by Pawlik, Tom
Then there was Devon’s strange behavior toward Hayden. What had the facility director said? That Devon had freaked out the moment he first saw the lawyer. But why? What connection did they have?
Jim shook his head. Part of him wanted to forget about the entire ordeal. He’d tried to help Devon, but now it no longer concerned him. He barely knew Hayden and he didn’t know Devon at all. Yet something his wife always said came back to him: “Nothing ever really happens by accident.”
Jim dug through the drawers in the kitchen desk and finally plucked out Hayden’s business card. He stared at it for a minute, still debating whether or not to contact the lawyer again. It really wasn’t any of his business, but something told him that maybe Annie was right.
Jim dialed the office number on the card. After three rings, a woman answered. Jim asked to speak with Conner.
The woman hesitated for a moment. “Mr. Hayden is not in the office today. But I can transfer you to Jeff Hildebrandt; he’s handling—”
“No thanks,” Jim answered quickly. “Will he be in tomorrow? Can I leave a message?”
There was another pause. “Actually, Mr. Hayden has taken a leave of absence. I’m afraid he won’t be available for a couple weeks.”
“A couple weeks?” Jim frowned. Maybe he was still taking medical leave. “Do you have his home phone number? I just need to ask—”
“I’m sorry, sir; we can’t give out that information. But I can try to get a message to him that you called.”
Jim left his name and number, just in case, then hung up and rubbed his eyes. This whole thing was wearing on his nerves. He could get on the Internet and try to locate Hayden’s home phone number. But that felt too much like prying. Jim drummed his fingers on the desk, trying to work up the nerve to go further.
Suddenly the phone rang, shaking Jim from his thoughts. He answered.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Malone?” The voice sounded familiar.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Malone, this is Darnell Curtis, from the juvenile detention center. Do you have a moment?”
“Sure, what can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Mr. Hayden, the man who came to see Devon earlier this morning.”
“Um, yeah. I don’t really know him very well.”
“I understand,” Darnell went on. “But I’m having some trouble getting in contact with him. I’m trying to figure out what connection he might have with Devon.”
“I just assumed he was representing him. Or maybe trying to give him legal advice.”
“I’ve been reviewing the tape of their meeting, and I have to say, their conversation was pretty bizarre.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t go into details at the moment, but Hayden kept referring to the night Devon was shot. He said something about having a heart attack that same night. He seemed to be trying to convince Devon that it was real. Their experience was real. That it really happened.”
Jim nearly dropped the phone. “Whoa—whoa, wait a minute . . . He’s right.”
“You know what he was talking about?”
“Yeah . . . he’s right,” Jim said. Things were starting to come into focus. “He did have a heart attack that night.”
“How do you know this?”
“Well, we had met with him earlier that same afternoon—my wife and I. We had a meeting to talk about a malpractice lawsuit. But we wanted to think about it more over the weekend. And then on Monday, we heard from his office that he was in the hospital. He’d had a heart attack and was having surgery.”
“Are you sure they said he had the heart attack Friday night?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jim said. “But . . . what does that mean?”
“Are you a religious man, Mr. Malone?”
“What? Yeah . . . I guess so. Why?”
“Because Hayden was telling Devon that they had both had the same experience. I think he was referring to their near-death experience. They were both dying at the same time and somehow had experienced the same event. They’d somehow met each other.”
Jim laughed nervously. “Look, I believe in life after death. I mean . . . I’m a Christian and all, but that . . . that sounds a little crazy, don’t you think? What if he was just trying to trick Devon or something?”
There was a pause. “Normally I’d agree with you. But judging from Devon’s reaction to seeing Mr. Hayden again—or really for the first time . . . He was shocked. I mean, almost terrified. It was like Devon recognized him. I guess I’m tempted to give the story the benefit of the doubt.”
“So what experience did they have? Did he describe any of it?”
“No,” Darnell said. “But he did mention two other people. A Helen and Mitch. Do either of those names ring a bell with you?”
“Helen and Mitch? No . . . I’m sorry, they don’t sound familiar.”
“Hayden said that Mitch was in a coma. In a hospital up in Winthrop Harbor.”
“Winthrop Harbor?” Jim frowned. “Well, we should try to find out if—”
“Way ahead of you, man. I called in a few favors and did some checking. There’s a Mitch Kent currently in ICU at Good Samaritan. He’s in a coma from injuries received in a motorcycle accident two months ago. And get this . . . it was the same night Devon was shot and Hayden was having his heart attack.”
Jim felt chills pour down his back. “You’re kidding me.”
“Now all that brings me to your experience with Devon. And how he was acting.”
“You mean his being out of it? Like drugged or something?”
“Yeah, disorientation and the seizure. But there was one other thing.…”
“What’s that?”
“The cold. You said for a moment before his seizure it got real cold in the room. The window frosted up, you said.”
“Yeah.” Jim was nodding at the phone. “Yeah, like the AC had kicked in or something. I could actually see my breath.”
“Right. Only there is no AC in that room.”
“So . . . what are you saying?”
