have long since moved on to the latest scandal du jour.

As the two men mulled over the soundness of their strategy, Edwin smiled.

“Such is the beauty of our legal system,” he said. “It’s a shell game. And if you shuffle the shells right, good luck finding the pearls.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

RUNNING OUT OF OPTIONS

As Cami and Nikki raced out of their apartment and drove off, Cami noticed that same familiar vehicle parked on the street, the one he kept seeing in recent weeks.

The couple drove in silence for a few miles, their hearts and minds racing. Once they’d driven far enough away, they pulled into a crowded parking lot structure and took a deep breath.

“I’m scared,” Nikki said. “What’s going on? Who was that?”

Cami just shrugged and held her hand. He didn’t mention the familiar car he had seen parked on their street and wasn’t sure if Nikki had noticed it. In the heat of that moment, she probably hadn’t.

“So, what do we do now?” Cami looked at Nikki. They both wished it was a rhetorical question, but it wasn’t. They needed a plan.

“We should go to the police,” Nikki said. “Whoever that was, they’re crazy. And violent.”

Cami didn’t disagree. He nodded softly as they looked out the windshield of their car.

“But what are we gonna tell them?” Cami asked. “The police, I mean.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe that some insane, crazy person is after us and pounding on our front door! How about that?”

“I get it, I do.” Cami shared her fear and concern. “But let’s think about this for a second.”

Nikki was not the type to panic or get hysterical. Cami knew she was tough and level-headed, but their sanity was getting tested in the chaos of recent events.

“All we can tell the police right now is that someone banged on our door. It’s frightening…. but not exactly a crime.”

Nikki took a deep breath.

“Let’s talk to Emily and Randy,” Nikki said. “They’re media people with connections. Maybe they can help in some way.”

Without saying so, Cami thought back to his initial hesitations about getting involved with NatEx. Not exactly the New York Times or 60 Minutes. Then again, he thought to himself, today those organizations have taken on the stench of tabloids, but probably with nicer boardrooms.

“Emily and Randy?” Cami didn’t want to instantly squash the suggestion, but he had his doubts and was sure Nikki did, too.

“Well, I don’t know. I’m scared and don’t know what to do.” After a long pause, she looked at her husband. “Jesus, what did we get ourselves into?”

They both looked at each other with ironic amusement but no laughter.

In a feeble attempt to wrestle some control over their situation and sanity, Nikki looked at Cami and deadpanned, “It’ll take a miracle to get us out of this mess.”

This time, they both let out a quiet laugh.

“I have no idea how we get out of this mess,” Cami said. “But there’s no one I’d rather be in this mess with than you.”

“Me, too.”

They leaned into each other and kissed.

“I have an idea,” Cami said. “It’s an insane and crazy one, but….” He looked straight ahead through the windshield with a blank stare. “But maybe not any crazier than what we’ve already been through.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

A TOTAL SHYSTER

“Done and dusted, my friend!”

With a big smile and a hearty slap on the table between them, Arnie slid the signed contract toward Dustin. “Pietas Pictures has signed on the dotted line.”

Dustin leaned forward to take a peek, then looked up at the beaming producer. “So, I’m actually gonna get paid now?”

“Absolutely.” Arnie scooped up the contract with a flourish. “Check’s in the mail.”

Dustin’s wry smile concealed genuine respect for Arnie’s ability to keep projects moving forward. It wouldn’t be Dustin’s biggest payday, but it did mark the first time he would get an executive producer credit on a film. Arnie had persuaded the Pietas team to agree to it, a nice bonus for a screenwriter looking to advance his career.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” Dustin said with a straight face. “I don’t think you’re a total shyster.”

Both men were pleased to get their initial ducks in order. But they had no illusions of how much work still lay ahead.

For Dustin, he knew multiple rewrites would come before the project made its way into production. But as one of the executive producers, he would have more input on those rewrites and any tweaks made in conjunction with the director when they actually started shooting scenes.

Arnie, for his part, knew the next two years of his life would largely revolve around the production and promotion of the project. From finding and managing funding to assembling a cast and crew, not to mention acting as liaison between temperamental actors, artistic directors, and studio executives, distributors, and more, he knew well what lay ahead.

Already in high gear, Arnie now shifted into beast mode. He understood that building the behind-the-scenes infrastructure was essential to making an on-time and on-budget film. He also understood that building buzz around a movie from script, to screen, to streaming, was key to a studio — and Arnie — making real money.

Fortuitously, with ongoing national coverage and a perfect storm of controversy and intrigue, the publicity was already built in. Arnie just had to exploit it. And exploit it, he did.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

ESCAPE ROOM

Cami initially, but only fleetingly, thought about driving over to Jason’s place to get help from his friend for the crazy idea he had floated to Nikki. He knew Jason would always jump in to help a friend in need in normal circumstances, like helping him move. But this was more like asking a buddy to help move a dead body.

Cami and Nikki looked at each other with the same thought, but from different perspectives. Just how insane and untethered from reality was Cami for even saying what he was thinking out loud? And why hadn’t she already pulled the ripcord and bailed out?

In a nutshell, Cami’s plan was to fake his own death.

He’d use his skills as a special effects artist to make it look like he’d been shot, gunned down by some unhinged lunatic obsessed with all the news surrounding the string of “miracles.”

The idea had come to Cami as he and Nikki sat in their car in the mall parking lot. He thought back to Emily’s latest NatEx article, where she had floated the far-fetched notion that Cami was somehow connected to the miracles allegedly performed by St. Caterina.

After seeing that familiar car near their apartment multiple times and then hearing the violent knock on their front door, he had concocted an elaborate conspiracy theory.

“Look, I know it sounds insane…” Cami began.

“You think?!”

He had found deranged inspiration from Emily’s story and the media’s furor and fascination surrounding the recoveries. He mixed that with the animosity that had surfaced between the religious right and ardent atheists. He concocted the idea of an unhinged zealot killing him in the name of God.

While Nikki thought he was nuts, she figured immediately calling him that might be like dangerously waking up a sleepwalker. Maybe it was best just to play along until Cami came to his senses. She feared he might snap if she shook him out of his delusions too suddenly.

To bide some time until her husband came back from crazy town while also showing she was a loyal wife, she had agreed to brainstorm a “persona” for the kind of imaginary man Cami described. Using her advertising exec skills, she would craft a campaign targeting a certain demographic.

Age, income, interests, education level, friend groups, political affiliation, etc. Anything and everything to make a profile and paint a picture.

Now in her element, Nikki temporarily suspended her disbelief and got into the “game” of it all. As they built their elaborately detailed persona of this non-existent man, Nikki and Cami put aside the obvious elephant in the room: If they somehow pulled off this fake shooting, what would they do next? It felt like they were building an escape room with no exits.

Nikki had no doubt that Cami could handle the special effects part of the job. He’d spent his young career around squibs and all the other accouterments of fake gunshots and violence. Now she watched Cami fiddle through the tools he had pulled out of the trunk of his car. He even pulled out a small case with a fake gun, the same one, in fact, that he had used in Comic Assassin.

Even though she knew it was just a prop, the sight of Cami holding the gun made Nikki uncomfortable.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Cami’s tone and expression suddenly put Nikki more at ease. The look in his eyes showed that the man she knew and loved hadn’t gone completely off his rocker.

“You little…!” Nikki slapped him in fake and relieved disgust. “I really thought you had lost your mind.”

Cami grinned.

“Wait a minute…” Nikki sat up straight in her car seat. “Is this all just a prank? Is it all fake, like that gun? Did you have Jason pound on the door just to scare the hell out of me?”

“I wish.” Cami got serious once again. “This mess we’re in is all too real.”

Nikki stared at her husband silently for several moments before responding. “I can’t take this anymore. I don’t know what to believe. Just tell me. What the hell is going on?”

Cami held her hand.

“I honestly don’t know. But I think someone or some group or groups have bought into their own insanity. It feels like we’re getting targeted by all sides. Right-wing religious types seem to either love or totally despise us. And the hardcore, anti-religion atheists think we’re money-grubbing, publicity-seeking hypocrites.”

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?” Nikki pleaded with a sigh. “We’re not hurting anybody.”

Cami had no response as a million scenarios and options ran through his head, none of them plausible or rational.

“Look, I’m sorry for even floating the idea of faking my own death. I just lost it. I plead temporary insanity.”

Nikki smiled, relieved to see signs of a return to reality.

“But we did come up with a pretty good profile,” Nikki said, trying to add some much-needed levity. “We probably have a future at the FBI.”

Cami gave a half-hearted smile.

“I was just reaching for any way out of this mess.”

“I know,” Nikki said softly. “We both were. We both still are.”

“Sad, but true. We still need a way out.”

Cami and Nikki looked straight ahead in silence as they once again continued to weigh their options.

“Maybe Randy is our best option,” Cami finally said. “As weird as that seems, maybe he’s our best chance to start finding a way to end this media madness and get our lives back.”

The couple discussed how they could reach out to Randy and set up a meeting. Given the flood of rumors surrounding NatEx, the Candle Coalition, and the Hope Never Fades Foundation, they weren’t sure if they could trust Randy or anyone else involved. But they weren't exactly swimming in options. But Randy did, at least, understand the world of media. He was as good a starting point as any they had.

At Cami’s insistence, they agreed he’d meet one-on-one with Randy. If something went haywire, Cami didn’t want Nikki involved. She reluctantly agreed but demanded that she stay close by.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

MASTER OF DECEIT

The road show for the Yoroko public offering was over, and the buzz around the upcoming IPO continued to grow. Wall Street expected the company to go public at $15 a share, with analysts predicting a spike well above that number on Day 1.

