The Man He Never Was

by James L. Rubart

  “You want to tell me about your friend with the lightning-fast reflexes?”

  He didn’t hold out much hope, but it was worth asking.

  “She wasn’t our friend,” the blonde on the left said.

  Exactly the answer he’d expected. “She wasn’t?”

  “We didn’t even know her.”

  “No?” Toren motioned to the now-empty seat the lady had occupied and sat in it. “Do you mind?”

  “Uh-uh,” the blonde said. She explained, “She came in, sat down, and whispered, ‘Do you mind if I sit with you for a while, and you do me a really big favor and pretend like we’re friends?’ As she says it, she slides a twenty in front of each of us.”

  The blonde took a drink and the redhead continued the story.

  “So I think that’s kind of weird. I can tell by the look on Stacy’s face she does too, but she doesn’t look like a psycho and twenty bucks is twenty bucks, so I say yes and so does Stacy. We play along for five or ten minutes—and we can tell she’s crushing on you—and then she jumps up and sprints to the back, and so do you, and here we are.”

  “I’m guessing she didn’t give you a name.”

  “No.”

  “Did she say anything about herself, did she have an accent, is there anything you can tell me about her that stood out?”

  “She was super tall,” Stacy said.

  Toren took a calming breath.

  The redhead frowned and said, “She wasn’t here very long, but she did say, ‘Thanks for doing this, and don’t worry, I’m not stalking this man and have no ill intent toward him, but it’s important for me to observe him.’”

  “Anything else?”

  The redhead shook her head. Toren stood, thanked them, and walked back to his table. For the first time he noticed Eden seated there, her hands folded across her lap.

  “Hello, Toren. Having fun today?”

  “Almost more than I can stand.”

  Toren sat and told her about his call from Letto and about the woman who had been stalking him just before she arrived. Eden didn’t seem concerned about either.

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “Which one?”

  “Either.”

  “No. What I’d like to hear about is your breakthrough.”

  He stared at her, but her only response was slightly raised eyebrows.

  “I think I know the area of the country I was in. I think it’s pretty obvious now what was done to me, and I think I know why I can’t remember anything.”

  Eden took a quick sip of her coffee. “Let’s hear it.”

  CHAPTER 17

  After Toren filled Eden in on learning about the Hulk and the few memories he still held from his flashback in the gym, she said, “So you think you were in the Southwest?”

  “Yes. I was hiking, red dust kicking up from the trail. I breathed hard, but in a good way, like during a strong workout or when I used to be on the field, chasing down a quarterback. I was looking down, but there were other people around me, I’m sure of it. Not exactly friends, but still, people I trusted. And then we reached the top of somewhere. I can’t see it in my mind, but something tells me the view from up top was spectacular. That’s all.”

  “And the feeling?”

  “Exhilaration. Not from getting to the top or seeing the view. The feeling of elation came later that day, but I can’t tell you what from.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  Toren hesitated for a moment. Rubbed his thumb against his coffee cup.

  “Nothing. But more is coming. I know it is. This is a good start. Red rocks, heat . . . has to be New Mexico, Arizona, maybe Utah.”

  “Yes, possibly.” Eden took notes on her laptop. “Why do you think you have so few memories of that time? And how could anyone have wiped your memory?”

  “I don’t know—but it turns out, memories are surprisingly easy to manipulate.”

  “It seems you used your time wisely while I was gone.”

  Toren spread his palms on the table and said, “Our memories are fluid. Every time we bring one to mind, we change it. Slightly, but it’s altered. Think about that old game everyone’s played at one time or another, Telephone, where there’s a circle of people and one person whispers a phrase to the person next to them, and they whisper it to the person next to them until it goes around the whole circle and winds up with the person who started, usually a completely different phrase. Psychologists believe that’s what happens with our memories, and the game of Telephone keeps going till we die.

  “Each of our memories is constantly evolving. We add or change details. That time when you broke your leg on the sledding hill. Was it cloudy? Sunny? Snowing? Did you change that part of the memory, or maybe someone else who was there suggested it? Did they remember it right?”

  Eden was nodding.

  “What about being told a story of something that happened when you were a kid and hearing it so much from your mom and dad over the years that now you think you remember it happening, when all you really are recalling is the story? And it rewrites, or overwrites, the old memory.

  “Now scientists have figured out how to take advantage of our fragile memories and can neutralize them—and in turn the feelings associated with them—of sadness, fear, or joy.”

  “How do they neutralize them?”

  “By shutting down a chemical called norepinephrine. They’ve figured out that norepinephrine is associated with our fight-or-flight response to a frightening situation. And they’ve developed a method of blocking it when the memory is trigged. Then, when we put the memory back in the files of our brain, it’s changed. Scientists call the process reconsolidation.”

  “Go on.”

  “They’ve tested it. Researchers in the Netherlands stuck people scared of spiders into a cage with live tarantulas, which not surprisingly freaked them out. Then they gave these people beta blockers, which restrict norepinephrine levels. Guess what happened?”

  “No longer scared of spiders.” Eden flicked her fingers. “Those memories were obliterated.”

