Memory's Door (A Well Spring Novel)

by Rubart, James L.

  He’d learned about what the Warriors Riding taught from tracking down a few of their more enthusiastic trainees, and it scared Carson. Made him angry. Reece and his pals were a serious threat to Christianity that had to be stopped. And now, they had a target on their backs. He would find a way to get it lined up in his sights.

  Carson grimaced and checked Internet stats for himself and his show. Another 2,300 Facebook likes since yesterday. Excellent. Next he checked his blog subscribers, then the number of new fans who had signed up to receive his e-mail newsletter. Just over five hundred during the past three days. Outstanding. The Warriors Riding might be racing to the forefront of Christian culture like an Olympic sprinter going for gold, but the influence of what Carson and his team were doing to bring truth to God’s people continued to grow faster than bamboo. The Lord was moving and he would keep following as hard and fast as he could.

  He sipped his coffee, letting the blistering liquid burn his lips. Just like God was using Carson's ministry to burn away the heretical elements of Christendom. A rap on the door frame of the studio startled him.

  “Hey, a minute and a half till you go on.” Sooz Latora, his executive producer, stood in the doorway, her brown hair pulled back hard from her sharp-angled face.

  “This show would crash without you.”

  Sooz smiled.

  “What about me?” Carson’s IT guy poked his head through the door and pushed up his glasses.

  “Absolutely.” Carson pointed at the two of them. “Have either of you or Grey found anything yet on these so-called Warriors we can use? Or found any of their trainees who didn’t have a fun camping experience at the retreat?”

  “Not yet, but it’s only been four days. Why don’t you just go on air and talk about it? Tell people what they’re doing. Or try to get this Reece Roth on the show.”

  “I don’t think we’re being led to just talk about it. I want to expose it. And having Reece on the show wouldn’t do us much good. No one knows him. There wouldn’t be any ripple effect. But if we can take Brandon Scott down, word of mouth about the Warriors Riding will spread like wildfire. Any update on reaching him?”

  “I’ve tried his manager, Kevin Kaison, multiple times already. E-mail and voice mail but no response yet.”

  “Keep trying. And go after Brandon directly. E-mail him. Call him. And dig harder for people who have gone through this warriors training. Find them. Interview them. Draw them out. There have to be some who didn’t get sucked into their lies. It can’t be that hard. Find ones who are ticked off, ones we can—”

  “I know how to do my job, Carson.” She frowned playfully at him.

  “You’re right.” He held his hands up. “My apologies. There is no one better at this. You’re phenomenal. But I know God is saying move fast on this one.” He slid his headphones over his thick blond hair and scooted over to the microphone. “Forgive?”

  She smiled, winked, and pointed at the on-air sign above his head. “You’re on in thirty seconds.”

  Carson winked back, then turned to his mic. Sooz was an exceptional producer and exceptional woman. Kind. Smart. Spiritually attuned. A blessing to have her.

  A few seconds later his show’s pulsing musical intro blasted through his headphones, followed by the recorded voice-over that always pumped him full of adrenaline.

  “You want the truth? Can you handle the truth? You can? Then you’re in the right spot and you won’t want to move a millimeter for the next three hours. Welcome to The Carson Tanner Show, where we expose the lies trying to seep into your brain from every direction. We’ll inspire, educate, and make sure the truth will propagate! We might even make you mad. But we promise we’ll never bore you, ’cause the excitement meter is always pegging on eleven. Now here’s your host, best-selling author, internationally known speaker, and voice to almost fifteen million daily listeners—Carson Tanner!”

  He waited for the music to fade, then clicked on his mic.

  “Without you, my dear listeners, I’d be nothing. Without God I’d be nothing. Without his grace and mercy I’d be tossed in oil and boiled up like a French fry. But with his power we’re moving mountains. We’re demolishing lies like they’re sand castles on the beach. And we are the tide. Relentless and strong. Because of him. Only because of him.”

  Carson glanced through the glass in front of him and winked again at Sooz. She smiled back and flashed a thumbs-up. It would be a good show. Just like every day.