To keep the SEC, the IRS, and that “Bakshi witch” off Yoroko’s back to allow a smooth IPO launch, the company had agreed to divest its financial ties to Raymond Riley. At least that was the official story.

While Bakshi and many people who were skeptical of Raymond and his ties to both Yoroko and the Hope Never Fades Foundation had their suspicions of financial foul play, they had no easily discerned legal proof. With their close-knit teams of tax and legal specialists, Raymond and Edwin had constructed an impenetrable web to hide their long-term plan.

To the outside world, Raymond’s Yoroko fortune would be donated to the Hope Never Fades Foundation. But in the end, his share of the funds would find its way into the untraceable pockets of Raymond himself.

Manny was not financially sophisticated, but the ex-con could smell a rat.

He had become more and more convinced that something didn’t add up. He couldn’t prove it, but he also couldn’t believe that Nikki and Cami weren’t somehow padding their pockets from the massive publicity they were getting from all the “miracles” hype, not to mention their involvement in a new Hollywood film.

Same with the holier-than-thou do-gooders Edwin and Raymond. It was inconceivable to Manny that the two men were not taking a personal slice of the enormous amounts of money that continued to flow into the Candle Coalition and Hope Never Fades Foundation coffers, stoked further by the fortuitous string of “miracles” they were all too eager to promote.

You didn’t need to be a conspiracy theorist to understand that there were few things more personally profitable than a successful non-profit. Was the IRS getting hoodwinked, or were they in on the scheme? Manny wasn’t sophisticated enough to know, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to believe they all had clean hands.

What seemed like a tangled web to some was a clear money trail to Manny. There were too many connections to be just a coincidental fluke. Hollywood, Wall Street, Big Media, Big Religion. They all had their grimy fingers in the pie. And Cami and Nikki were oh-so-innocently reaping the benefits. Manny was sure of it. God may work in mysterious ways, but it’s the devil who is the master of deceit.

Manny smelled a rat. Now, he just had to catch it.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

MIRACLES OF HOPE

Contracts signed and lead actors attached, Arnie ramped up publicity for his latest project, working title Miracles of Hope. The movie came with built-in awareness, boosted by a mix of faithful Christians, charlatans, cults, controversy, and capitalists. He didn’t need to spend big money to create a big buzz.

Budget details were kept under wraps, and Arnie declined to offer any comments on whether the two charities, the Candle Coalition and the Hope Never Fades Foundation, had any financial interest. As he correctly expected, the intentional lack of transparency only fueled more interest and speculation.

Unbeknownst to Arnie, it also triggered more righteous anger from Manny. The self-proclaimed Christian soldier didn’t need any more prodding to fuel his hatred for the hypocrisy of Cami, Nikki, and everyone involved. All the buzz around the film only fed his certainty that they were all cashing in.

Miracles of Hope, my ass, Manny thought sarcastically to himself. They should call it “Greedy Little Bastards.” These money-grubbing, fake Christians might fool the world, but they wouldn’t fool him. Or God. Their day of reckoning was at hand.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

TINFOIL HAT

Having decided that Randy was their best hope of finding a way out of the mess they were in, Nikki gave him a call.

Thinking that she probably sounded like she was wearing a straitjacket with a tinfoil hat on her head, she told Randy that she couldn’t say much on the phone and didn’t want to meet at the NatEx offices.

She gave him the address of a local convenience store and asked him to meet her and Cami there in about 45 minutes.

“Sure, but what exactly is going on?” Randy asked. “You guys alright?”

“We’re fine,” Nikki assured him. “We’ll fill you in when we meet.”

“You want Emily there?”

“Thanks, but no. Just you.” Realizing how strange the whole situation must sound to Randy, she added, “We’ve just had some weird things going on and wanted to get your advice on what to do. We’ll tell you all about it when we see you.”

“You sure you guys are OK? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“We’re fine. Really.” Then she recalled another point she was supposed to make. “Oh, and Cami said he wants to meet with just you.”

“Just me? Why?”

“Well, like I said, we’ll explain everything when you get there.”

“You mean he’ll explain everything when I get there.”

“Right. He’ll tell you what’s going on.” Nikki paused, then added. “Look, I know this all sounds like some kind of spy movie, but Cami will explain everything.”

After they hung up, Cami looked at his wife.

“That was a weird call.”

“Ya think?” Nikki wondered once again what they had gotten themselves into.

Before driving over to the store to meet Randy, Cami wanted to swing by their place just to see if there was any commotion going on since they fled after the violent banging on the door. He also wanted to scan the area for any signs of that suspicious car.

They parked just down the street from their apartment for a quick look from outside. All seemed normal. No damage to the door. No signs of that car.

“Should we go inside?” Cami asked. “Everything seems normal.”

“I’m still kind of freaked out,” Nikki said. “And I blame you, mister.” She was less than half joking. “You were talking crazy back there. You wanted to fake your own death!”

“I was acting crazy,” Cami nodded. “You’re right. I was overreacting. I’m sorry.”

But they both knew their paranoia was not unfounded. The situation they found themselves in was real. Their lives had changed radically in the last few months. And whatever it was for, that banging on their door was definitely real.

“We’re not gonna solve anything just sitting here,” Cami finally said. “Let’s drop you off and go meet Randy.”

As they drove off, Cami didn’t see Manny’s car parked further down the street. After waiting a beat, he began following them.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

RUMINATION

Cami was unknowingly driving several car lengths ahead of Manny.

The mere sight of this hypocrite and his attractive wife set Manny off. For weeks now, he had been stewing on all the blasphemy and denigration of his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

He fumed over the money he was certain they were raking in on these “miracles.” He railed over the headlines and hype surrounding this perfect couple and that young girl. And now, their story will be shared with the world on the big screen.

It viscerally, physically repulsed Manny. Hell has a special place for such vile scum, people who personally and premeditatedly profit from the naive innocence of God’s children.

From his time in prison and mandatory visits with therapists, Manny knew he was engaging in what psychiatrists call rumination. But, he thought, instead of making up fancy names for their made-up “disorders,” how about these shrinks try actually healing their patients? As these quacks always say, the first step to solving a problem is to admit that you have one. It’s time for Cami and that wife of his to admit their sins. That’s their first step to salvation.

Yet, in all the media coverage he’d seen of the pair, Manny saw no hint of remorse. No signs of penance. No denials that they were personally cashing in. To Manny, their silence was a deafening admission of guilt.

It was like a fresh slap in the face from Jesus himself every time Manny witnessed their hypocrisy while he sat and did nothing. Scripture says the meek shall inherit the earth, and the strong shall turn the other cheek. But history shows evil only triumphs when good men do nothing. Manny would not be guilty of that crime.

Manny saw Cami pull into a strip mall parking lot.

Secretly enjoying playing these spy games, Manny drove right past before turning down a side street out of sight. He parked and waited a few moments before getting out of his car.

He had no reason to think Cami or Nikki knew what he looked like or would suspect that anyone, except some media types, might be following them. Confident he had nothing to fear, Manny nonetheless put on his sunglasses and hoodie, then walked toward the store where Cami had parked.

To his surprise, he saw Nikki drive away as Cami stood just outside the store talking to some man.

Why would she drive off alone? What’s their game?

Manny didn’t recognize the other man at first, but felt he had seen him before. As he walked past the two men to go into the convenience store like an ordinary customer, he got a better look.

As Manny opened the door, he saw Cami shake the guy’s hand.

“Thanks for meeting me, Randy.”

“Jesus, dude,” Randy said with his trademark cynical grin. “What the hell have you gotten yourself — and me! — into?”

With the door now closed behind him, Manny couldn't hear the rest of their conversation. But Randy and Cami continued to talk.

With more compassion than usual, Randy noted that Nikki sounded very worked up on the phone.

“She’s freaked out,” Cami said. “As you can imagine. This media coverage has been insane. I wish we had never agreed to any of this. The articles, the interviews, the movie. And now we’ve got some lunatic banging on our front door.

“What do you think that was about?”

“Who knows? We don’t know what to do,” Cami said with a mix of disgust and dismay. “So, who better to ask for help than NatExpo ?”

Neither man laughed at Cami’s sarcasm.

“Where’s Nikki going?”

“Away,” Cami answered succinctly. “I don’t know what’s going on. I wanted her to be somewhere else while we met. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“In case that lunatic banging on our door has something else in mind.”

As Randy and Cami looked at each other, Manny came back outside, still wearing his hoodie and sunglasses. Both men watched him walk past with a magazine and an energy drink in hand.

As he got a second look at the man standing next to Cami, Manny remembered who it was from his snooping around online: Randy Moeller from NatEx.

“Let me buy you something to drink, and let’s talk,” Randy said as he guided Cami into the store.

Randy got a cup of convenience store coffee while Cami got a bottle of water. Drinks in hand, they walked to a nearby park and took a seat on a bench.

Some 20 yards away, the man they had seen inside the convenience store lay down on the grass and started reading his magazine.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

THE GREAT WHITE HOPE

Since leaving Cami at the convenience store a few minutes earlier, Nikki had been driving mindlessly through the streets, the crazy events that had upended her life bouncing around in her head.

As with all things that you don’t really miss until they’re gone, she hadn’t realized how happy and essentially carefree she and Cami had been until that feeling had disappeared. But now it felt like someone had tossed them into a Laundromat washing machine, bouncing and swirling around as the paparazzi stared at them through a little glass window.

