The Caleb Collection

by Ted Dekker

  “UCLA? They do that kind of thing?” Jason glanced at Leiah, who was drilling Nikolous with her stare.

  “I was informed this morning that they are at the top of the field. They are quite eager to test the boy.”

  “I suppose we don’t have a choice.”

  “No, I want you to ask the boy if that will be okay.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  It was feeling like some distant cousin to prostitution, but Jason saw no alternative. He faced the boy. Caleb was already looking at him. He smiled. “Caleb, do you understand?” He switched to broken Amharic to spite Nikolous. “Do you understand?”

  Caleb answered quickly in the same language. “Yes.”

  “And you . . . agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?” Nikolous asked.

  “He said yes.”

  The Father smiled. “Good. Take him, Martha.”

  She pulled Caleb’s arm and they walked into the hallway.

  Jason spoke again, still in Amharic. “We will not leave you, my child.”

  Caleb stopped and turned around. For a long moment he just looked at Jason. Then he spoke. In English. “I believe you.”

  They left the complex in silence. The boy had used English to frustrate the Father, Jason thought with some satisfaction. And that meant he had some spirit. That was good; he would need spirit to survive the Greek. Somehow the fact seemed patently obvious now.

  And it had been he who’d placed Caleb in the Greek’s care. Against Leiah’s advice.

  The fact sat in his gut like a bitter pill.

  9

  Day 3

  IT WAS EITHER THE COKE OR SHEER COINCIDENCE that changed Donna Blair’s life forever that day. She chalked it up to coincidence, because everybody knew that when you really thought about it, most everything could be blamed on coincidence. A long string of events and decisions that deposited people to the moment.

  If you wanted to get real psycho about it, you could go way back to her decision to switch her major at UCLA from psychology to journalism in ’85. Ten years later she became the youngest anchor NBC had ever thrown before a live camera in its prime-time slot.

  Or you could go back to her decision to leave the anchor job and hit the road as a correspondent. If she were still sitting at the newsdesk, she’d never have been assigned to cover Charles Crandal. And if she hadn’t been assigned to cover the presidential candidate, she wouldn’t have found herself on the UCLA campuses midweek, despite her favorable memories of the place. As it was, she’d come to cover a lecture by his choice for vice president, Moses Simon, who had been forced to cancel his appearance when his plane was grounded in Las Vegas due to brake problems.

  But simply being at UCLA wouldn’t have done it; she had to be in the psych department, which simply wouldn’t have been a reality if the Coke machine upstairs had been working. So maybe it was the Coke after all.

  Knowing the building from her old days, Donna clapped down the concrete staircase to see if, perchance, the Coke machine outside of Psych 101 was still in the same cubbyhole they’d stuffed it into fifteen years earlier.

  It was.

  And so was the granddaddy of all coincidences in this train of chance— none other than the student she had fallen head over heels for in her sophomore year: Jason Marker. Well, he wasn’t in the cubbyhole. But he was there, facing the machine, a green 7-Up bottle tipped to his lips.

  She froze and gawked for a second. He turned, the bottle still in his mouth, and his bright blue eyes transported her back in time.

  “Jason?”

  He lowered the bottle and looked dumbly for a moment. “Donna?”

  “It’s you. Holy Moses, it really is you!”

  He grinned wide. “Donna Blair. What in tarnation are you doing here?”

  Hearing his voice brought back a hundred memories, and suddenly she was very glad for this string of coincidences. “I’m here for NBC, covering a non-speech.” She walked toward him and kissed him gently on the cheek. “How are you? Haven’t heard a peep out of you in years.”

  “Long story.” They looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. “A non-speech, huh?”

  “Long story,” she said. “So what brings you back to the playground of our youth?”

  She caught his blush, but he covered quickly. He tilted his head. “Very long story.”

  “Well, as it turns out, I just happen to have the time for a very long story.”