Darnell gave what sounded like a nervous chuckle. “Well, officially, I’m not saying anything. Officially, my office is working diligently with the police to find Devon and bring him back. But unofficially…” He paused a moment. “Unofficially, I think there’s something very weird—spiritual or paranormal or whatever you want to call it—going on.”
Jim sat with his mouth open. He suddenly felt detached, like he was watching himself in a movie. A bizarre, low-budget horror flick about demon-crazed zombies running amok. He shook his head. This was crazy.
“Mr. Malone?” Darnell’s voice drew Jim out of his daze.
He blinked. “Uhh . . . yeah. So . . . what does that all mean? I mean . . . what can we do about it?”
“Again, officially, nothing. We let the police handle it. But it sounds to me like Devon is in more trouble than just being chased by the police. A lot more.”
19
“WELL, CONNER, I’ve been wondering when we’d get the chance to talk.”
Norman Lewis—Pastor Norman Lewis—closed the door to his study and sat down in the chair across from Conner. Lewis was sixtysomething and grandfatherly, his brown hair trimmed with gray and neatly combed. In fact, a little too neatly, Conner thought. Not a hair out of place.
Conner also took note that the guy didn’t sit at his desk, which might’ve suggested a position of authority. Instead, he seemed to treat Conner like a friend. An equal.
Then again, maybe that was the impression he was trying to give—that they were friends. Like some pre-scripted psychological trick from Pastoring Techniques 101: How to Elicit Trust from Your Minions While Pretending to Be Their Equal.
Conner had called Lewis shortly after lunch—upon arriving home from his encounter at Walter Kent’s house. He was frustrated and found himself getting angry with God again. Why would God bring him back to life and make it so difficul
t to accomplish the task that He’d brought him back to do? And to make matters worse, Conner was now fighting against the clock as well. If Kent had made “final arrangements” for his son, that could only mean he was having Mitch disconnected from life support. And probably soon.
So with reservations—but nowhere else to turn—Conner had looked up the pastor’s number and given him a call. Marta was still at work, but Conner wasn’t sure he wanted her along anyway.
Conner tapped his fingers on the leather armrest, unsure of how to begin the conversation.
But Lewis smiled. “So Marta shared with me a bit of your… well, your story and how you came to faith. I don’t think I know anyone with that dramatic a testimony.”
“Mmm.” Conner nodded. “Road to Damascus.”
“Well, I’m eager to hear more about it. That is, whenever you feel comfortable enough to share it.”
“Actually, not even Marta knew the whole story—at least not until this morning. I finally told her everything.”
“So what took you this long to share it all with her?”
Conner shrugged. “I guess I was afraid she’d think I was…”
“Crazy?”
Conner peered at the pastor with a raised eyebrow.
Lewis gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah, she called this morning to ask for prayer. She didn’t share any details. But she said you had told her an incredible story.”
“She did, eh?”
Lewis held up a hand. “Now she loves you very much and has a great deal of respect for you. She didn’t seem to think you were crazy. She’s been praying desperately for you, over four years now. You may not know it, but we all have.”
“Praying?”
“For your soul. Your salvation.”
This was a new thought for Conner. He knew Marta loved him, but it never dawned on him that she had actually been praying for him. And what was more, had even gotten her whole church involved. He felt a brief flash of annoyance at the idea of all these strangers imposing on his private life this whole time. Knowing personal details about him. Praying for him without his permission.
But then another thought struck him. The story of the Prodigal Son that he’d read recently. How the father had longed for his child and yearned for him all the while he was gone. Watching for him, praying for him, even while he was off living the high life. Before he’d even repented. That wasn’t imposition. It was just… love.
Lewis cleared his throat. “You know, Conner, I was once an agnostic myself.”
“You were?”
Lewis nodded. “I taught philosophy at Notre Dame. Like you, I didn’t become a Christian until later in life. I was thirty-six.”
“So what happened?”
“My conversion wasn’t nearly as dramatic as yours—although I did nearly die in a car accident. That’s what helped me turn the corner, so to speak. But really, my conversion was the product of pure grace.” His smile broadened. “And thirty-six years of a faithful mother’s prayers.”
“That’s perseverance.”
“You have no idea.” Lewis chuckled. “So you and I are pretty similar. Both former agnostics. Both of us prayed into heaven by the women who loved us.”
Conner’s lips curled up slightly. Then he grew serious again. “So when you had your accident… did you… experience anything? see or hear anything?”
“No. My heart never stopped. I never lost consciousness. But as I was pinned inside that car waiting for someone to come along and find me, I felt a sense of fear. I mean an overwhelming feeling of pure dread. Like someone had dropped a huge blanket over me. Just covering me in complete darkness. Smothering darkness.”
Conner swallowed. A chill skittered down his back for a moment as he recalled standing at the edge of the abyss, gazing into that vast, unending darkness. A darkness that could almost be felt. More than just an absence of light, as though it were a physical thing. He shuddered.
Lewis went on. “It was like getting a peek into a place where you were completely alone. A place void of even the presence of God.” He breathed a deep sigh. “I knew then and there that I needed to get serious about my agnosticism.”