Even as they both tried to stay off social media as much as possible as the chaos intensified, the bizarre mix of absurd praise and unwarranted hate was impossible to avoid.

One side saw Nikki and Cami, as well as Harper and Alan, as shining examples that miracles do come true and God does exist. Religious believers, largely on the right, latched onto the inexplicable recoveries, seeing them all as manifestations of a loving and benevolent higher power.

“We’ve become the great white hope of skinheads,” Nikki once joked to Cami when curiosity got the better of them, and they read some of the crazier posts and comments.

Members of the opposite tribe saw them in the same light Manny did: Manipulative, money-hungry divas, more than willing to sell their souls for a taste of fame and the almighty dollar. Hypocrites preying on weak-minded cultists, lapdogs walking in lockstep with whatever the Candle Coalition told them to do. The “Candle holders” that Nikki’s own colleagues had accused her of being.

“I just want our life back,” Nikki had said to Cami after seeing more hate online . “Why did we agree to get involved in all this? What were we thinking?”

Knowing he was stepping into dangerous waters, he looked up at her.

“We?”

Nikki was playing back the conversation in her head as she drove around the streets on autopilot. The comment had pissed her off at the time, but she had to admit it wasn’t unwarranted. Cami, she knew, had been more reluctant to get involved in the early stages of this great saga.

It was, after all, Nikki who had first agreed to do the interview with Emily and NatEx. Everything had snowballed from there. But was she the bad guy, some attention-whore in love with the limelight and herself?

Nikki didn’t believe that, didn’t want to believe that. Holy crap, she thought to herself, in a moment of self-doubt, does Cami believe that?

Six months ago, such a thought would never have even crossed her mind. She was a well-grounded, confident, and competent woman, not some self-centered, self-unaware narcissist.

I’m a good person, she silently told herself, feeling the need to convince no one in particular. I am a good person.

Despite what all the haters may say, she knew it was true. She believed it was true.

The night was getting darker. She’d been driving around long enough. She headed over to the park where Cami had said to meet her.

I’m a good person, dammit. She really did believe it. And she was pretty sure Cami did, too.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

LAST WORDS

Nikki pulled into the park’s parking lot and looked around for Cami. She saw him and Randy sitting on a bench, maybe 50 yards or so away. They looked engaged in whatever they were talking about, so she decided to stay in the car for a bit to let them finish.

The night was now dark, but a few people were still in the park, most walking their dog or jogging. She noticed one man hanging out on the grass not far from Cami and Randy.

***

“So, I gotta know,” Randy said to Cami, sitting across the bench. “What’s up with Emily’s story about your Italian ancestor? Do you really have a saint in your family, a… what was the word… a stigmata with the wounds of Christ?”

Emily’s latest “Weird & Wacky” article had caused quite a stir within NatEx and beyond. While he would never say it to her face, Randy felt something akin to a parent’s pride in seeing his protégé bask in the spotlight under his tutelage. She had taken to heart his advice that BS is fine, but boring is intolerable.

“People believe what they want to believe,” Cami responded.

“Yeah, I get that. But do you believe it?” Randy looked at Cami with great skepticism. “I sure as hell don’t.”

Cami took a sip from his water bottle. He got where Randy was coming from. He had been there, too. Maybe he was still there.

He didn’t really know Randy, and Randy didn’t really know him.

Most of Randy’s knowledge of Cami was what got filtered through the media. He didn’t know how Cami struggled with doubt, how he hadn’t wanted to get involved in all this from the get-go. And Randy most definitely did not know of Cami’s promise to his grandmother to safeguard her legacy. That, Cami thought to himself, is “sure as hell.”

Amid all the recent chaos, Cami realized it was his “betrayal” of Nonna’s trust that bothered him most. While he knew Emily really wasn’t to blame, he was angry at her for putting his alleged family ties to a saint out into the universe. She had used her overactive imagination to tie Cami to a slew of miracles through some tenuous idea that he was related to a stigmata.

No one — not even Emily or the countless journalists following her lead — had even floated the idea that Cami’s alleged powers stemmed from some bloody elixir handed down to him from his grandma. Nonetheless, rumors of some guy going around performing miracles in today’s modern world were too juicy to ignore for clickbait-driven, sensationalist journos, especially when cult-like organizations and greedy capitalists were also involved.

Cami had never claimed such powers. But his refusal to grant more interviews or get involved with the media only fueled their interest and rampant, irresponsible speculation. Why didn’t he just come out and deny it all, condemn it as utter, unequivocal nonsense?

To Cami, in a word, the answer was Nonna.

He had already irretrievably swallowed the contents of her precious vial. He had no desire to now publicly deny what she had so fervently believed. As absurd and vainglorious as it might sound, it would be like Peter denying he knew Jesus.

In Cami’s mind, it would be the intentional eradication of her legacy. She had passed it down for generations, and now Cami had, quite literally, pissed it away.

***

From his spot on the grass, Manny strained to hear what Cami and Randy were saying as he pretended to be engrossed in his magazine.

It was a case of selective hearing. Manny couldn’t make out every word, but he felt, or at least imagined, that he got the gist of the conversation. As he had long suspected, Cami was playing both sides for his own benefit. He was certain that Cami was cashing in on the movie deal and all the press, playing coy to purposely generate even more buzz.

Now here he was in a clandestine meeting at a park bench with a media mogul, one who had a vested interest in an upcoming Hollywood movie. It was like witnessing a Watergate Deep Throat moment in real time.

Randy reached out and slid the water bottle even closer to Cami.

“Hey, if you have all these magical powers,” Randy said facetiously, “perform this miracle. Let me see you turn this water into wine.”

Manny’s ears perked up at that. And his anger began to boil. This was blasphemy, turning Jesus’s sacred miracle into some pagan parlor trick. And here was some NatEx bigwig probably getting ready to record it all as “proof” he could use to further exploit this sacrilegious narrative.

Cami looked at the water bottle in his hand, then looked up at Randy.

“You want me to turn this water into wine?”

Cami knew he never even hinted at such a claim. Why would he?

“Yeah,” Randy said. “I want you to make a believer out of me.” His voice intentionally dripped with sarcasm.

This meeting with Randy had been a complete waste of time. Why should I have expected anything else, Cami thought to himself. Why had he turned to a tabloid editor to help make sense of a conspiracy theory?

Too defeated and depressed to even bother to protest, Cami tapped three times on the water bottle… slowly… three times… for dramatic effect.

“Done.”

Cami slid the bottle toward Randy, who picked it up and took off the cap.

Randy looked down at the bottle, then back up at Cami. The liquid was still clear, of course, as Randy knew it would be, but he didn’t say anything. He would play along.

Randy picked up the bottle and took a sip, savoring the taste as he swooshed the liquid in his mouth like a connoisseur of fine wine.

With all the acting skills he could muster, he turned toward Cami.

“Holy crap, man. I don’t believe it.” Randy looked at the bottle, then at Cami. “You did it. You turned water into wine!”

Manny lost it.

Not for a second did he believe that a miracle had just occurred. But he was certain that Randy and NatEx and Cami had staged the scene, no doubt to sensationalize this as yet another “miracle,” probably herald it as the biggest one of all. A miracle of Biblical proportions.

“Onward Christian soldiers,” Manny growled to himself as he rose to his feet. He dropped his magazine to the ground as he pulled a gun from his jacket.

With an insane look in his eyes, Manny rushed over to the bench, screaming, “Die, you Hollywood hypocrite!”

It was so sudden that neither Cami nor Randy had time to process what was going on. Without saying another word, Manny closed in on Cami and shot him point-blank three times.

Randy instinctively covered himself as if that would protect him from a bullet. Then Manny ran off. Cami was the only target.

Randy rushed to the other side of the bench, where Cami was slumped over and bleeding profusely.

Hearing a loud noise, Nikki had looked up to see her husband sprawled out unnaturally, half on, half off the bench.

“Oh, my God!” She flung open her car door and sprinted toward Cami.

Still in shock at what just happened, Randy momentarily stared helplessly as Cami bled. He instinctively, but futilely, tried to stop the blood with his hands before shakily reaching into his pocket to grab his phone and call 911.

In a panicked voice, he told the operator what had just happened.

“You gotta hurry,” Randy pleaded breathlessly. “He’s dying. What should I do?”

He knew there wasn’t much he could do. As the operator told him to put pressure on the wound, Nikki arrived, trying her best not to get completely hysterical.

“What happened? Who did this?”

Through Nikki’s screams, Randy tried to make out what the operator was saying.

“Put pressure on the wound,” Randy repeated to himself. He took off his jacket and pressed down on Cami’s chest.

Realizing panicking would not help her husband, Nikki did her best just to not lose it. Randy kept applying pressure, trying to stem the bleeding.

“An ambulance is coming,” Randy told Nikki.

It was certainly the most helpless Nikki had ever felt in her entire life. What could she do? Stay calm, she said to herself. For Cami.

She touched Cami’s forehead; his eyes open, but vacant.

“It was just water, for Christ’s sake,” Randy said in a voice so soft and calm it surprised him. “It was just water.”

“What?” Nikki gave him an utterly confused look. “Water… what?”

She had no idea what Randy was talking about or why he was even talking about anything else right now. Somebody just shot my husband!!

“Don’t you let him die!” Nikki looked squarely at Randy. The look in her eyes made him feel like he had pulled the trigger.

She bent down to whisper to Cami in a soft, sweet, but cracking voice. “You’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. The ambulance is almost here. You’re gonna make it. You’ll be OK. Keep fighting. Don’t give up.”

She looked at Randy.

“Why?”

Tears streamed down her face as Cami’s blood flowed into the ground below.

***

The ambulance soon arrived to rush Cami to the hospital. Nikki rode in the back with him, sitting off to the side to avoid interfering with the paramedics focused on saving his life.

Once they had done all they could until getting Cami into the hospital, one of the paramedics motioned Nikki to come closer. Without vocalizing it, he knew time was running out for her to say goodbye to her husband.

“Fight, baby,” she said softly as she touched his hand. “You’re gonna make it. You’re gonna make it.”

One of the paramedics was talking with the hospital staff, getting ready to receive Cami as soon as the ambulance arrived.

“My… miracle.” Cami struggled to get the words out, his voice barely audible.

“You’re my miracle,” Nikki said as she fought back tears, trying to stay strong to show Cami she knew he was going to pull through. “Hold on. We’re almost there.”

While neither paramedic had ever treated a gunshot wound before, both had their share of experience dealing with people on the verge of death. With practiced poker faces, neither betrayed how they really felt about Cami’s odds of survival.

Cami was just conscious enough to know he was fading into unconsciousness or worse. He desperately wanted to find the strength to relay one last message.

Every syllable was a struggle. “Mira…cles…happen… Be…believe it.”

“We’re close,” one of the EMTs said to Nikki.

As soon as the ambulance arrived, the doctors and nurses rushed into action and whisked Cami away.

Nikki just watched the surreal scene, too numbed with shock to even cry. A hospital staff member put her arm on Nikki’s shoulder and led her into the emergency room, where they had taken Cami.

Was that it? She wondered to herself. Were those Cami’s last words?

RESURRECTION

CHAPTER-NINETY

NOT EVEN FOR GOD

It had been three days since the shooting. Holed up in his apartment, Manny had been closely monitoring the news coverage, looking for any mention of him. There was none.

The wall-to-wall coverage showed little sign of dying down, with reporters trying desperately to dig up any new angle to cover as the police hunted down the individual or group responsible for the shooting.

Manny was not unknown within the penal system. But he didn’t have a history of violent crimes and was no longer on parole. And there was nothing tying him to Cami, Nikki, the media, or anyone even suspected of having a motive.

He was invisible, a nobody.

Manny had supremely mixed feelings about that truth. He was relieved to be, as far as he could tell, free and clear of suspicion.

He didn’t want notoriety. But he did want to be noticed. He wanted recognition for exposing and fighting hypocrisy. Few people had the courage to take up arms against evil and cultural rot. To fight, to go to war in the name of God. His was a righteous battle. He had taken up arms on behalf of his Lord and Savior. Manny had proved he was a true Christian soldier.

Yet the media portrayed the man who shot Cami as a deranged killer.

With the police failing to come up with any suspects, one of the media’s leading conspiracy theories was that the shooter was a Second Amendment-loving, right-wing radical, Candle Coalition cult member who wanted to create a martyr to gain sympathy for their cause. Always under attack and unfairly criticized, the Candle Coalition, the argument went, stood to gain more followers and donations, with a new symbol of solidarity to rally around. A high-profile assassination provided the motivation and the martyr.

Sympathy for hypocritical billionaires like Edwin Eldridge?! Give me a break, Manny thought.

More than anything else, any acceptance of the martyrdom theory motivated him to reveal the truth and set the record straight. But self-preservation prevented Manny from doing that. He would never turn himself in. He was never going back to prison, not even for God.

***

Only Randy had actually seen the killer up close. But he was of little help to the police.

He described the shooter as best as he could: maybe Hispanic, but maybe not; medium build; maybe 5’7 or so. But that was about all he had.

Manny had been wearing a hoodie and sunglasses in the convenience store and at the park. Randy told the detectives that the shooter must have taken his glasses off at some point because when he ran up and shot Cami, Randy seemed to recall that the glasses were gone. But it was dark at that point, and everything happened so suddenly that he didn’t really get a good look at the man.

As much as Randy wanted to see the killer locked up forever, he couldn’t give the police the detailed description they needed to make that happen.

***

Since the murder had taken place, virtually everyone with any connection to the story had shown up on local and national media, some eagerly, others reluctantly.

From Cami’s and Nikki’s families and Harper’s and Scott’s to the Candle Coalition and Hope Never Fades Foundation, everyone got their 15 minutes of fame, whether they wanted it or not. Even Bernila and hospital officials, as well as Cami’s friend, Justin, got interviewed.

Arnie didn’t need to be dragged in front of any cameras. He was more than willing to use this opportunity to promote his upcoming movie, for which he had fortuitously secured the rights. Obviously, he was not glad that Cami got killed. It was absolutely tragic. But now, Arnie told the media, he had a duty to honor his life on film.

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

A MEDIA CIRCUS

Since the shooting, Tony had spent most of his waking hours consoling his devastated mom. While she had wanted to immediately go to Los Angeles to be with Nikki in person, Tony convinced her to let Nikki be with her own parents for now. The Camigliano clan would go down for the funeral, or sooner if Nikki wanted them.

But it soon became clear that neither family knew when the funeral could be held. A murder is not an “ordinary” death. In California, a murder triggers a mandatory autopsy and thorough investigation. From what Tony could find online, it could take up to a few weeks before a proper funeral might take place in such circumstances.

In the weeks and months before the shooting, Cami’s mom had been watching all the media madness with a certain fascination. On one hand, she was clearly proud and star-struck by all the attention showered on her son and daughter-in-law and the stories of miracles attached to them. Whether true or not, they were hopeful and heartwarming.

But the downside was equally clear. The nastiness and hate directed at Cami and Nikki appalled her. The vitriol came from all sides, calling them everything from opportunistic gold diggers to brainwashed cultists.

It could have been worse. Tony had long since warned his siblings and their kids to shield her from the worst of it. Still, given the enormous amount of coverage, it was impossible for her not to encounter people or the press with wildly different opinions about the “facts,” as well as the character of her own son and daughter-in-law.

In the days since the murder, Tony did his best to help Nikki when she wanted and needed it, and gave her space when she didn’t. He had spoken to her twice over the phone, briefly both times. He had somewhat longer talks with her dad, who filled him in on how Nikki was holding up.

As the days dragged on with no funeral plans forthcoming, it became increasingly hard for Tony to give his own mom the closure she needed, starting with a funeral or at least a date for one.

On his most recent call with Nikki, she had made one thing very clear.

“I don’t want a funeral,” she told him. “It would be a media circus. I can’t handle that.”

That wasn’t the only reason, and not even the real one. However, she was still uncertain and uneasy about telling anyone, including her own parents, what was going through her mind at the moment.

“No public anything,” she said softly, but firmly. “No media. No news trucks. No reporters. I’ve seen enough of them to last me a lifetime.”

“Of course.”

Yet Nikki wasn’t immune to the pressure. She could tune out the heartless, self-serving demands from the media. It was the familial pressure that she felt most acutely, even though her own parents and Tony assured her there was no need to.

As one way of coping with the sudden destruction of her life with Cami, Nikki and her mom had put together a list of people to invite to the event, which Nikki adamantly refused to call a funeral. The list was very short.

While her friends and Cami’s, and no shortage of strangers, had tried to reach out to her to pay their respects, almost without exception, she hadn’t responded, having her parents handle that instead.

“I know their intentions are good,” she had told Tony. “But I just can’t handle it. I know I should. But I just can’t.”

“You don’t need to. No one expects you to,” he assured her. “Just keep it to immediate family.”

“Just family.”

Tony could hear the relief in Nikki’s voice.

“Except Randy,” she added after a moment. “He was there when it happened. I know it’s a weird reason, but he and I were the last people to see Cami alive.”

She started to break down all over again at hearing her own words out loud.

“It’s not weird,” Tony assured her.

He remained silent as Nikki tried to hold it together. As she tried not to sob uncontrollably, she accidentally let out a snorting sound, triggering an embarrassed chuckle.

“I snorted,” she said sheepishly.

It’s a sad, but true statement on the human condition. Regardless of age and no matter how serious the situation, farts and snorts are always funny. Nikki began to heave with laughter, the kind that is impossible to fake or stop.

It can also be contagious. Nikki could hear Tony starting to lose it.

Nikki tried to stop the nervous, uncontrollable laughter, but as she thought of how Cami must be cracking up at the sight of these two lunatics, she lost it all over again. Their laughter was cathartic, like when a balloon spirals out of control until it finally releases all the air in it, then slowly drifts back down to the ground. Tony couldn’t see Nikki over the phone, but he sensed she was smiling, probably for the first time since Cami’s death.

It was the little spark of energy Nikki knew she needed. She was still in no mood to make dozens of calls, but she vowed to at least call a couple of people tomorrow and have them contact others on her behalf.

CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

IT ’S JUST WATER

The next morning, Nikki forced herself to call the two people she thought could deal with any media issues so she or her parents didn’t have to: Emily and Randy.

She asked Emily to get in touch with her media contacts to tell them there would be no funeral or public ceremony of any kind.

Nikki’s next call was to Randy. Explaining the type of service she wanted, she asked if he would attend.

“Well, if you want me there, of course,” he said. “But I barely knew Cami. That night was only the second time we’d ever met.”

“I know,” Nikki told him. “But you were the last person to see him alive. Maybe it’s a stupid reason, but I would really appreciate it if you were there. If you wouldn’t mind…”

“Of course,” As rough around the edges as the unsentimental Randy was, he did have a heart, Emily and others who worked with him knew. They just weren’t sure where he kept it.