  He glanced down the hall, uneasy, it seemed. For all she knew he had a wife and three children waiting around the corner. “Then again, maybe it’s not the best time. I just have—”

  “No, it’s okay,” he said, turning. “If you don’t mind unusual situations, that is.” He shifted on his feet and took another sip from the bottle. “So are we a Mrs.?”

  “Actually, no. We’re a correspondent. The two are mutually exclusive.”

  He chuckled. “News, huh? Always knew you’d put that pretty face to work one day.”

  In the early days she’d insisted that her rise through the ranks had absolutely nothing to do with her face, but truth be told, nobody got excited about hearing a hag run through the news, no matter how eloquently she dispensed it. It was only in the last year that Donna Blair had grown comfortable with the fact that beauty, although only skin deep, brought a favorable dimension to the news hour. And beauty was a quality she’d been blessed with.

  “So really, what brings you here, Jason?”

  “Well . . . a boy.”

  “A boy? A boy brings you to the psych department?”

  “The Parapsychology Research Lab. They’re running tests on him as we speak.”

  “You’re kidding. What on earth does agriculture have to do with parapsychology?”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got all morning, kiddo,” she said, taking his arm. “Show me what you’ve got. I was a psych major once, remember?” It was the correspondent coming out of her, she thought. Once a hound dog, always a hound dog. She flipped out her phone and punched her cameraman’s number. “Hi, Bill. Go ahead without me. I’ll catch you back at the studio in a while—something’s come up.” He grunted his approval and she pocketed her phone.

  The feel of her hand in the crook of his arm had Jason’s mind spinning through their six-month whirlwind romance. Breaking off had been a joint decision, but he’d always known that it had been she who had cooled first. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if she heated as quickly as she cooled.

  She’d released his arm when they entered the small viewing room that overlooked the main lab. Nikolous stood with one hand on his chin and the other supporting his elbow, peering into the adjoining room through a large one-way window. He eyed them like a hawk. From the opposite side of the window Leiah turned, arms crossed. A dozen empty folding chairs sat facing the glass. The lights had been dimmed to ensure privacy.

  “This is ridiculous, Jason,” Leiah said, casting Donna a quick glance. “He’s been in there for over two hours, and she’s done nothing but push him further into his shell.”

  Jason explained to Donna. “Dr. Patricia Caldwell’s running some basic tests on the boy.” He motioned to the glass and then addressed Leiah and Nikolous. “I’m sorry; this is Donna Blair. She wanted to have a look.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were running a zoo,” Leiah said.

  Jason chuckled nervously. “She’s an old friend from school, Leiah. A correspondent for NBC.”

  “And this is news?”

  Donna smiled. “Leiah. Pretty name. By your speech I would guess you’re French Canadian. Am I right?”

  Leiah ignored her.

  “Let’s just say accents interest me,” Donna said. “With a face like yours and the French voice, you really should consider finding work in front of a camera. Don’t worry; I won’t hurt a soul.” Donna walked up to the glass and nodded at Nikolous, who dipped his head in return.

  “So what’s the
boy’s name?” she asked.

  Jason stepped up between Leiah and Donna and gazed at the table below. Dr. Caldwell sat stiffly on one side of an oak table studying her subject. She wore a bundle of blond hair in a bun, held together by a long wooden pin. Thick round glasses perched on the bridge of her sharp nose, effectively nullifying the soft smile that had fixed itself on her face. Behind her, a freestanding chalkboard stood like a teepee, wiped clean of all but a few white smudges. Two huge yellow beanbag chairs were stuffed into each corner. Between them sat a large box of alphabet blocks and other geometric objects. A long counter with a dozen drawers ran along the wall, where an oscilloscope of some kind displayed a horizontal amber line.

  “His name’s Caleb,” Jason said. The boy sat slumped in a folding chair, fiddling with a pencil. To say he looked bored would be an understatement. Leiah might not have completely grasped the meaning of tact, but she did understand Caleb better than any of them, Jason thought. “Nothing yet?”

