by Ted Dekker
Caleb had been studying the machine behind the doctor with mild curiosity. Now he crossed his legs and stared at the wall to his right, still slumped in his seat. His right leg swung over the other in short, absent arcs. Jason had the notion that his mind was still trying to understand what had become of him since his rude departure from the quiet monastery. Their conversation was probably the furthest thing from his mind.
“So your final analysis?” the Greek asked.
Patricia Caldwell sighed. “My final analysis is that you may have a disturbed child on your hands.” She looked at Caleb. “Maybe one who is retarded . . .”
Jason felt Leiah stiffen beside him. Caleb’s legs stopped their swinging, but he didn’t remove his eyes from the wall. An uncomfortable silence descended over them.
“But otherwise he is normal.”
Jason wanted to leave then—take the boy and leave the campus for good. But Dr. Caldwell was not in the frame of mind to hold her thoughts captive.
She put on a plastic grin. “As I see it, your Caleb here is no more a psychic than Jesus Christ was God’s son. But then we all make mistakes, don’t we?”
Something in the room changed with those words. A pin could have dropped, and Donna would have heard it like a bell in her perch above them. There were two people in the room who presumably thought much of Jesus Christ: Father Nikolous and Caleb. But it felt like the good doctor had just cast a gauntlet before the pope himself.
The boy looked slowly at first toward Leiah, then Jason, and then at Dr. Caldwell, who held her smug smile. He stared at her as if she’d just suggested that they all jump into a meat grinder or something. The scene stuck like that—with the boy drilling Caldwell with his round stare and the others sitting in an awkward silence.
The smile was still stuck on Caldwell’s face when the coke-bottle glass in front of her left eye suddenly cracked.
A single line from top to bottom that sounded like a small whip cracking in the heavy silence. Crack!
The good doctor caught her breath and her smiling lips twitched, but she did not budge. A second crack grew from the first at a forty-five-degree angle, slowly, etching white along the thick glass.
It all happened so very deliberately, freezing them all with incredulity. The crawling cracks spread to the other glass, the right lens, horizontal this time.
And then the left coke-bottle lens exploded outward as if Patricia Caldwell’s eye had become a cannon. Pop! The right eyeglass followed a split second later. One, two. Pop! Pop! Small pieces of glass scattered over the table, rattling like beads.
The doctor shrieked and threw her hands to her face. As one, Jason, Leiah, and Nikolous bolted to their feet, spilling all three chairs. Caleb did not flinch.
“I’m blind! I’m blind!” Caldwell shrieked.
It occurred to Jason that he wasn’t breathing. His heart thumped in his chest. The doctor’s trembling hands covered her eyes so he couldn’t see what had happened, but he half expected to see blood seep between her fingers. Maybe he had imagined the shattering glass thing. Then again, the table lay covered in shards of the stuff, and it hadn’t come from thin air.
“Somebody help me!” The doctor was hyperventilating.
The door behind Caleb burst open and Donna stood in the frame, white-faced. “What happened?”
Precisely. Jason found his voice. “Dr. Caldwell . . .” He couldn’t formulate the correct question. Somehow Did your eyes just pop out? didn’t feel quite right. He turned to Caleb, who wore a faint grin. “Caleb? What happened?”
“Oh, my heavens!” Caldwell exclaimed. Only this time it was surprise, not panic. Jason spun back to her.
She stood with her hands a foot from her face, staring through circular wire frames, her eyes as round as full moons. “Oh, my heavens!”
Donna stood by Jason’s side now, and she gripped his elbow. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Oh my!” Caldwell stared at her hands and then turned them over. “I . . . I can see!”
“What do you mean you can see?” Donna asked.
Caldwell reached up, plucked the empty glass frames from her face, and gawked at them. “I mean I can see! I can see clearly. Without my glasses.”
Five heads turned to Caleb as one. The boy lowered his eyes sheepishly.