After a long pause, Nikki finally broke the silence, her voice soft and uncertain. “I saw him last night… I saw Cami last night.”

Randy was silent. He rarely felt uncomfortable or emotional in awkward situations, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He could hear Nikki starting to cry.

“In a dream, you mean. He came to you in a dream.” Randy’s tone was intentionally a statement, not a question.

“No, it was real,” Nikki insisted. “I mean, it felt so real. Like he was literally standing right in front of me.”

Not Emily nor anyone else who knew Randy would use the word empathetic to describe him. It didn’t seem to be in his DNA. He had the empathy of a mountain lion eating someone's pet Chihuahua right in front of its owner.

“You had a dream, Nikki,” he said softly, but firmly. “Cami showed up in your dream.”

His instinct was to bluntly remind her that her husband was dead. I saw him get shot at point-blank range multiple times, for Christ’s sake.

Randy knew he was, according to women in particular, an insensitive, chauvinistic cretin. His ex-wife and all his ex-girlfriends had always made that abundantly clear to him. But he wasn’t a complete piece of garbage. No human being is.

“That’s your grief talking. It’s understandable. Of course it is. But it was just a dream.”

“But it was so real,” Nikki insisted in a soft voice. She went silent for long enough that Randy began to wonder if social norms required him to say something.

“I have a question,” Nikki said, breaking the silence. “That night…” Nikki started crying all over again. Randy waited for her to regain her composure. “That night when Cami got shot… you said something. ‘It’s just water. It’s just water.’ What were you talking about?”

Randy became uncharacteristically uneasy as the lead-up to the murder scene played out in his head.

“It was a joke,” Randy said. “A very bad, stupid joke,” he added sheepishly.

“A joke?” Nikki’s tone was one of outraged disgust. “Excuse me, but I don’t see the humor in my husband getting killed.”

Randy immediately regretted his choice of words as we looked for a way out of this conversation.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was in shock. I can’t even remember what I was saying. When you came up to the bench, I was in total shock. I have no idea what kind of nonsense was coming out of my mouth.”

Randy hoped Nikki would believe that and move on.

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

NEVER LET A CRISIS GO TO WASTE

The shock had quickly spread through the Candle Coalition offices as soon as news of Cami’s murder hit.

Long before the stories of Nikki, Alan, and Harper had entered the media spotlight, everyone at the Candle Coalition was well aware of the group’s reputation.

Forget strangers; even some of their own family members viewed the group as a cult. But a murder, an assassination? It was beyond anything they could have imagined. Were they safe working there? Is some crazy man going to break into their office and start shooting people?

With no suspects or suspected motives, coalition members could only hunt for answers in an ever-expanding web of conspiracy theories.

Cami’s death had put Edwin and the Candle Coalition’s security team on high alert. In the days that followed, the atmosphere had clearly changed. Security protocols and surveillance systems had always been in place, but they immediately came under greater scrutiny.

Years of the outside world calling the Coalition a cult had built a certain amount of paranoia into the DNA of everyone who worked there. Cami’s murder only ratcheted up those fears and suspicions.

Edwin had called Raymond as soon as he had heard the news.

For the time being, both men felt the best approach was to keep a low profile and stay on high alert. Edwin had survived hatemongering for years, and he was sure he and his organization would survive this, too.

In fact, he was already making plans with Raymond for how to use Cami’s murder and Nikki’s grief to garner more donations and grow membership. He fully understood such a ploy would come across as supremely cynical and self-serving. But he’d always heard that kind of criticism, just as he had heard all the hate.

“Never let a crisis go to waste,” Edwin had said to Raymond. “We’re not helping anyone if we don’t turn this tragedy into a positive.”

Already moving past the backlash from the press release about Harper’s recovery, both men knew they sounded like cynical bastards. But they also knew they were right about Cami’s death and what it meant for both their organizations.

“You’ll attend the funeral, right?” Raymond asked Edwin. “I still haven’t heard anything about when or where it is.”

“We’re not invited,” Edwin replied. “I got a call from some woman at NatEx. Nikki asked her to let the press know it’ll be a private service. No one but immediate family. And definitely no press.”

Both men quietly relished the irony of having a tabloid like NatEx being the ones to tell the New York Times and their ilk that they and their paparazzi cameras were not welcome.

“It kind of makes sense if you think about it,” Raymond quipped. “The dying media can’t attend this funeral while they unwittingly keep marching toward their own.”

CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

UNWAVERING FAITH

Rarely venturing outside, Manny remained holed up in his apartment, ingesting a diet of Cokes and conspiracies. Like Alice down the rabbit hole, he continued to descend deeper and deeper into a world detached from reality.

Manny saw his unwavering faith in God as the bedrock of his existence, the foundation that formed his identity. What he had done was righteous and justified. Maybe not in the eyes of some men, but certainly, he knew, in the eyes of his God. The videos and posts he was obsessively scrolling through online only strengthened that belief.

Inside his world, reality only existed within his own mind. Conspiracy theories were simply crazy, implausible ideas that other people believed. His truth was his reality, not a theory.

God demanded unwavering faith, complete devotion. The Bible said as much. And Manny had now achieved it. He had now proven his worth and loyalty as a true Christian soldier.

Who is it that overcomes the world except the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God? Psalm 9:9-10

The days of Manny just preaching scripture on the street had now ended. By the grace of God, he had found the courage to put the Word into action. He found strength and pride in knowing he was one of the few mortal men to actually do so.

Manny had reached a state of mind where he paid no heed to non-believers or to all the hypocrites who conveniently chose to ignore the inconvenient requirements of their own religion.

As Manny continued to scroll, one recurring theme was the Hollywood connection. According to these anonymous posters, there was simply no way that Nikki and Cami had not been cashing in on the upcoming movie.

Think about it. Some Hollywood producer, in concert with a national tabloid and a megachurch, had concocted a story about “miracles” involving some special effects guy and his hot wife? What fool would believe that was all just one big coincidence?

Manny had taken action as a soldier of Christ because he knew Cami and Nikki had been exploiting these “miracles” for their own financial benefit, all in the name of God.

This hypocrite just got what he deserved, Manny told himself, what God commanded.

But as the buzz around the movie had only grown since the shooting, Manny felt his solution may have backfired, making a martyr of Cami. Maybe his job was not finished.

Yet he sensed that another righteous killing would only fuel more interest in the movie, further enriching all the exploiters. But that didn’t mean these hypocrites were absolved of their sins. And it was clear to Manny who should be next.

CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

A RABBIT HOLE OF HER OWN

Nikki was going through her own stages of doubt and depression. Disregarding her own advice and that of her family, she had returned to reading the craziest of rumors online.

The conspiracy theory that disturbed her the most was one claiming that Cami had faked his own death, something she couldn’t deny he had discussed in a moment of desperation. Nonetheless, in one compartment of her increasingly disturbed mind, she knew that was absurd. She was there. She held him in her own arms as he bled.

But two events had her questioning her own eyes. It was insane, part of her knew, but she found herself needing proof, not proof that what she saw was real, but proof that it was fake.

She wanted to believe that Cami was still alive, regardless of how impossible that seemed. But his last words, which she had repeated to herself a million times by now, wouldn’t go away. And she didn’t want them to. “Miracles happen. Believe it.”

The first event was the extremely realistic “visit” from Cami.

Randy had insisted it was just a dream, and Nikki knew that was the most logical explanation. A sane, pre-all-this-craziness Nikki would certainly have known it was just a dream. Of course, it was. But the second event had planted that seed of doubt, regardless of how absurd it sounded to a rational Nikki.

The event, if it could be called that, was two-fold.

First, internet rumors that Cami had faked his death wouldn't go away, at least not within the rabbit hole Nikki had burrowed into. Second, there was now speculation that Cami and Nikki had conspired to fake his death as the first step in their nefarious plan to go into a witness protection and program escape with all their current and future riches. A chance to escape the media spotlight to live free and wealthy lives anonymously, anywhere they wanted.

Of course it was absurd, Nikki knew. But was it?

She certainly wasn’t in on this grand scheme.

But having replayed the events of that night in her head a million times, she knew she had not actually been there at the time of the shooting. She had come up to Cami after he had already been shot and the shooter had run away.

And Cami was, as these conspiracy theorists incessantly pointed out, a special effects artist, one who specialized in gunshots and explosions, no less. As is the wont of these purveyors of improbably but remotely plausible intrigue, they latched onto a kernel of truth and grew it into a fortress of certainty.

It would have been easy for Nikki to dismiss it if she hadn’t so desperately wanted it to be true.

She ignored any comments suggesting Cami and any conspirators did not have time to stage the fake shooting before Nikki had arrived next to Cami on the park bench. Besides, after an intensive manhunt, the police had not found the shooter or even come up with a single, viable lead.

In this cesspool of conspiracies, Nikki started to wonder if Randy was in on it, helping Cami pull it off.

Nikki knew she and Cami had not benefited financially from the media and movie buzz. Yet even that wasn’t completely true. Nikki and Cami did receive an advance for selling the rights to their story, which, of course, the internet was quick to point out, speculating an amount of money that far exceeded what Nikki knew it was.

But, Nikki now wondered, maybe Cami hadn’t told her the real number.

And the haters had continued to insist that the couple stood to benefit if the movie was a hit, as well as from any ancillary revenue from books and more.

On that front, they weren’t wrong. Nikki and Cami did stand to benefit. At least Nikki did, as the sole survivor.

As Manny had already, Nikki continued to descend further down this rabbit hole of her own. Without consciously realizing it, her goal shifted to searching for and finding reasons to believe Cami was indeed still alive.

Nikki started to tell herself that Cami was protecting her by keeping her out of the loop for now. The only way to successfully fake his death was to not tell Nikki, to keep her completely in the dark. That way, when the police or anyone spoke with her, she could be completely truthful. No lies or deception needed.

Then, the haters claimed, and Nikki wanted to believe, the couple would be reunited. With new identities, they could begin new lives as if the last few months had never happened.

As many of these conspiracy theorists had noted, if they could fake the moon landing, they could certainly fake a single death.

***

Manny had no trouble believing the rumors he read of money-laundering involving Edwin and the Candle Coalition. Or the alleged funneling of a portion of the funds from the Yoroko IPO and some of the donations to Raymond’s Hope Never Fades Foundation as a payoff to Cami and Nikki.

Manny and his fellow theorists believed this elaborate money-laundering scheme was being used to buy the young couple’s silence. It was a win-win-win situation.

Nikki and Cami could escape the media limelight and become wealthy in the process, in exchange for not exposing the corruption of the Candle Coalition and the Hope Never Fades Foundation. The couple would get all the money they need to lead brand-new lives of luxury. Edwin could expand his already massive Candle Coalition Empire with an influx of sympathy-fueled donations. And Raymond would, as Manny and his ilk already suspected, add to his fortune by secretly hoarding his share of the Yoroko stock.

Even the mainstream media knew there was plenty of money and shady characters involved. Manny didn’t need convincing. He knew how the game was played and who was playing it.

Meanwhile, Nikki was sane enough to know she was standing on the precipice, looking down into her own mental abyss. But maybe, just maybe, the rumors were true. Maybe Cami was still alive. Maybe he was counting on Nikki to believe him, to help put the plan into action.

Maybe Cami was relying on Nikki to make that leap of faith.

CHAPTER NINETY-SIX

PADDED WHITE WALLS

It was the autopsy report that pushed Nikki over the edge. Or more accurately, it was the conspiracies surrounding the report.

Not every dead body requires an autopsy. In fact, only around 5% to 10% of deaths have one. But when a drug overdose or foul play is suspected, it’s a different story. And a cold-blooded murder certainly qualifies as foul play.

From her talks with the police, Nikki knew it could take weeks or longer before an official autopsy report came out. That was common, she was assured by officials. But the rumor mongers on the internet had a different take. To them, this delay reeked of a sinister cover-up.

Anonymous posters “debated” if the body in the coroner’s office was even Cami’s. The autopsy report, they argued, could have easily already been done. Preparing the cover-up — finding a suitable corpse, buying the silence of the right officials, getting Nikki’s and Cami’s secret escape plan in place — that’s what was causing the delay.

Nikki’s ability to separate fact from fiction had become sharply diminished. Perhaps purposely, she had to admit to herself. Maybe she was becoming addicted to “hopium.” Maybe she did know that Cami was dead. She just didn’t want to accept or believe that fact. Her truth was that Cami was still alive.

Rational Nikki understood what was real and what was not. But in her state of mind, the impossible becomes plausible. The plausible becomes explainable. The explainable becomes believable. The believable becomes convincing.

Once convinced, everything becomes just a matter of faith. Christians can’t prove that God exists. But atheists can’t prove that he doesn’t.

Yes, Nikki was now thinking to herself, I can’t prove Cami is alive. But without an official and undisputed autopsy, can anyone really prove he’s dead?

Nikki knew she had personally experienced a miracle. She lived it, believed it, and was now convinced that Cami had made it happen. Almost.

But inside this sewer of conspiracy theories in which she found herself wading, the seeds of doubt festered. Had she really recovered from a miracle? By all accounts, she had gone into a coma and recovered, with no signs of the trauma she was said to have suffered.

Yet the only memory she had of that time was overhearing Cami begging and pleading for her to be saved. Somewhere in her hazy, almost dreamlike recollection, she remembered him apologizing to Nonna for drinking the contents of the vial she had given to him.

How much of this was what she had truly experienced? And how much was what she had been told… by Cami?

Who all was in on this scheme, Nikki wondered. Edwin and Raymond? Randy? Emily?

As the internet trolls were always quick to point out, they all had something to gain, including Cami.

Truth be told, when Nikki now looked back on it, her “memory” of Cami sitting at her hospital bedside praying for her and apologizing to Nonna, everything was far more muddled and uncertain than her crystal-clear visit with Cami after his alleged “death,” the encounter that Randy had insisted was “just a dream.”

Feeling her life and her sanity spinning out of control, Nikki started to both laugh and cry. Uncontrollably.

Alone in her room, she looked around, pleasantly surprised to see she wasn’t surrounded by padded white walls.

***

The shooting, combined with the seeping of numerous conspiracy theories into mainstream news, had only expanded interest in Emily’s second article. And it had only hardened the divide between the various camps.

The divide wasn’t just between believers and non-believers. And it wasn’t just between atheists or even between fact and fiction. It ran deeper and wider. It was a chasm separating “my truth” from “the truth.”

Religious or not, every human being is dogmatic.

Everyone believes their own opinion is correct, otherwise they wouldn’t hold it. Until their minds change, that is. And when that subtle or seismic shift happens, few people admit that they had ever changed their mind. Fewer still are inclined to apologize for previously being wrong.

The vast majority simply move on, forgetting, or at least never acknowledging, that they ever held a different opinion. That is at the heart of the power of “my truth” over “the truth.” ‘The truth’ is so set in its ways. ‘My truth’ is unfailingly flexible.

From autopsy schedules and miracles to dreams and so-called reality, the “facts” and “truth” had become as solid as rapidly flowing water. Nothing, Nikki now realized, was certain, not even life and death.

Nikki found herself wondering what actually happens after death.

Some believe in an everlasting soul, while others envision nothing beyond the material world, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Others believe in reincarnation.

Nikki had come to accept that, in the end, every belief, every truth, and every fact requires a blind leap of faith, into an uncertain end or to an equally uncertain new beginning.

***

Manny sat in his apartment, relieved to still see no mention of his name anywhere. But silently, he was enraged to be ignored.

This, he knew, was God testing him. He had done God’s will. He deserved God’s praise for doing what weaker, less devoted soldiers were too timid to do. But that was his pride talking. Manny had to resist the temptation of vanity.

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit,” he whispered to himself, quoting from Philippians.

He was a good person. A true Soldier of Christ.

Self-serving hypocrites like Cami, who, by the grace of God, got what they deserved, and Nikki and those Candle Coalition cult leaders fleecing their gullible flock, they were the truly vain ones.

All Manny wanted was a little righteous recognition.

CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

MIRACLES AND MURDER

“I still don’t understand it,” Tony’s mom said to her last surviving son as they parked outside a large warehouse complex. “How can they not find out who did this?”

Weeks had passed since the shooting. Tony had spent much of that time by his mom’s side, watching her journey from shock and hysterical disbelief to a calmer acceptance of her new reality.

“The police are working on it, Mom. They’ll eventually get the guy who did it.”

The family had driven down for the very unconventional non-funeral. The media frenzy had made having a normal ceremony impossible.

While Tony’s family had put a notification of Cami’s death in their church’s flyer and arranged for prayers to be said at mass, no mention of a “funeral” or the time, date, or place of any ceremony had been given.

The plan by both sides of the family to avoid the press and paparazzi had apparently worked. Tony had made arrangements to use some empty space in a large Tustin warehouse for a few hours. It was a Tuesday night, and there were no signs of satellite trucks or reporters in the area, just a smattering of big rigs coming in and out of the enormous complex.

Outside of the direct family, only Randy had been invited.

Whatever Nikki chose to call it, it was, to Randy, a funeral. And Randy hated funerals. He normally felt zero obligation to attend them outside of close relatives. But Nikki had specifically and exclusively asked him to be there, so he had reluctantly agreed.

It was an odd atmosphere to have such an event, a cold, concrete warehouse rather than a stained glass chapel or church. But in a strange way, it was more relaxed. It didn’t feel stuffy and sanctimonious like churches do, and Nikki and the others didn’t have to deal with total strangers or mere acquaintances coming up and telling them a million times, “I’m so sorry for your loss” or “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

At some point, the family members in attendance had naturally broken off into a collection of small groups scattered across the spacious floor with rented folding chairs.

After a few minutes of small talk, Nikki asked Randy to come with her. The pair slipped into a small office tucked away in one corner of the warehouse. As Nikki shut the door behind them, Randy wondered why he hadn’t just made some excuse to decline the invitation. That sentiment was written all over his face.

“I do appreciate you coming today, Randy. We don’t know each other that well, and you probably hate these kinds of things.”

“I do. I won’t lie to you. But you asked, so I’m here.”

What he didn’t say was that he also felt a tinge of guilt for getting Nikki and Cami caught up in this whole mess. While only a few months had passed since Nikki’s and NatEx’s paths had crossed, it felt like a lifetime ago. After Emily’s initial piece had started to gain some traction, it was Randy who had pushed her to keep exploiting the story.

“Well, it means a lot to have you here,” Nikki told him.

Putting on a brave face, she looked relatively calm for a grieving widow, but her mind was still reeling from her journey down her internet rabbit hole. With her own grip on reality slipping, she wanted to have a completely honest, no-holds-barred conversation with Randy about what they had experienced.