  Nikolous humphed.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “He’s gone from answering with one or two words to not answering at all. This can’t be helpful,” Leiah said.

  “What kind of tests has she been giving him?” Donna asked.

  “You know anything about psychokinesis?” Jason asked.

  “Mind over matter.”

  “Something like that. Evidently UCLA made a bit of a name for itself in the seventies—some parapsychology research with a healer they studied.”

  “Dr. Thelma Ross,” Donna said.

  Jason looked at her with a raised brow.

  “I was a psych major, remember? She studied a man named Jack Gray, a supposed healer.”

  “And?”

  “And it depends on how you interpret the research, but they claimed he was capable of assisting in a person’s recovery over a period of time. I don’t remember too many professors taking the case seriously, but it was a flash point for the parapsych people in the department. So you think the boy’s exhibited pyschokinetic powers of some kind?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  Jason returned his gaze to Caleb, who sat innocently in the folding chair across from the harsh-looking doctor. It all seemed a bit silly just now. Bringing a boy into UCLA to have him tested for magical powers. Yes, Donna. We have landed some evidence that green men do indeed live on Mars, and we are here to break the news to the world. Leiah was right; this whole thing was nonsense.

  “We’re just having some tests run on him. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “So they’ve asked him to bend steel rods and see through walls and guess the president’s third cousin’s birth date, is that it?”

  Jason smiled, suddenly embarrassed for even coming. “Pretty much.”

  “I see. Interesting.”

  Leiah reached to the wall and flipped a black switch. A small square speaker in the corner hissed to life. “If you don’t help me, I can’t help you, Caleb,” Dr. Caldwell’s voice crackled gently.

  There was no sign the boy heard her. He simply sat in his chair, swinging his legs and staring at the pencil in his hands.

  Dr. Caldwell reached into a drawer, pulled out two large cards, and stood them on edge so that only she could see their markings. “Let’s try something simple again. Have you ever played a guessing game? Hmm? I’d like to play one now, if you wouldn’t mind. Is that okay?”

  This time the boy hesitated but nodded slowly.

  “Good. That’s good. Now I have two cards here and I want you to tell me if they have colors on them or numbers on them. Can you do that?”

  He stared at them for a moment and then looked over to the mirror behind which Jason and the others watched.

  “You’re sure he can’t see us?” Donna asked quietly.

  “That’s what the good doctor told us,” Jason said.

  Dr. Caldwell spoke again. “Please, Caleb. Try to concentrate. There are some people who think you may be able to do special things, but how are we ever going to know unless you cooperate. Hmmm?”

  He looked up at her. “I’m a simple boy.”

  “Well, maybe you are. But we’ll never know unless you play our little games, will we?”

  “Do you know why I am put in this house at the church?”

  The doctor stared at the boy and then set her cards facedown, clearly frustrated. “I’m not here to talk about your housing arrangements, Caleb. I’m here to try to help you.”

  Jason could almost hear Leiah grind her teeth. She glared at Nikolous, who ignored her entirely. She faced the window again. “How can she talk to him like that? Is that the way you talk to a lost child?”

  “She’s a doctor,” Jason said. “She’s got to know what she’s doing.”

  “She’s a spook. Clearly not a child psychologist.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” the Greek spoke up. “I am listening.”

  Leiah swatted the switch off and turned to the clergyman. “Haven’t you heard enough? You’ve watched her administer written tests, which he clearly shows no interest in taking; you’ve heard a hundred questions, which have produced absolutely nothing but the child’s clear need of love; you’ve even watched while the good doctor has suggested Caleb move a marble along the table by looking at it! And somehow you hold the illusion that this is instrumental? What in heaven’s name are you thinking?”

  “Nonsense!” Nikolous boomed. “A boy comes into my care and exhibits the power to give sight; you think I have no obligation to have him properly examined?”

  “Then you’ve examined him already and he seems normal enough. You have an obligation to see to his well-being, not explore his mind.”

