Forgiven (12 page)

That one day she might perform onstage.

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CHAPTER TEN ………….. ….

KELLY PARKER’S TALK ABOUT KABBALAH convinced Dayne to hit a midweek class at the Learning Center in Holly wood. With the tension between Kelly and him in recent days, a night of Kabbalah would be good for him. Then maybe he’d have a sense of peace when he caught the flight to Indiana tomorrow.

One of Kelly’s friends—an actress in B movies—was celebrat ing her birthday tonight. Kelly was still paranoid about the paparazzi, so she invited the friend and six other actresses over for a girls’ night in. Another reason Dayne was glad to be going to the Learning Center.

He backed his Escalade out of the garage. The night was warm, with a breeze off the ocean, and since it was already dark, Dayne drove with all the windows down.

He’d read the Kabbalah book—as much as he could take in, anyway. There were whole sections he didn’t understand, but he’d picked up this much: the wisdom of Kabbalah taught ways to attain the upper world and the source of all existence.

Only by realizing one’s true purpose could one attain perfection and en joy the limits of space and time while living in the current world.

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Even that part was confusing.

The traffic was light, and Dayne pushed the speed limit. Hav ing the wind in his face felt cathartic, as if it could blow away the troubles from his mind and heart. He glanced at the seat beside him and the Kabbalah handbook he’d brought along. Whatever the upper world was, it sounded better than Los Angeles. Even on a warm, clear September night.

He flipped on the radio and switched the channel to an oldies station. “Under the Boardwalk” was halfway through. Dayne turned it up and sang along for the remainder of the song. When it was over a commercial came on, and Dayne hit the Off button. The thing was, he really didn’t understand Kabbalah. That’s why he was going to the class. He only knew that a couple of his best Hollywood friends had found peace in it some way or another. Peace and freedom and—who could tell?—maybe even the upper world.

Dayne rested his arm on the open-window frame. What was it he read in one of the chapters? Something about taking the first steps on the path to spiritual ascent, or was it reaching attain ment of the spiritual realms? Dayne gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, he needed it. Otherwise the thoughts of Katy Hart would drive him crazy.

Tonight’s class wore on for nearly two hours, and much of it was filled with Hebrew words Dayne didn’t understand. Listen ing to the teacher, he could only deduct that Kabbalah—for all its good—was also very difficult to follow.

He was leaving when one of the other teachers approached him. “Too bad you got stuck with him.” He pointed his thumb in the direction of the teacher Dayne had listened to all evening. “That guy makes the Kabbalah book look exciting.”

Dayne gave an uneasy chuckle. “He did go on a little long.”

“A little?” The man laughed. “You’ll reach the upper world in no time listening to lectures like that.”

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For a moment, Dayne studied this teacher. Many of the Kabbafists had an otherworldly look about them, but this guy seemed funny, more real. Almost like one of the guys he might hang out with at a bar or on one of the sets. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, so Dayne decided to push for a few answers. “Can you tell me something?”

“Sure.” The teacher smiled at a few pretty girls as they walked by. Then he directed his attention back to Dayne. “Anything.”

“Okay.” He lifted the Kabbalah book and looked at the cover. “I’ve been reading, but I’m not sure I really get it.”

“First, I should introduce myself. I’m Abi.” He gave Dayne a firm handshake.

“Abi Fenister.” He paused and his expression grew more serious. “Kabbalah is really pretty straightforward. There are six hundred and thirteen impure desires—those are the things that keep you from the upper world. Then you have your one hundred and twenty-five spiritual steps.” His voice fell several notches. “You know why there are so many?”

“I wondered about it.” Dayne liked this. The guy was breaking it down, which was all he could ask for.

“Because we’re all selfish. Selfish to the core, man. I mean, big-time selfish.”

Abi gave an easy laugh and touched Dayne’s elbow. “That’s why you Hollywood guys get it so much faster. You’ve got it all, man—everything you could ever want.

The money, the women, the cars, the fame. All of it.”

Dayne wasn’t sure he was following this part. He frowned, trying to understand.

“See, you actor types reach the upper world a lot faster because you give up worldliness so much easier.” Abi pointed at a picture on the wall, a large head shot of one of the most famous women in the movie and music industry. “Take her for example. She drops a few million at the center every six months.” Abi snapped his fingers. “Just like that, you’re halfway through the steps.”