  “Today we’re talking United States insanity, folks. Yep, the states are falling like dominoes, my beloved ladies and gentlemen. And that’s not a good thing. I’m talking about reefer, Mary Jane, pot, weed, the Jolly Green . . . and the dominoes are the states that are legalizing this drug. Are you kidding me? Will we soon be able to walk into the grocery store and grab a little ganja along with our milk and eggs? What is this country coming to?

  “Am I wrong? Talk to me. The lines are open. I don’t want to hear from people who agree. I want to talk to those who think I need to open my brain wider. C’mon, tell me where I’m all soaking wet. We’re going to a quick commercial break that gives you time to be quick with your fingers. Back in sixty.”

  By the time the break was over the phone lines were lit up like the running lights on an airstrip.

  Carson glanced at his computer screen, then flipped his finger toward Sooz. “We’re talking with Kelsey in Virginia. Kelsey, you’re on.”

  “I think every state should legalize it. Why not? It’s not even as bad as alcohol and some studies show it’s better. Plus, where does it say in the Bible it’s wrong? I understand where it’s wrong if the government we’re under says it’s wrong, but now that it’s legal, at least in some states, is it still wrong?”

  “So you’re thinking in the states where it’s now legal we ought to do a little prayer, a little study of the Word, and a little lighting up together?”

  The caller laughed. “No, I’m not saying I think Christians should necessarily be smoking dope—”

  “Hang on, Kelsey. ‘Necessarily’? So you think it’s okay?”

  “If it becomes legal, isn’t it their choice?”

  “Have you ever tried dope, Kelsey?”

  “Personally, no. But I don’t see what the big deal is if other people want to—even other Christians. How is it any worse than having a glass or two of wine? I’m simply saying people are going to do it regardless, so why not get some tax money that can offset some of our country’s massive debt?”

  Carson tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Here’s the problem: When you’re drinking alcohol, it’s not breaking federal law. Right now, if you smoke pot you’re breaking federal law. I don’t care what the states say. And there’s a difference between someone hooked on alcohol and someone hooked on pot or cocaine or meth. The latter group is breaking the law, the former is not.” Carson leaned in closer to his mic. “In other words, the fact it’s lawbreaking to do drugs prevents some people from taking that step. We make smoking pot legal, it gives an excuse for a certain segment of our population to step over the line who never would have done so before. And like you just said, Kelsey, that includes Christians.

  “There are some Christians who drink. They have a glass of wine and feel a little warm and a little buzzed. Today isn’t a day to debate whether that’s right or wrong. But I think we can all agree that sometimes, some Christians who drink, drink too much. Right?” Carson adjusted his headphones. “And if pot is legal, then you’re going to have Christians taking a little hit of pot to feel a little buzz and get a little relaxed. And then they do a little too much weed. And then they get addicted. And that’s a major problem. I’d tell you where that path could lead, but you already know, don’t you? Hell. Thanks for the call, Kelsey.”

  Carson scrolled down his computer screen and looked at the names of the callers on hold. Sooz always typed in quick notes next to their names. Where they were from, age range, and what they wanted to talk about. There. This guy would lo
b him a serve he could return to all his listeners at a hundred miles per hour.

  “Allen, you’re on The Carson Tanner Show.”

  “I don’t think it’s the pot smoking or drinking you’re really worried about.”

  “Really. Why do you say that? Talk to me, Allen.”

  “I think you’re worried about Christians always pushing the edge of what’s permissible rather than pushing the edge of what’s holy. They’re getting as close as possible to the edge of the cliff rather than sticking to the middle of the road.”

  “Bingo.” Carson raised his hand and snapped his fingers. “Sooz, do you mind getting Allen’s address and sending him a free copy of my latest book?”

  Carson jabbed his fingers toward the ceiling like they were guns. “You’ve nailed it, Allen. He’s right, folks. He’s sooooo right.” Carson closed his eyes, took in a sharp breath, and let it out slowly. “We’re to be lights, people! Different. We’re to stand apart. Stand out based on the way we behave. Not push the boundaries of sin. The choices we make to stay unstained from the world will infect the world for righteousness! If, if, if we choose right. We need to live redemptive lives.”

  Carson picked up a laminated sheet of paper and wiggled it. “If you don’t have our Redemptive Reminders list, what are you waiting for? It’ll set you free. You don’t know about the list? My bad if you don’t. I’ll tell you how to get it in a minute.

  “It’s real simple, folks. You want to be holy? You want to shine? Then think of the movies you’re going to. Really? You’d be proud to take Jesus to those movies? Some of the books you’re reading? Really? You’d read those out loud with Jesus sitting next to you?”

  Carson’s head bobbed back and forth as a surge of adrenaline kicked in. This was truth. This was what they needed to hear. “These so-called Christian men who get out on the golf course and stick a big skunk-smelling cigar in their mouths? Hello? That’s Jesus? Show me the scripture to back that one up. Ya see, following Jesus isn’t just about the warm and fuzzies. It’s about taking a stand on behaviors and attitudes. My actions. Your actions. My choices. Your choices.

  “You’re not in church every Sunday, and I mean every Sunday? Why not? They don’t have churches where you went on vacation? You need to have your backside inside those four walls every week. When the Word says don’t forsake the assembly of the brothers, it means don’t forsake it. Not some of the time. All of the time. Don’t sit on the beach on Sunday. Get to church. It’s the thing you should be looking forward to most on vacation. A chance to fellowship with new brothers and sisters. The chance to hear a different pastor. Hot or cold, not lukewarm. It’s time to get serious, folks.

  “You’re cussin’ from time to time—I know some of you are—and you’re calling yourself a Christian? Explain that one to me. How can scum-infested water and clear water flow from the same fountain? It can’t.”

  Carson raised his fists toward the ceiling and pumped his arms. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I’m trying to get you to repent. I want to get you through the narrow gate without scraping the skin off your shoulders as you go through.

  “Jesus is coming back for what? A blemished bride? No, my faithful, he’s returning for an unblemished bride. Unblemished!” Carson slumped back in his chair and went silent for ten seconds. Dead air. Radio 101 said never let there be dead air. But it was right. Let the message sink in. Let God’s truth seep deep into their minds.

  “Do you smoke an occasional cigarette? Some of you are shocked I’d even pose the question. Good for you. But I’m telling you, there are folks listening right now who just felt the conviction of the Holy Spirit because they’re in the habit of lighting up, and I’m talking on a regular basis. Do you really want to be tarnishing the temple like that? Really? You don’t, I know you don’t. But you need help. You need a little motivation. That’s where we come in.

  “You don’t drive a car without guidelines. There are rules of the road to follow. And the spiritual road we’re driving down has more enticing-looking off-ramps than you can count. Off-ramps with lights that look like they’re from heaven. But they’re not. Get it together, folks. Get on the straight and narrow. Be worthy of your calling. Starting when?” Carson lifted his arms wide. “There is no tomorrow. There is only this moment. So start now. Are you with me? Are you?

  “Maybe this is the first time you’ve listened to my show. Maybe you haven’t heard of the Redemptive Reminders. It’s nothing fancy. No bells and whistles, just seven simple reminders of what a child of God looks like. But I promise you, they’ll change your life. Let me read ’em to you now. Open your mind and hear what the Holy Ghost is saying.

  “No cursing. Ever. Let no unwholesome word proceed out of your mouth. Ephesians 4:29.

  “No crude jokes. Ever. Same verse.

  “No smoking. Ever, in any form. Cigars, pipes, cigarettes. Nothing. The body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. 1 Corinthians 6:19.

  “Sin will grow at R-rated shows. Keep yourself unstained by the world. James 1:27.

  “A sip at most might be fine, but any more is too much wine. Proverbs 20:1.

  “No slander, no gossip about anyone. Ever. Proverbs 16:28.

  “And the final Redemptive Reminder, no missing church. Ever. Be there every week or you’ll grow weak. Hebrews 10:25.

  “You can download this list from our website. It will cost you nothing but a click of your mouse. More than five million of you have downloaded it. But that means ten million of you haven’t. Print out multiple copies. Put it on your refrigerator. Stick it to your bathroom mirror. Put it on your kids’ mirrors. Put a copy in your car, at work. Rise up, friends, and have done with lesser things!

  “Time for a break, folks, but one more thought. I’m not saying these things to make you feel bad. It’s because I care for you. God has put his love for you in me, and so with his love I love you. But sometimes love is tough. Sometimes love calls you to repentance. Stay strong, folks. And stay there. We’re coming right back with more talk, more callers, more truth. This! is The Carson Tanner Show!”

  SEVEN

  BRANDON FINISHED THE SECOND-TO-LAST SONG OF HIS first set on Friday evening and scanned the back of the arena looking for the stalker. If the man had come again and kept his pattern the same, he’d stand and walk out within a few seconds. He’d done it every time for the past five concerts when the band finished “Running Free.”

  No one but Kevin and Brandon’s bass player, Anthony, knew about the guy—Brandon hadn’t even hinted about it to any of the Warriors except to Marcus earlier in the day. For one thing, he’d been on the road for three weeks and wanted to talk to all of them about it at the same time, and in person. For another, he wanted to figure out if it was just your friendly neighborhood wacko or something darker, like Zennon.

  They’d seen little of the demon during the past ten months. Yes, there had been minor skirmishes, but most of their days had been filled with going deeper into the Spirit and helping set others free. But now? Maybe this was part of Zennon’s resurgence. Maybe the stalker was Zennon. Brandon had asked the Spirit repeatedly about the tall, well-built man who stuck to the shadows of the halls they’d played in over the past two weeks, but he’d gotten no answer, not even a deeper insight into what action to take.

  Brandon pushed back his longish, dirty-blond hair and squinted against the glare of the spotlights bathing his band and him in dark reds and blues. Where was the guy? Was it over? Maybe he’d stopped coming. Brandon scoffed. Yeah, right.

  “Wake up, Song Boy. One more tune.” His bass player bumped his shoulder into Brandon’s. “You with us?”

  “In a second.” Brandon scanned back over the crowd. Each time the guy sat on the left side of whatever hall Brandon was playing, two-thirds of the way back.

  “Are you looking for the guy again?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  Anthony thumped out a bass line, probably to keep the crowd from wondering why the concert had screeched to a hal
t. “If he was stalking you, he’d have approached you by now, sent a note, sent flowers, done something. Let it go. Maybe he’s just a megafan.”

  “Yeah, a megafan who just happens to have an ax in the trunk of his car.”

  “Men don’t stalk men.”

  “They don’t?”

  “Well.” His bass player grinned. “Not typically.”

  “I’ll be sure to mention that to the guy when he shows up knocking on my bedroom door at two in the morning with an Uzi in his pocket. I’ll call you, hand the guy my cell, and you can tell him he shouldn’t be there.”

  Brandon made another scan of the room. Nothing. Wait. There. Sitting five or six rows back from the spot he usually sat in. Was the guy blond? Wearing a T-shirt? Hard to tell with the lights in Brandon’s eyes and the audience buried in shadows. Two concerts back Brandon asked security to talk to the guy, find out who he was, but they hadn’t been able to corner the man. Which didn’t make sense. He would be hard to miss. The guy had to be almost as tall as Reece.

  If he was a stalker, why didn’t he ever try to get to Brandon? And why spend the money to see the same concert over and over again? Tickets to his shows these days weren’t cheap. Between plane fare and buying a ticket for each show and food while traveling, the guy had to be dropping upward of five hundred dollars per city.

  He’d had strange fans before. Those wanting him to sign non-PG areas of their bodies, those whom God supposedly told they were to become a member of his band; there were even a few who thought they were told to come to his house, set up tents, and pray for him every morning at five thirty because “Jesus rose early to pray, so we’re following the path he has showed us.” But something about this guy was different. He wasn’t your ordinary whack job. Which meant the enemy was most likely involved.

  Anthony bumped his shoulder again. “Did you see him?”