  “She’s right, Nikolous,” Jason said. “The boy’s had enough.”

  “We will allow professionals to decide what is enough. You are here on my request; do not forget that.”

  “We’re here for the boy’s sake, remember. Including you.”

  Donna cleared her throat. “I hate to interrupt, but it may not matter.” She nodded to the room and they looked as one. Dr. Caldwell was talking toward the window. Leiah hit the audio switch.

  “ . . . so if you wouldn’t mind coming in now, I think we can wrap this up.”

  Evidently the good doctor had given up.

  “She mean all of us?” Jason asked.

  Leiah turned toward the door without responding. The Greek quickly followed. Jason looked at Donna, who had her arms crossed and was smiling, as if enjoying this show. “You go ahead, Jason. I’ll wait here, if it’s okay with you.”

  He nodded. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  When they entered the testing room, Dr. Caldwell smiled a tad condescendingly and asked them to sit at the table. He and Leiah seated themselves adjacent to the doctor and across from Nikolous. Caleb watched them with round eyes, but he seemed unruffled.

  “I’m sorry this has taken so long, but you must understand that I can only follow the subject’s pace.” Caldwell looked from Jason to Father Nikolous. Her coke-bottle glasses flashed with the reflection of the room’s overhead lights. Surely with today’s technology she could have found a better presentation for her eyesight correction, Jason thought. Contacts would have suited her sharp features better.

  She continued. “Unfortunately, I can see no evidence for psychological anomalies of any kind. He is traumatized perhaps, but otherwise he shows no signs of characteristic behavior.”

  “No one suggested that he had any anomalies,” Leiah said.

  The doctor faced her. “Father Nikolous told me that a boy regained his sight after his interaction with Caleb. I don’t know about you, but in my book that’s rather unusual. Assuming of course that Caleb had anything to do with the event. And assuming that the other child actually did regain his sight. Most cases of this nature are simply misinterpreted events.”

  “No, no,” Nikolous objected. “Samuel did receive his sight, and it was only after the boy’s interactio
n with him. I am not blind, Doctor.”

  “Of course not. But you must understand that I’ve spent two hours administering a string of tests specifically designed to betray even the slightest paranormal occurrence and I’ve found nothing.”

  “And these tests of yours are accurate?”

  Dr. Caldwell stiffened slightly. “I assure you, Father, we’re not talking about the dark ages here. I’ve run tests for micro PK without any indicative results. The macro PK tests were even less responsive. You see that machine behind me?”

  He glanced at the monitor with its single flat line.

  “That’s a REG machine. A Random Event Generator. It creates a pattern of random electrical events. Through concentration a subject with psychokinesis can repeatedly vary that pattern. It’s no longer a question of whether the human mind can change physical events; it’s a matter of how. In fact, portable REGs like the one behind me have been placed in blind studies— the Academy Awards and the Super Bowl for example—and the patterns in the electrical events have changed to reflect the audiences’ reactions to the shows. In other words, a roomful of people have unwittingly influenced the pattern of a machine by their thoughts alone. We are talking science here, Father, not faith.”

  The diatribe left them silent. It sounded impossible that a person could change anything by thinking about it.

  “And Caleb?” Nikolous asked.

  “It turns out that psychokinesis is more common among children than adults, and environments of high stress often trigger the events. That was what interested me about him when you explained the situation. But I’m telling you that I found nothing. Not even a blip.”

  “We’re dealing with a healing here, not a blip on a machine,” Nikolous pushed. And what did the Father want in all of this? Why was he so determined to demonstrate the boy’s abilities anyway? Jason had considered the matter earlier, but hearing the Greek now, he felt a nudge of concern.

  “Healing is generally accepted as a form of psychokinesis,” Caldwell said. “In fact Dr. Thelma Ross made the case pretty strongly here at UCLA over twenty years ago. But either way, healing or not, the boy here shows none of the signs.”