Dayne looked at the picture. It made sense to him. If people 96

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could give up millions of dollars, then they were in a sense— dismissing fame, wealth, and materialism. All in as much time as it took to write a check. He cocked his head. “What happens then, once you give it all up?”

“Think about it. Half the impure desires involve wealth and greed.” The man crossed his arms, more serious than before. “More than half. You get past that kind of hurdle and you’re

headed straight for the upper world.”

“Which means.., ?”

“Oneness with the creator. Freedom from self. Peace, man.” He leaned against a nearby wall. “It’s what you see in the eyes of all these people running around here. Amazing peace.”

Dayne scratched his head. “Those spiritual laws.., anything there about forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness?” Abi’s face went blank. Then his eyes lit up again. “Forgiveness is automatic. Because Kabbalists do away with negativism. Unforgiveness is negative, so it’s not an issue when you study Kabbalah.” He shrugged. “You simply do away with it.”

“Hmmm.” Day-he gestured at a few clusters of people passing by, Most of them were dressed in white. “What’s with the clothes?”

“White symbolizes purity, oneness with the god inside you.” Abi waved toward the Learning Center store over his right shoulder. “You can get garments of purity before you leave tonight. In fact, the guy in there can set you up with a Kabbalah bracelet and a series of tapes.” He gave Dayne a light punch on the shoulder. “Makes the learning go a lot quicker. And when you’ve got a hundred and twenty-five spiritual laws, quick learning can be a nice thing.”

Dayne looked in the direction of the store, just off the main lobby. “Maybe I’ll check it out.”

“Good.” Abi motioned for Dayne to follow him. They walked to the other side of the foyer where three men in suits stood be 97

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hind a table, chatting with each other. “I want you to meet a few of the leaders.”

Dayne asked, “Where’re their white clothes?”

Abi gave him a strange look, as if the answer was too obvious to state. “They’re not in a position of learning. The spiritual garments are for Kabbalists in a state of learning.”

They reached the table, and Abi made the introductions. Then he said to the shortest man, the one in the center, “Do you have a donation kit? I think Mr.

Matthews might be interested.”

A donation kit? Dayne tried not to react negatively. Kabbalists do away with anything negative.

The short man nodded and gave Dayne a smile that took up his entire face. “We’re glad to have you, Mr. Matthews. People of your stature often reach the upper world in a relatively short time.”

A part of him wanted to laugh out loud. They reached the upper world quicker by writing a big check? Wasn’t that a little obvious? But then he remembered the look on the first teacher’s face earlier this evening. He might have been boring, but he had a look in his eyes that drew Dayne in and made him long for a way to end the emptiness in his soul. The big Hollywood names who were practicing Kabbalah had the same look, as if nothing could touch them, nothing could ruffle them.

He thought about his bank account. Maybe it was holding him back. Could he really move himself halfway to the upper world by writing a seven-figure check?

He took the manila envelope and tucked it under his arm. “Can I take it home, look it over?”

“Sure.” Abi’s expression turned helpful. “Maybe think about the amount. Keep in mind the upper world.”

“Right.”

“It’ll set you free, man. I’m telling you.” He shook his head. “I wish I had the kind of money you movie types have.” He

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swooped his hand in an upward arch. “Talk about soaring past half the spiritual laws.”

A slow sense of joy—or maybe peace—spread through Dayne. How easy would that be? Write a check, shed some of the material wealth he’d accumulated, and in the process find himself halfway to the upper world. He could do it right now, but his first instinct was probably right. He should give it some thought, figure out exactly how much to give.

He thanked Abi and the other men. On his way out he stopped in at the store. He purchased the white spiritual garments and the red bracelet, which offered protection and identified him as a Kabbalist, a learner of spiritual matters, a person intent on reaching the upper world.

Later, as he brought the goods into his house, he thought of his adoptive parents. They’d been sold out to a conventional religion that left them toiling for heaven’s rewards. Maybe they’d reached the upper world also. But they had been so trapped by relegated teachings. Until the day they died, they’d believed they were sinners, flawed and doomed to hell if not for Jesus Christ. No matter how much they had worked—even as they died doing their work—they never attained a level of perfection or oneness with God.

But with Kabbalah, he would take on a way that his adoptive parents had missed.

He found a place in his closet for the white garments he would wear when he returned from Bloomington. Then he fastened the bracelet on his wrist. He would wear it as a reminder of what lay ahead for him. Freedom and peace and a release of all negative feelings. A journey to the upper world.

He only wished he’d found Kabbalah sooner. