CHAPTER 21
Tonight the woman wore black slacks and a dark-green blouse. In her heels she was almost as tall as Toren. She gave a thin smile and motioned out over the city.
“Beautiful, even if they’re man-made, don’t you think?” Her voice came out silky smooth. “The lights.”
Toren didn’t turn, kept his eyes locked on her face. “I agree.”
She slid a few inches closer to him, near enough to chat discreetly, not so close as to be inappropriate.
“Hello, Toren.”
“You’ve been following me.”
“I can certainly see how you would think that.”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of debate.”
“I prefer to describe it as observing.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Her voice was soothing, but with steel underneath it. She didn’t speak as if to defend herself or to convince him, but simply to state facts.
“So you’re not following me, just observing, when you happen to show up at the same place I am.”
“Yes. Curious, isn’t it?”
“You want to explain to me how that works?” He turned to face her, but she still gazed out over the lights, her hands resting like two delicate birds on the railing.
“I believe there are forces operating in this world that are far beyond us, and my preference is simply to have faith that I am where I am supposed to be when I am supposed to be there.”
“Then explain why you sprinted off when I saw you.”
She turned and laughed, a lyrical sound that made him think of days on the lake at a childhood friend’s cabin.
“You certainly have a severe desire to have things explained.”
“Will you tell me?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I believe in going where the river wants to take me. I also believe I am given choice in every moment as to what part of the river I will experience. I have the choice to float, to swim away. To go to the shore. Even to go back upstream.”
“Am I supposed to understand what that means?”
“It means you can let go of trying to understand everything.”
An earlier image of the woman’s face flashed into his mind—before the coffee shop—but it vanished as quickly as it had come. It wasn’t from years ago; it was from months ago. Which meant . . .
Her hair was shorter then and streaked with dark-brown highlights. She’d been wearing jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt. An image of red rocks and the desert flashed into his head. The same images that had appeared in his mind a few days back. Toren shook his head. The woman peered at him with the hint of a smile as if she knew what he’d just seen.
“We’ve met before,” he said.
She patted his hand lightly with warm, dry fingers. “Yes, my dear Toren.”
“Where?”
“It is good to chat with you again.”
“Again? Do you want to explain that to me?”
“You truly love that word, don’t you?” She laughed for the second time.
“If it gets me what I need to know.”
“Why do you need to know so badly?”
Before he could stop himself, Toren blurted out, “Because I’m concerned about something.”
“About what?”
It didn’t make sense, but he immediately began to spill everything that had happened to him since his return. He went quickly, hitting only the highlights, and finished by telling her about the anger he felt trying to rise in him during Sloane’s recent revelation.
Her expression didn’t change an iota during the telling, but the second he finished, she smiled wide and said, “Well done, Toren. I think you have a fine handle on things.”
“You think I have a handle on things?” He slammed his hand down on the railing so hard it shook. “I have a handle on nothing!”
Toren put his other hand on the railing, closed his eyes, and took three slow breaths. Control. Do not lose it. Where had that come from? It was gone as fast as it had appeared, but this time the anger was more than a sliver.
When he looked up, the woman was peering at him, calm still spread across her porcelain skin, no shock in her eyes from the outburst.
“It’s okay, Toren. Really. It is all okay. All will come in time.”
“What do I have to do to make sure things stay the way they are?”
Her beautiful laugh illuminated her eyes. “Do you truly want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you knew this, Toren.”
“I don’t.” He opened his palms. “Tell me. Please.”
“Why, you have to accept your death, of course. And then destroy him once and for all.”
CHAPTER 22
Toren met Eden early the next afternoon at the park, and she got down to business the instant he sat down.
“Give me an update on what you’ve learned and anyone you’ve talked to.” She readied her fingers over her tablet.
“Good to see you too.”
“Thanks.” All she offered was the briefest hint of a smile.
Toren described his lack of progress in looking at retreat centers. He told her of his encounter at the party with the woman who had been stalking him.
“That’s all she said? That you have to die?”
“And destroy him once and for all.”
“Who do you think ‘him’ is?”
“I don’t know.” Toren bit his lower lip. “Yet.” His mind went to the letter it seemed he had written. Torenado doesn’t deserve to exist anymore.
“Anything from Letto? Any contact?”
“Big-time contact.”
“Tell me.”
After Toren finished describing his confrontation with Letto on the balcony, he sighed and said, “And my concern about that wacko is only slightly ahead of the other issue pounding at my mind.”
“Which is?”
Toren glanced around the park.
“I can trust you, can’t I?”
“I hope so.”
“I’m starting to lose it.”
“Lose what?”
“It’s wearing off. Whatever was done to me is wearing off.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
He told Eden about the rage he’d felt over the news of Sloane’s boyfriend, then again with Letto at the party.
“I see.”
As Toren studied her almond-shaped eyes, he truly believed she did.
“I have to find out where I was, because I have to get back, get more training, get refreshed, whatever it takes.”
“If it’s wearing off, it’s wearing off fast.”
“True.”
“There was nothing inside the package to guide you. No instructions.”
“Not true.” Toren shook his head. “There was a thin booklet. Things they said I should do.”
“Why aren’t you doing them?”
“I’ve been a little preoccupied.”
“Sounds like you might need to make time for the exercises. Do you remember what they were?”
“No, I barely glanced at it.” Toren sighed. “Meditation . . . prayers to read and memorize, and . . . I don’t remember.”
They slipped into silence. Toren stared at the towering fir trees, fighting the despair smothering his mind.
“Where do I go from here?”
Eden didn’t respond right away. “To uncover where you were and what was done to you, you must realize this struggle is more about your heart than your mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Back in the early sixties there was a man who became exceedingly wealthy. The only thing that surpassed his wealth was the great fervor with which he served God. He gave away close to 250 million dollars during his lifetime to missions and churches and to feed the hungry, to clothe the needy—but he did more than give money; he gave away his time as well.
“Many months each year were devoted to reaching the lost, serving them, teaching them, empowering others to do
the same. His library full of sermons, commentaries, and classic teachings from the first age of the church to the present was a wonder. But perhaps more startling, these books were not just a collection. No, this man had read nearly all of them. Studied them. Debated the ideas in the books with others more learned than him.
“But his study of these books did not come close to his study of Scripture and doctrine. Few were known who had memorized more of the Bible than he had. But what he is most remembered for is the day he gave up his life for the gospel.”
“Really,” Toren said. “How?”
“He was burned, Toren,” Eden said. “He was on a mission trip, and he refused to deny Christ. So they burned his body.”
“When this man died and slipped off his mortality, he stood before God, proud of what he had accomplished during his time on earth.”
“Not a true story, then,” Toren said.
Eden continued as if she hadn’t heard him.
“God said to him, ‘Welcome, son. But what you did on earth meant nothing.’ The man realized in that moment that the apostle Paul spoke the truth. All his vast generosity, his wisdom, his precise knowledge of doctrine and dogma and the Bible, even his willingness to be martyred for his faith in the end amounted to nothing. Nothing. Not a microcosm of significance or eternal value. For he did not have love.
“Only love matters in the end. So only love matters in the present.” Eden gave Toren’s hand a quick squeeze.
“As I said a few minutes ago, I do not believe you will solve this mystery with your mind, Toren. It must be with your heart. The only possible way must be by discovering the way of love. Love is the greatest weapon you will ever wield. Right now, I suggest the best use of your time is to pursue understanding that weapon with everything you are.”
CHAPTER 23
After leaving Eden, Toren headed north up I-5 till he reached La Conner. He rented a small boat and made his way over to Hope Island State Park. He had to get away, ponder what Eden had said about love and what it meant to pursue the way of love, clear his head, beg God to open Sloane’s heart, beg him to tell Toren where he’d been. After tying up the skiff, he stared at the undulating waters of North Puget Sound for an age.
Finally he made his way over the rocks, over the driftwood, and onto the sand. He shuffled over its grains for an hour, then two, trying to come up with a deal to convince God to re-create Toren’s life the way it had been before he stopped playing. A life in which Sloane loved him. But that wasn’t how God worked. Toren knew it, but he had to find answers. Whatever it cost, he would pay the price to get them. He had to. Toren would not give up till he’d figured out what had happened to him. And he would not stop till Sloane believed the darkness inside him was gone, till he convinced her how much he loved her. He would not give up on them. Ever. He had changed and would spend the rest of his life convincing her it was true.
Toren pulled out the booklet that had been in the package when he woke up in the hotel. If love was his ultimate weapon, then going through the exercises in the booklet was the only way to make himself strong. Had to do it. Fast. For the next two and a half hours he prayed, forced himself to memorize ten of the Scriptures in the booklet, sang every worship song he could remember, meditated on the truths of the faith. When he finished he felt better. A little. It would take time, he knew that, but time was slipping into the future too quickly.
He made his way back to the mainland and ate dinner at a small bar a few miles west, then drove back to the sound to watch the sunset. After he was out of prayers and almost out of hope, he got into his car and headed south.
The road slid by in darkness except for his headlights as he headed back to his rental house. A light summer rain fell. He flipped on the radio, and a voice broke into Toren’s darkness like a lightning bolt.
“. . . most scientists have a difficult time admitting how limited our knowledge is. Each generation believes they are at a kind of pinnacle of scientific knowledge, and yet the reality is that one hundred years from now scientists will look back on our beliefs and smile at how quaint and archaic and ill-informed they were.”