“Nikki, what you’ve had to go through is horrific. You’ve been incredibly strong.”

Nikki was barely listening to him when she suddenly asked, “You know the definition of insanity, right?”

Randy was taken aback by the out-of-the- blue question.

“Um… doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, I guess.”

“Right,” Nikki nodded. “Do you know the definition of faith?”

Randy thought it was a rhetorical question, but Nikki was obviously waiting for an answer.

“You mean like religious faith… faith in God?”

“Yeah.”

Randy took a moment and gave it some thought, not sure what she wanted to hear.

“I guess faith is believing in something you can’t prove, and believing it anyway.”

“That’s one definition.”

Nikki stood up and took a few steps like she was starting to pace.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking about this over the last few days,” she told him. “A lot.”

In between her trips down her rabbit hole of rumors, when she popped up from her underground warren to return to the real world, she had searched online for any pearls of wisdom she could find, looking for antidotes for the sweet-tasting poison she knew she should not be consuming.

“I found a few more definitions that made sense to me.” Nikki pulled out a piece of paper from her bag and gently unfolded it. “This one is from Helen Keller. ‘Faith is the strength by which a shattered world shall emerge into the light.’”

Randy just nodded silently, not sure where she was headed with this and wondering why he had agreed to come.

“And here’s another.” Nikki further looked down the page and started reading. “I found this one in the Bible. ‘Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.’”

“Those are good, I guess… sure.”

Nikki zeroed in on and repeated a few words from her definitions. “Shattered world. Things hoped for. Conviction of things not seen.”

Nikki sat back down.

“My world has definitely been shattered. But I’m starting to see the light. And hope.” She was looking squarely at Randy. “Cami came back,” she said with the sincerity of a homeless man talking to a friend who wasn’t there. “I saw him. He came back.”

Randy gave her a puzzled, dismissive frown, but not one completely devoid of compassion.

“I don’t mean to sound cruel,” he said, “but…” He was thinking back to words she had written down and purposely emphasized. “You’re trying to hope into existence things that aren’t there.” He thought twice before saying what he was thinking, but went ahead anyway. “Things like Cami. He’s dead, Nikki. He came to you in a dream. That’s all.”

Randy felt empathy for her, but he also believed in tough love. Indulging her delusions wasn’t kindness. It would only be cruelty to her and weakness on his part.

“He’s alive,” Nikki insisted. “I feel it. I know it.”

Cami’s final words ran silently through her head.

“You hope he’s alive,” Randy told her. “You want to believe that he’s alive. I get that. I really do. But, Nikki, he got shot right in front of both of us.”

Randy half expected her to reach out and slap him in the face for being such a cold, heartless cad. But that wasn’t her reaction at all. She remained perfectly calm.

“You know they haven’t even filed an autopsy report yet,” Nikki said. “It’s been weeks... We’re not even sure it’s his body. What are they hiding?”

“Don’t go there,” Randy groaned. “For your own sake, don’t go there.”

Nikki, quite calmly, began to recite the litany of what she had found to be increasingly plausible, substantiating “facts” supporting her case.

Randy visibly winced as he listened to her.

“Remember who you’re talking to, Nikki,” he said. “I’m the editor of the National Exposure. We peddle this nonsense every day. That’s what it is, nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense.”

“So, my miracle was nonsense?”

Still perfectly calm with no signs of anger, Nikki continued. “Was Harper’s miracle nonsense? Was Scott’s miracle ‘complete and utter nonsense?’”

“Yes,” Randy wanted to say, but he just sat there and said nothing. Thankfully for him, this time, it was a rhetorical question.

After what felt like an eternity, Nikki broke the silence.

“Let me ask you something… something about that night.”

“OK,” Randy said, happy for any change of subject.

“You remember you kept telling me ‘it’s just water’ after Cami got shot. ‘It’s just water,’ you kept saying.”

“I remember,” Randy said. “Do you remember that we already talked about that?” he added, annoyed that she wanted to revisit the topic. He had hoped he had put that topic to rest.

Once again, Nikki posited another non- sequitur.

“I’m guessing you’re not a religious person, right?”

Randy smirked. “That’s a very astute guess.”

“That’s what I figured,” Nikki responded without any hint of judgment. “But you were acting kind of weird when you kept saying ‘it’s just water.’ You gotta admit that.”

“Nikki, it was right after I saw a man get shot right in front of me! Of course, I was acting weird. I’ve seen some crazy things in my time, but nothing like that.”

Nikki ignored him. She had other things on her mind.

“I still don’t get it. You said it was a joke. A stupid joke.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “Tell me the joke.”

“Come on, Nikki. I already told you. I have no idea what I was saying.”

But Randy’s body language gave him away. He was lying.

Before responding, Randy once again relived the murder, watching it take place right in front of him. He began relating what had happened, hoping, but somehow not believing, that he was retelling it for the last time.

He explained what he and Cami had been chatting about on the bench.

“We’d been talking about Emily’s latest story…. You know, about Cami’s connection to some old saint.” He paused for a second. “Remember, we’re NatEx. Bogus is our business.”

He looked in Nikki’s eyes, hoping she was hearing what he was telling her, then continued.

“I was saying that if Cami was really related to some old saint who had performed miracles, like Emily had said in her story, and now he seemed to be going around performing miracles of his own, then maybe he’d perform one for me. So, I told him to turn this water into wine.”

Randy paused once more.

“Like I said, it was just me making a stupid, inappropriate joke.”

“Well, did he?” Nikki asked, ignoring Randy’s rationalization. “Did he turn that water into wine?”

Randy sighed with a heavy dose of sarcasm and cynicism. “What do you think?”

Nikki ignored his attempt to avoid the question.

“I’m asking you,” Nikki repeated. “Did he do it?”

What the hell am I doing here, having this conversation, Randy asked himself.

“Well, look, whoever that nutjob was that shot him, he certainly believed it.”

Randy regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He realized that his response would only just invite Nikki to ask more questions.

“Why do you say that?” she asked calmly.

She sensed he was hiding something. Had Randy not told her and the police the whole story?

“Look, it’s nothing.” Randy tried to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “The guy was clearly out of his mind. He had just shot somebody dead for Christ’s sake!”

“My husband,” Nikki said, looking at Randy, still calm but with growing suspicion. “He shot my husband.”

Randy wasn’t the type to squirm uncomfortably, but Nikki could tell he was becoming uneasy.

The emotionally unstable widow and the purveyor of tabloid trash stared at each other. Randy looked away first, shifting his gaze toward the smattering of people gathered outside the small office, talking among themselves.

He happened to make eye contact with Tony, standing a good 30 feet away, looking in the direction of the windowed office where Nikki and Randy sat. The two men just nodded at each other and looked away.

“What are you not telling me?” Nikki asked. “You told me, and the police, that whoever shot Cami just ran away without saying a word. But it sounds like he must have said something to you. Tell me what really happened. The whole story. The truth. You owe me at least that.”

Randy leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. Once again, he saw the shooting replay in his head, then began to tell his version of what had happened. The version he was willing to tell Nikki, that is.

“The guy was clearly out of his mind,” Randy began. “Before Cami and I even realized what was going on, he came out of nowhere and started shooting. It was like it was over before it even began.”

Nikki just stared at him with a dismissive look of disdain. “I figured you’d be a better liar.”

Maybe this lady’s not as delusional as I thought she was.

“Why can’t you just tell me what really happened?” she asked.

She didn’t ask in anger. But it also wasn’t the pleading of a grief-stricken widow looking for closure. More than anything, Nikki was reaching out for a lifeline, something she could grab onto to get carried safely back to the shore of reality.

Hope never fades, she thought to herself, thinking back to when she and Cami had visited Harper at the foundation. Maybe rather than fade away, hope just eventually transforms into delusion.

“Please, Randy… Stop playing with my head. Just tell me the truth.”

The truth was that Randy had his own doubts about that night. But baring his soul, whether to an old friend or someone he really didn’t know that well, was not in his nature.

“What I’ve told is the truth,” Randy tried to assure her. But maybe not the whole truth, he thought as he said it. “Here’s what really happened.”

Randy explained again how he had challenged Cami to turn the bottle of water into wine. At the time, he hadn’t realized that the crazy man, Manny, was within earshot.

“Alright, Mr. Miracle Man,” Randy had said to Cami. “Work your magic. Play God and turn this water into wine.”

Randy told Nikki how Cami had played along, solemnly tapping the bottle with dramatic flair to commence the miraculous transformation of water into wine. Cami then slid the plastic bottle across the park bench over to Randy. With mock reverence, Randy lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip.

After savoring the still-clear liquid, Randy looked at Cami, eyes raised in feigned astonishment.

“Holy crap, man. I don’t believe it. You did it. You turned water into wine!”

Before Randy could even break character and let out a dismissive laugh, Manny let out a psychotic scream, yelling “Die, you Hollywood hypocrite” as he put three bullets into Cami.

“Die, you Hollywood hypocrite,” Nikki said, calmly repeating the phrase as she listened to Randy retell the story.

“Yeah, those were his exact words.”

They both sat silently for a moment, Nikki too emotionally drained at this point to shed any more tears.

“Look, I should have told you that part sooner,” Randy said. As he looked at her reaction, he was trying to gauge if Nikki believed him. “I’m sorry.”