It took a good ten minutes for the small entourage surrounding Caleb to achieve a semblance of civility. But then it’s not every day you see eyeglasses popping and eyes seeing at the whim of a child either.
Caleb had retained a shy disposition, seemingly unhearing of the dozens of questions heaped upon him once they found their voices. Leiah rescued the boy by demanding they all shut up and give the child a break. He’d had enough for one day. And how would they like it if aliens captured them and prodded them for hours with nonsensical questions? She had taken him by the hand and led him willingly from the room to get a soft drink.
That left Jason, Donna, Nikolous, and Dr. Caldwell in the room.
Caldwell had remained relatively quiet. She kept picking up her wire frames and looking at the empty holes where the glass had been a few minutes earlier. But now she asserted herself in the wake of Leiah’s leaving.
“He has to be studied. You do realize that, don’t you?”
The Greek looked at her without responding, and she turned to Jason for support. “Of course you must understand that the boy has to be analyzed. You can’t just let a subject like him go without careful study.”
“I thought you said he was normal.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! This level of psychic ability may come along once every thousand years, if the human race is so fortunate. We must isolate him and understand how his mind works.”
“The boy’s under my care,” Father Nikolous said.
“Of course he is. But surely you’ll turn him over to the university, or at least the medical center, for thorough analysis!”
The Greek didn’t respond. And Jason wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“Don’t be a fool! Do you know what knowledge of this sort would do for the human race? If we could learn how to tap into and reproduce psychokinesis of this magnitude, the world as we know it would be changed. And the knowledge is locked up in that little boy’s mind. He has to be studied; anything less would be asinine!”
“I think you’re forgetting the boy,” Jason said. “He’s not exactly a poster child for the average well-adjusted American kid. He’s only been in-country for a few days.”
“And that’s exactly why we must bring him into isolation. His exposure must be controlled.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning in all probability his extraordinary power comes because of his isolation. You take a child with psychic abilities at birth and you allow nothing to dilute those powers, but instead you foster a strong belief in those powers, and you end up with an uncompromised subject with extraordinary access to his psyche.”
“A noble savage.”
“Exactly. A noble savage, so to speak. You put him out in the general population and he’ll lose himself in a sea of mediocrity. Psychically speaking. There’s no telling how much damage he’s already sustained in the last few days alone.”
Jason sat back and let the pieces fall into his mind. It seemed logical enough. The soldier he’d shot in the desert: Caleb must have healed him, he realized. And he brought the bird back. The boy had shown the extraordinary powers from the first. Maybe it was why Father Matthew had insisted he be saved. He knew, of course. That didn’t explain his fear for the boy’s life. Unless by life he meant his mind. Or his understanding of spiritual life. But it seemed more than that. Father Matthew had been worried for Caleb’s life.
The Father’s riddle came to Jason’s mind. Remember Jason. What’s soft and round and says more than it should? The hem of a tunic. A riddle about humility. He didn’t want the boy to lose his humility? Or perhaps his innocence.
And what if the boy’s powers were more spiritual than psychic? The notio
n made Jason cringe. His own experience with his son flew in the face of the possibility. He dismissed it.
“It’s still not as simple as you might think,” he said. “For starters, Caleb’s not a subject you can prod with your mind readers. He’s a frightened child who deserves to discover life the way any child should.”
“And that’s not possible. Like you say, he’s not just any child,” Caldwell returned.
Nikolous cleared his throat. “Is it possible that his power comes from faith rather than from his mind?”
“Forgive me, Father, but is there really any difference? Faith? Pick your faith. Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Scientology. Pick your healer. Faith is no more than belief fixed on a higher power, a God, because of our own insecurities with the mind. Call it faith if you like, but trust me, the boy’s power comes from his own mind—his psyche—not some external being who has chosen him to show off to the world. Which is all the more reason to protect that mind of his. It is a phenomenon.”