By the time the woman finished the first sentence, Toren was more awake than he’d been all day. He knew that voice. Without question it had been part of his vanished 240 days. Not once, or a few times, but frequently. Images of women’s faces floated through his mind’s eye like vapors, but he couldn’t be certain any of them were her.
“. . . push back on you a little bit there . . .”
The host’s voice brought Toren back to the interview. Yes. More of her voice. More memories.
“You’re saying we’ll look back and describe what we believed as quaint. Really? You’re saying everything we believe is wrong?”
“No, no, not at all. Wrong is the not the word to describe it. Ill-informed is better. It’s not that everything we believe is erroneous, it’s that it is so woefully limited. Our vision is tragically narrow.”
“Explain.”
“Let’s use an extremely simple analogy: If we were children and one day we walked by a fence and heard cheering on the other side of that fence, we might want to know what is on the other side. But the fence is too tall. So we search for a hole to look through, and we discover a tiny one in the fence. Each of us in turn looks through the hole and sees grass and a man in unusual clothing, maybe two or three men. And we might even see some breaks in the grass of light brown dirt.
“But that’s all we see. Have we seen correctly? Yes. But let’s say a year from then, we get to step inside the fence and take a seat in that baseball stadium. Will we see more than we did before? Will our narrow view become broader?”
Toren slowed to navigate a sharp curve in the road.
“Okay, now explain how that applies to science.”
“Once upon a time, we believed the world was flat, and that driving above thirty miles an hour would kill a man, and that going to the moon would never happen except in science-fiction novels. The first belief comes from eons ago, but the last two come from less than 150 years ago. Until we believed those things could happen, those things could not happen. From a scientific viewpoint, perception is everything.”
“You’re saying you believe that old motivational cliché, ‘Perception is reality’?”
“It’s not a matter of choosing to believe it or not choosing to believe it. It is fact. Without question, perception is reality. More than most people can possibly imagine.”
“All right, help us out. Give our imaginations a shot in the arm. Help us go beyond believing or not believing—give us proof.”
The woman laughed, and even more than her voice, that laugh cemented in Toren’s mind the belief that he’d not only listened extensively to this woman but interacted with her on multiple occasions.
Toren needed her name.
Come on, tell me the name of your guest.
Toren grabbed his cell phone and started to search for the show, then thought better of it, driving in the dark. It was okay—eventually they’d take a break and he’d discover who it was. He set down his phone and concentrated on her voice.
“At the end of the seventeenth century, the scientific community was enamored with the findings of a brilliant physicist named Isaac Newton. From his discoveries, we developed Newtonian physics. Finally, humankind gained understanding of the world we lived in. We were able to explain everything, we thought.
“Then, a relative few years later, along came a gentleman who turned Newtonian physics on its proverbial head. His name was Albert Einstein. This time we’d done it. Unlocked the mysteries of the universe beyond us, and the one smaller than we can imagine. And for decades we were convinced we’d found the equation, the formula to once again explain the way the world worked.”
“E equals MC squared.”
“Yes. But as time went on, we discovered a problem with Einstein’s theories. Though they explained much on the atomic level, it didn’t sync with what we were learning on the quantum lev
el. Quantum mechanics once again turned science on its head.”
“How so?”
“Quantum mechanics proves that one thing can be in two different places at the same time. Quantum mechanics says that our observation, our perception of an action, can cause the action to change. At the quantum level, observation of the activity changes it.”
“You’re serious.”
“Deadly. And now we are on the brink of admitting that many of the mystics throughout the ages were right: faith can move mountains.”
“Gotta say, you definitely are the right guest for this show, because you are on the fringe of the fringe, scientifically speaking.”
“I have to disagree.”
Toren heard a smile in the woman’s voice.
“I’m not on the fringe at all. What I’ve just told you has been proven thousands of times.”
The host laughed. “We’re going to take a break, my fellow travelers, who are with me on the road to a destination we’re not sure of . . . yet. But we wouldn’t have it any other way now, would we? When we come back, we’re going to hear from a man who says all of Houdini’s magic tricks and escapes were done with the power of his mind. You won’t want to miss it.
“As always, my intrepid explorers of the fringes of the scientific world—boldly going where people have probably gone before but haven’t taken the time to tell us about—thank you for joining me, thank you for your e-mails and questions and suggestions. Thank you for making this show such a delight to host, and of course thank you to my wonderful guests, not the least of which is the wonderful scientist, philosopher, and change agent for the human psyche, Dr. Ilsa Weber.
“You’re listening to Breakthrough: The Weird and Wonderful World of Fringe Science on SiriusXM.”
Ilsa Weber. Toren racked his brain, trying to attach the name to the fragments of memories he was collecting from his lost months, but her name stirred nothing like her voice had. Didn’t matter. He could find her. Figure out exactly who she was, where she’d been, and what part she’d played in his time away. She would bring answers.
The Man He Never Was Page 13