  “Yes!” Toren leaned forward. “A few days afterward, they not only had no problem being with the tarantulas, they had no problem letting the spiders crawl on them!”

  “I would think most people would need a megadose of those beta blockers.”

  “In severe cases of PTSD, scientists have experimented with a therapy that involves xenon gas, which targets certain brain receptors that are closely related to learning and memory. When xenon is inhaled during a bad memory, it strips out all negative feelings associated with it, rendering it neutral.”

  Eden spread her palms on the table and leaned in. “But we’re not talking about getting rid of a specific memory. We need to know how someone wiped out months of your life. That sort of thing is still just a fantasy, right? Like the thing that was done to Jim Carey’s character in that movie, what was it?”

  “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a perfect example,” Toren said. “In the movie, an electric brain scanner targets and zaps the man’s painful memories while he sleeps. Turns out, scientists can accomplish something similar with mice by ‘incepting’ their brains while they’re asleep.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Yeah. So I guess we have to throw Christopher Nolan’s movie Inception into the mix.” Toren blew out a slow breath. “You want to hear how they’re doing this?”

  “Of course.”

  “Essentially it involves mapping a mouse’s brain—identifying the cells that are activated by certain activities or locations—then manipulating those particular cells while they’re sleeping using an electrode to link them to a reward signal whenever they fire. The scientists were able to engineer positive associations with particular places so successfully that when the mice awoke, they headed straight toward the locations that were linked to the reward signal.”

  Toren glanced over Eden’s head and out t
he window of the shop and gave an amazed chuckle.

  “I’ve always believed scientific knowledge is far more advanced than we’re told. I think it’s possible that right now scientists are able to alter memories while we sleep. To target unwanted memories and zap them out of existence. Scientists are already doing it with mice, so if science is always ten to twelve years ahead of what the average man believes can be done, who’s to say this wasn’t done to me? With my full knowledge and consent?”

  “For what purpose?” Eden leaned in, both hands around her cup.

  “Ah, yes, finally we get down to the reason for all this.” Toren glanced around the coffee shop. “At least this is my theory on what happened and why it happened.”

  Eden narrowed her eyes.

  “I’ve changed, Eden. What’s happened to me went beyond getting control of my temper. I love my family far more than I did before. I’m praying for my kids like crazy. Praying for Sloane. My relationship with God is better than it’s ever been. I feel more free even with this mystery hanging over my head and some wacko friend from a hundred years ago stalking me.

  “I’m kind now, not because it will get me anything, but because I want to be kind. I’m giving without any expectation of return. I’m patient like I’ve never been. I’m not offended by the things that used to tick me off. I could go on, but I think you get the point.”

  “So they wiped out the bad and implanted you with the good.”

  “Sounds like science fiction.”

  “Or . . .” Eden trailed off as her forefinger circled a small stain on their table.

  “Or what?”

  “God.”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that the point of your faith, Toren? You said you were a Christian—didn’t I hear you say that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “According to your inspired writings, when you surrender to God, you die. You’re eliminated—crucified, to use the Bible’s word—and from then on, it’s Christ living in you. God’s Spirit comes into your heart and changes everything from the inside out.” Eden tapped her collarbone. “The old man is gone.”

  “I’ve never thought of it like that.”

  Eden turned to her laptop. “Do you want to hear what I found out?”

  “About retreat centers?”

  “Yes.” Eden slid her laptop over so Toren could see. “All the red dots on this map are retreat centers, spiritual awakening places, gathering spots. The good news is if we narrow our search to the Southwest, we cut down the number considerably. The bad news is if you did go to a place in the Southwest, we don’t know that it’s necessarily listed here, or is even registered as a retreat center.”

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “I’d love to say we jump in a plane and check these places out, but it’s going to be a lot more boring for a while longer. I want you to start pulling up all seventy-five of the centers in Arizona, New Mexico, and Utah and see if any of the pictures on their websites jogs a memory. When you finish, text me.”

  Eden gathered her things and stood. “You’re going to figure this out, Toren. You have my word.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Toren arrived at the baseball field just as Colton’s team gathered for practice. He headed toward a cluster of trees across from the far corner of left field—far enough away that Colton wouldn’t spot him, but close enough that he could watch Colton play the hot corner, third base, the same position Toren had played ages back in a vain attempt to capture his dad’s attention before he’d walked out on their family.

  As he settled into a spot next to the tree and Colton jogged onto the field, a feeling urged him to turn and look behind him. His heart skipped. One hundred yards away, on the edge of the four sets of diamonds, Letto loitered in a black sweatshirt, dark-gray jeans, face shrouded by a baseball hat. Toren didn’t need to see his face to know it was him. As Toren watched, Letto lifted his forefinger and pointed it at Colton like a gun, took a pretend shot, then turned to Toren and grinned.

  Toren sprinted toward Letto without thought.