Father Nikolous nodded in agreement, and Jason was hardly surprised. The explanation certainly lined up with his own experience in the muddy waters of faith.
“Then when can you turn him over to us?” Caldwell asked. “I’ll need to make some arrangements, of course. But I think it would be best for the boy to remain in strict isolation until we can unravel this.”
Again the Greek nodded, and Jason was about to protest when Nikolous spoke. “Unfortunately, Caleb will not be leaving the orphanage. I’m sorry, but Jason is right. He’s not simply a subject for your tests.”
“What? You can’t be serious!”
“Oh, I’m afraid that I am.” The humanitarian in the man hardly fit Jason’s perception of him, but it was a welcome change. “Caleb stays with me.”
“Excuse me.” Donna’s voice carried a slight waver. She sat in the chair Caleb had occupied and she looked up to face them. “Excuse me, but wasn’t your last test of the boy one in which you asked him if the cards had numbers or colors on them?”
Caldwell glanced at the cards now facedown before her. “Yes. And?”
“And they were numbers, weren’t they?”
“Yes. Why?”
“And the number was five, wasn’t it?”
Dr. Caldwell looked at Donna for a moment and then lifted one of the cards. A few shards of glass rattled to the tabletop. She turned the card over. On its face was a large number five. “How did you know?”
“The boy knew,” Donna said. She pointed to the table in front of her. Jason leaned over and saw the lead markings clearly. Caleb had used his pencil to edge four vertical lines crossed diagonally with another. A five. “This boy does more than move things with his mind.”
Patricia Caldwell stood and walked back to the REG machine. The amber line across its screen still ran flat. She took a deep breath. “Father Nikolous, I’m begging you.” She turned around. “Please let us study him.”
“No. The boy stays with me.”
“Then bring him into prominence,” Donna said.
Jason looked at her with a raised brow. Prominence? And what good would that do the boy?
“Let the world know that you’ve found proof positive of radical psychic phenomenon. At the very least it will create unprecedented funding for the field of study. Dr. Caldwell is right about one thing: this could change the way humanity views itself. Who knows what else is locked up in our minds?”
“You actually expect Caleb to sit down with Larry King and have a chat?” Jason asked.
“Of course not. Use me. I may not be Larry King, but I pull a good audience.”
So she wanted to give her career a boost on the boy’s back.
“And before you accuse me of exploitation, you must realize that Dr. Caldwell’s instincts are right. You can’t just hole the boy up.”
“You’ve seen him. He’s not exactly the most talkative boy in the world.” Jason shook his head. “And it sounds an awful lot like exploitation to me.”
Donna’s eyes brightened, undaunted. “How does he react in public settings? You’ve had him for what, four . . . five days? Have you even put the boy in direct contact with others?”
“As little as possible. We’re here for his sake, not others.”
“Of course! But you saw what I saw, right? When was the last time you saw glasses shattering like that, Jason? Never. What if he loses that ability? If you don’t want him picked apart by doctors in white coats, then at least let him begin to interact with the world he’ll soon become a part of anyway. If you don’t want him isolated, then put him in controlled social settings and study him from a distance.”
“And this has nothing to do with your being a journalist, right?” Jason said with less than a full deck of sincerity.
“Okay, so I am a journalist. Like I said, use me.”
“And how will this do me any good?” Nikolous asked. His eyes twitched. “How will this help the boy?”
He’d said the second quickly, to cover the first, and Jason’s earlier perceptions of the man raged to the surface. The Father was not as concerned for Caleb as he let on; that much Jason felt like he felt the running of his own pulse.
Donna hesitated, perhaps aware of the same thing. “I don’t know. What happens when the world discovers a little church in Timbuktu with a bleeding crucifix? They’re drawn like flies.”
“Come on, Donna,” Jason said.
“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard of!” Dr. Caldwell snapped.