It was a phrase he rarely used, and even less often, actually meant. He wasn’t sorry that he hadn’t told her the full story earlier. He was sorry that he told it all. at

Nikki took it all in before responding. Just as an entire movie can seemingly play out in a dream in mere seconds, Nikki’s mind raced through multiple scenarios as she pondered Randy’s version of events. Her suspicions remained. And the more she doubted him, the more she believed in her own truth.

“You’re too scared to believe,” she suddenly blurted out to Randy. “You’re the one who’s in denial. Not me.”

She kept going.

“You’re too scared to admit that it wasn't just water. It was wine. It was a miracle, just like my recovery, and Harper’s and Scott’s.”

The floodgates that had only partially kept the gusher of conspiracy theories at bay were now fully breached. Nikki began to unload on Randy.

“You’re too scared to admit that maybe God does exist. And miracles do happen. You’re one of those arrogant atheists who hide behind ‘science.’ It’s your safety net, your little teddy bear to hold while you suck your thumb, trying to convince yourself that the boogeyman isn’t real. Well, maybe he is. Maybe God does exist, and you have nowhere to hide.”

Randy had his own reasons to be uncomfortable with sharing the extra elements of the story with Nikki, but her outburst put him more at ease. If Nikki or her family ever accused him of keeping secrets from the police, he had his out: Nikki was crazy. Insane with grief. If anyone suspected Randy of hiding any information relevant to the case, it was just his word against hers. And who’s gonna believe a shattered widow with a questionable grip on reality?

But another thing bothered Randy, one that would make no sense to anyone but him.

Who was Nikki to say he wasn’t a good liar? From her entire rant, that’s what he wanted to believe he found most offensive.

CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

DOUBTING NIKKI

The day after the non-funeral, Nikki barricaded herself inside her and Cami’s apartment, curtains shut to the outside world and to the camera trucks and reporters loitering outside on the street.

Only her own parents, Tony, and her mother- in-law were with her. Exhausted physically and emotionally, she had instructed Tony to ask the others to head back to Sacramento.

Nothing inside the apartment had changed. From Cami’s clothes in the closet to his car in the garage, everything was still there, except Cami.

Relieved to be back in her own home, she sat in the living room, still processing her talk with Randy.

While part of her craved privacy to collect her thoughts, she loathed the idea of sleeping alone in their apartment. The thought of having to put on a brave face in front of Cami’s extended family in her own home would have caused her unbearable anxiety, but at the same time, she didn’t want to be completely by herself.

“Here, have some tea.”

Nikki’s mom handed her daughter a mug.

While Nikki sipped her tea, the others tried to make small talk as Nikki’s mom passed around more mugs.

They were all uncomfortable for obvious reasons. Because Nikki’s parents lived on the East Coast, the families had only met in person altogether at the wedding and one other time. So, they didn’t really have much in common, except the marriage and a murder.

Tony’s mom was always uncomfortable with silence and had a penchant for making innocent but inappropriate comments.

“At mass last week,” she said, “for the first time in my life, I felt like I really understood the meaning of ‘the body and blood of Christ.’ After all these years, it really hit home for the first time.”

Nikki’s parents looked puzzled.

“What are you talking about?” Tony asked his mom with as much polite restraint as he could muster.

“I don’t know. But it was very strange. Like it felt real for the first time.”

While the others were perplexed, Nikki seemed engaged for the first time that day.

“Since I was a little girl,” Tony’s mom continued, “I’ve heard the priest say ‘this is the body and blood of Christ’ at mass a million times. But it isn’t, of course. It’s just a wafer and some wine.”

Her eyes turned toward Nikki, as if looking for some little sign of understanding.

“It was always just a metaphor or something. It obviously wasn’t, isn’t true.” She looked at the others in the room. “But the other day, it felt real. It was the first time I’d ever felt like that.”

As she spoke, a flood of emotions stirred inside Nikki.

Was her mother-in-law toying with her? Had Cami been lying this whole time? Had he actually told his mom about Nonna’s little vial? Did Nonna tell her? Had Cami been lying the entire time? Was this whole story about Nonna and her little vial and precious legacy with the Blood of Christ just one big hoax? Was Cami in on it?

Never good at reading the room, Cami’s mom kept talking as Nikki was clearly becoming uneasy.

“I suddenly felt like a little schoolgirl in catechism class. You know, where they teach you that the priest really does transform the wafer and wine into the body and blood of Christ, but only if you believe it.”

It was all becoming too much for Nikki. Her parents didn’t know why she was getting agitated, but she clearly was. She politely, but abruptly, excused herself and went into the bedroom alone.

Everyone watched as Nikki shut the bedroom door, then turned toward Cami’s mom.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Tony asked angrily, but quietly, and hopefully, out of earshot of Nikki. He didn’t know why Nikki was so upset, but something about his mom’s random ramblings had triggered her.

***

Having escaped into the sanctuary of her and Cami’s bedroom, Nikki sat lifelessly on the floor. She unconsciously avoided lying on their bed.

Disturbed once more by her mother-in-law’s ruminations, the culmination of a million seeds of doubts, delusions, and denials festered inside her. She was too absorbed with her own thoughts to even notice the unintelligible murmurings of the others seeping in from outside her door.

“You OK, babe?”

The voice startled her. She thought she was alone, but looked up to see Cami.

As if space and time had entered a new dimension, there her husband stood, but in what felt like an alternate or augmented reality.

He was there, to be sure, and this was Cami’s voice. But it was not clear to Nikki where “there” was. It felt and looked like her bedroom, their bedroom, but something was off.

“Is it really you?” she asked.

Nikki thought back to her prior “visit” from Cami, the one Randy had insisted was just a dream. Was this just a dream, too? Was this Nikki just manifesting her own delusions out of hope and grief?

As she started to stand up, she wondered how Cami could feel and seem so close, yet somehow remain so physically distant. Our bedroom isn’t this big, she thought.

“Of course it’s me, silly.”

Nikki wasn’t sure what to think. Were they really having a conversation? Or was this all in her head?

“Can I give you a hug?” Nikki asked with a look that was pleading for physical confirmation.

She took a step toward Cami as she opened her arms to embrace her husband.

“I sound like a doubting Nikki, huh.”

She smiled as Cami opened his arms to hug her.

CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

SOME CRAZY NONSENSE

Randy was back in his NatEx office, happy to have the non-funeral behind him.

I don’t care if it’s my own mother, he thought to himself. No more funerals for me.

But the truth was, his conversation with Nikki still nagged at him. Why? What kept him from simply erasing it from his memory banks and moving on?

He heard a knock on his door and looked up to see Emily standing outside. He waved her in.

“Good morning,” she said as she stepped inside. “How did everything go? Was Nikki OK?”

“Hey, Wacky,” Randy responded, trying to shift his mind to a better place. “Or are you Weirdo? I forget sometimes.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m a little of both.”

This was typical Randy, she thought to herself. Always trying to hide behind his toxic masculinity to avoid discussing his “feelings.” But this time, the obfuscation was so obvious, she decided to push her luck and risk taking a bit of flak.

“But, seriously, is she doing alright? I can only imagine what she’s going through. And how are you?”

Randy looked at her, annoyed but not quite his normal ornery self. He ignored her second question.

“She’s about as you’d expect for someone whose husband just got shot.”

The fact that Randy hadn’t immediately added “now get the hell out of my office and back to work” told Emily he had more to say. Call it female intuition or just a basic understanding of the human condition. Whichever it was, she was right.

“She’s still processing it. And her process seems to be talking a bunch of nonsense.”

The words were Randy-esque, but his tone came off as suspicious to Emily.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he instinctively responded. “She just kept going on about seeing Cami in her dreams and spouting some crazy nonsense about another so-called miracle.” Randy paused for a second. “And it’s your fault.”

“My fault? How?”

Far more talkative than normal, Randy explained how Nikki had brought up Emily’s story about Cami and his alleged saintly ancestor.

“Well, you were the one who pushed me to milk this story for all it was worth,” Emily reminded him. “And it worked, if you recall,” she added at the risk of pissing off her boss.

Rather than getting annoyed, Randy just nodded. “You made a believer out of her. And almost out of me,” he added, instantly regretting the comment.

“A believer out of you? Now that I find hard to believe!”

Randy shook his head at the mere thought of it.

“Oh, hell no.” Randy scoffed. “No one can ever make a believer out of me.”

Emily’s laugh convinced Randy that he had fooled Emily.

See, I am a good liar.

CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED

THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA

The moment of truth had arrived for Nikki. The couple stood mere inches away from each other, arms open, ready to embrace.

Would their bodies actually touch? Or would her arms go right through Cami like a ghost? He stood there silently, not moving any closer to her, waiting for her to make the next move.

She looked into her husband’s eyes, searching for some indication of whether he was really there or just a figment of her imagination. To find out, all she had to do was reach out and touch him. Like a Doubting Thomas poking his finger through the hole in Jesus’s crucified hands, one touch would settle it all forever.

Nikki stood there like someone anxiously struggling to jump off a tall bridge into a river far below. Just one more step and her leap of faith would both begin and end. The alpha and the omega.

She thought back to what Cami said Nonna had told him multiple times.

“Believing or not believing doesn’t change the truth. And the truth doesn’t change what we believe.”

No longer confident of her ability to distinguish between the truth and her truth, Nikki stepped forward to embrace Cami.

Finis Vel Initium

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Since 2003, Matthew Galgani has been an editor at Investor’s Business Daily and is the author of How to Make Money in Stocks — Getting Started (McGraw-Hill). Prior to that, he also helped establish TokyoPop, a Japanese entertainment company, then based in Los Angeles and Tokyo.