  Letto spun and rocketed away. Toren was spent from the workout he’d done after meeting Eden, but nothing was going to stop him from catching this psychopath. Letto wove between the trees quicker than a lot of the backs Toren used to chase down on the field. A clouded memory of Letto running the 100 meters in school flashed through his mind. Obviously he hadn’t lost even a step since those days.

  Toren’s spirit was more than willing, but his flesh was more than weak. His workout had sapped his wind. Didn’t matter. Toren forced his body to move faster. For a few agonizing moments the distance between them stayed the same, but then he started closing the distance. Ten yards. Nine. Seven.

  “I feel you back there, Toren,” Letto rasped out between breaths. “Come on, a little faster, don’t fail me now. Prove it. Prove to me you belong back in the pros.”

  Toren gritted his teeth and pressed hard. Yes! Now five yards. Fire in his lungs. A low branch clipped his shoulder. Stay with it. Four more seconds and he’d nail Letto. He ignored the burning in his legs. Three yards. Two. Toren reached out for the man’s jacket. Inches!

  An instant before Toren’s fingers closed down, Letto darted to his left around a Douglas fir. Toren planted his right foot to make the cut. But an instant later Toren’s foot was sliding on dry needles. He went down hard on his left hip and shoulder. His momentum dragged him across the ground and slammed him into the trunk of a maple tree. He staggered quickly to his feet, but it was a futile gesture. Letto was thirty yards out and not slowing.

  Toren checked his shoulder and hip. He’d deal with a bruise for a few days, but nothing broken. By the time he got back to the field, his breathing was almost back to normal.

  His fear for Sloane and his kids, on the other hand, was through the roof.

  The practice went well for Colton, and when it was over, Toren smiled at the back of his son’s head as he huddled up with his teammates around the coach, likely to get a few more pointers about their game the next day. He’d wait until he knew Colton was safely headed for home with a friend before leaving. No telling where Letto was right now.

  They broke up a few minutes later with a cheer. Colton and his buddy Tim started strolling toward their ride—Tim’s dad—when for no reason, Colton stopped, spun, and stared right at Toren. He turned to go, but Colton began to lope toward him, then ran. Toren moved toward his son, his steps hesitant, hands jammed in his pockets.

  “Hey, Colton!” his coach called out. “Where are you going?”

  Colton stopped and turned back. “It’s okay. It’s my dad.”

  Toren waved at the coach.

  When Colton reached him, he said, “What are you doing here, Dad?”

  With the sun streaming into his eyes and Colton’s cap pulled down over his face, Toren couldn’t tell if it was good or bad that he’d come.

  “I came to watch you practice.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Colton looked up at him now, his curly dark hair poking out from under his hat, the expression in his eyes a mix of nervousness and irritation.

  Toren let a few seconds pass before saying, “How did you know I was here?”

  Even in profile, he saw Colton’s eyes twitch under his furrowed brow as if he were trying to figure out one of the math problems he was so good at.

  “Lyle says to me, ‘There’s some big guy standing out next to left field watching the whole practice. Did you see him?’ So I looked over and I could pretty much tell it was you.”

  “I thought I did a good job of hiding behind the tree.”

  “No, not really.” A hint of a smile formed in the corner of Colton’s mouth, but it shifted into a frown. “I wasn’t going to let you know I saw you, but then I decided I’d come over.”

  “Glad you did.”

  “Why’d you come today?”

  “I’ve come to every one of your practices since the day I got back. So I guess I’m not the worst in the world at
hiding.”

  Almost a smile now on Colton’s face.

  “Why did you want to hide?”

  “Not sure.” Toren looked up at the clouds gathering as if they had permission to start dumping rain now that practice had finished. He searched for words that refused to form in his mind.

  “You looked good out there today. Your swing is getting solid. For a kid your age, you’re really pounding the ball. And your anticipation at third? Fast. And your arm is strong. Looks like you’re almost comfortable having those line drives hit your direction.”

  “It’s feeling better, I guess.”

  Toren leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. “You keep playing like this, you could be a star.” He looked into Colton’s eyes before turning his gaze back to the diamond. “Seeing you out there, going for it with all your talent, it’s a treat, Colton.”

  Colton turned back and matched Toren’s posture, maybe his father’s son in this way only. “Why did you want to keep me from knowing you’re coming to my practices?”

  “Because I want it to be real.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be real if you told me?”

  “Because if you knew, you might suspect I was doing it to make you feel good about me, make you want to be my son again.”

  “I didn’t ever want to stop being your son deep down. I just wanted you to be . . .”

  “A better dad?”

  Colton glanced at Toren for less than a second. But it was enough. And then he ripped into Toren’s heart in the best way possible. “And I never wanted you and Mom to stop being married.”

  Toren threw his arm around Colton’s neck, and they walked back toward the diamond together.

  CHAPTER 19

  The next day Toren couldn’t concentrate on his research into Southwestern retreat centers. He was far too distracted by the image of Letto taking aim at Colton. Finally he pushed away from his laptop and texted Sloane. She needed to know. Had to know.

  Can we have coffee again? It’s imperative we talk.

  Toren returned to his laptop to go over the websites of every retreat center again but only got through three before his phone buzzed.