Donna ignored her. “I’m just being realistic. Look, you can hide the boy and bring him out slowly if you want, but if Dr. Caldwell’s right, his abilities may be lost to the world. Twenty years from now the five of us will be telling our grandchildren what we once saw, the popping-glass-trick once done by a ten-year-old child. It’ll just be another story that’ll make us sound either stupid or senile, depending on when we get around to opening our mouths. But put this boy on the record and you’ve changed history. And what harm to Caleb if the setting is controlled?”
“And what guarantees do you have for controlling the environment?” Jason motioned to the glass scattered on the far end of the table. “Doesn’t strike me as something you or I have any control over.”
“So you run and hide? Because you’re not sure if he’ll do something that will upset your world?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She smiled at him and suddenly she looked like the Donna he’d held tenderly fifteen years earlier. Her deep blue eyes sparkled brightly, and he felt a tug in his gut. Memories. What was she doing here anyway? She’d dropped out of the sky because of a Coke. Not that he was complaining. She would be in her early thirties like he was; age did her well.
“I know you didn’t, Jason.” She said his name, Jason, and that tug in his gut rose into his heart.
“What do you have in mind?” Nikolous asked.
Dr. Caldwell sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “You really think this is constructive? At the very least you should have him accompanied by a professional.”
“I don’t know,” Donna responded to Nikolous. “Something inconspicuous.” She bit her lower lip lightly and glanced at the Greek. “There’s a press conference with Charles Crandal at Frazier Park tomorrow at noon,” she said, using her hands to point in some arbitrary direction. “I’ll be all set up. Why don’t you bring him down to the park half an hour early and let me shoot him in a natural setting? Who knows what might happen? He’s already shown that he isn’t keen on stuffed-up environments like this; maybe he’ll loosen up in a more organic setting.”
“Charles Crandal?” Jason asked.
“What, you’ve been living in the desert all your life? Charles Crandal, presidential nominee?”
It came back to Jason. He’d read of the man, of course. But in the highlands of Ethiopia one tended to lose sight of such nonsense.
“The news conference isn’t significant except that our equipment’s in place,” Donna said. “What do you say?”
>
“You’re saying you’d interview the boy there?” Nikolous asked.
She shrugged. “No, not necessarily. Just bring him and see what happens. Think of it as a small test. A compromise between what Dr. Caldwell wants and what you might want.”
She was a player, Jason thought. No wonder she’d reached her level in such a short time. And truth be told, he wasn’t even sure she was trying to exploit the boy. Her reasoning had a ring of sincerity to it.
“This isn’t what I’d call scientific,” Caldwell said. “But I suppose it’s better than not studying him at all. What time tomorrow?”
Nikolous stood abruptly, before Donna could answer. “Your presence won’t be required, Dr. Caldwell. If I decide this is best, you may view the tape. Now we must go. I thank you for your time.”
He walked toward the door, and after exchanging glances, Jason and Donna followed, leaving Dr. Caldwell seated in stunned disbelief.
They found Leiah and the boy in the outer lobby.
Donna handed cards out to both Father Nikolous and Jason. “Call me,” she said. She put her hand on Jason’s upper arm and squeezed gently. “It was good to see you, Jason. Maybe we’ll have some time to catch up later. I have to run.” And then she was off.
Jason caught Leiah’s firm stare and shrugged it off. If any explanation was required, he would offer it later. Now another concern filled his mind. It was for Caleb. This scheme of Donna’s may or may not be in the boy’s interest, but either way he would find a way to stay by the boy’s side. He had given his word to protect Caleb and he intended to do just that.
Leiah had already missed one flight to Canada for the boy’s sake, but he suspected she would miss more. She held his hand as if she were his mother. Caleb would listen to them, he thought.
He bent to one knee and smiled into the boy’s eyes. “Caleb, I want you to listen to me. Listen to me very carefully.”
“What are you doing?” Nikolous objected. Jason ignored the Father.
“I want you to make me a promise. Can you do that?” Jason went on.