Conner looked up. “What do you mean?”
“I realized I’d been a lazy agnostic. I had convinced myself it was impossible to know God without making sure it really was impossible.”
Conner nodded. “You can never be sure you can’t know something.”
Lewis chuckled. “Exactly. I came to the realization that all my arguments against God’s existence were purely…” He seemed to search for a word. “Purely operational. I saw all the evil and tragedy going on around me and thought that if God existed, He wouldn’t allow any of this to occur. And since it was occurring, He couldn’t be real.”
“That was me, too,” Conner said. “That’s exactly where I was.”
“My entire argument was based on an emotional reaction to what I saw happening. I didn’t like the way God operated, so I decided He must not exist. But I was imposing my own values onto God, thinking that God had to behave like I would—according to my logic and values. I wasn’t open to the possibility that maybe God might allow evil to succeed for a time in order to fulfill a greater goal. He can allow tragedy to occur because He has a higher purpose. One I couldn’t see because I’m a finite human being.”
This was getting a little too close to home. This pastor was no longer describing his own feelings but Conner’s as well. “But why doesn’t He just let us in on it? Why does everything have to be such a secret?”
“His mysterious ways?” Lewis shrugged. “Maybe in part to build our faith. To teach us to trust Him. Like a parent forcing a child to learn how to swim. It’s scary and unpleasant for the child at the time, but in the end it’s better for that child to know how to swim than to…” He stopped midsentence. His face went white. “I’m… I’m sorry, Conner. I wasn’t thinking. That was a terrible analogy.”
Conner found his hands clenching the armrests. His jaw had tightened, and his chest. He took a breath. An image flashed in his head—Matthew’s face beneath the water, his eyes vacant and dead…
“No,” Conner said softly. “It’s all right.”
“I just wasn’t thinking.…”
“Actually it’s a perfect analogy. God allows these things ultimately for our own good. We just don’t always understand it at the time.”
“Or maybe for someone else’s good,” Lewis added. “Or sometimes just for His own glory. You remember the story of Job? God allowed terrible suffering into a faithful man’s life, all to prove a point to Satan. And He never once explained to Job why He allowed it. Job accepted it initially, but soon he began to plead for an answer. Then he ended up demanding one.
“And when God finally responded . . . it wasn’t a gentle answer. He didn’t speak in a still, small voice or in a soft, motherly tone. He spoke with power. Out of a storm. He invoked His sovereign prerogative: He is God and He will do as He pleases. He may choose to let us know the reasons… or He may not.”
Conner shook his head. “That won’t win Him any popularity contests. Not these days.”
“You’re right. It’s definitely easier to talk about His kindness and love. But the subtle danger there is that before you know it, if that’s all we focus on, we start to think that maybe, in some way, we must be kind of lovable. That maybe there’s something good in us and maybe we deserve His love.”
Conner rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t thought of that before.
Lewis went on. “Now in the end, God did show His love to Job. He restored everything twofold. But not until Job came to a place where He recognized God’s rightful authority and bowed down in humility and repentance. We can never fully appreciate God’s love until we understand how completely undeserving we are of being loved.”
They both fell silent for a moment as that thought sank into Conner. Was he demanding answers from God as well? or some kind of explanation? And was he expecting God to respond on Conner’s tim
etable? What right did he have to demand anything from the Almighty?
Conner shook his head. It was an easy trap to fall into. Perhaps he could use a little humility. At length, he spoke up. “So let me tell you what happened during my heart attack.”
20
MITCH SPENT THE NEXT TWO DAYS inside the farmhouse, refusing to talk or to even go outside. He barely ate and stopped playing cribbage altogether. Instead, he spent most of the time just sitting in the living room, staring out the front window.
He felt numb inside, like his brain was shutting down. He had seen dozens of people get dragged away by the aliens before, just like Jason had been. And he had never gotten used to it. They were always violent, terrifying events that paralyzed him with fear. Frozen and unable to help, and feeling strangely detached as if he were in a dream, trying desperately to flee only to find he couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t walk. He could barely even crawl.
It was like that every time. In fact, he had come to dread the sight of any visitors because he knew invariably they would meet a gruesome end. One way or another. And so Mitch had stopped being friendly to them at all. He refused to allow himself the risk of becoming even slightly attached. It was bad enough watching this happen to strangers; he couldn’t bear to watch it happen to a friend. So he simply determined not to let anyone become a friend.
Until now.
Somehow Jason had wormed his way through Mitch’s defenses. Maybe it was the experience of having someone around who was closer to his own age. Maybe it was the guy’s incessant jabbering. Mitch wasn’t sure. But somehow, without even realizing it, over the week Jason had been here, they had become friends.
Mitch grunted. Some friend. He hadn’t even been able to muster the courage to help the kid. He had relived the event in his mind during the last two days. Over and over, he watched the creatures grab Jason and carry him off, arms flailing, screaming for help. And Mitch watched himself running to save him, only to freeze at the last minute. Just like a frightened child.
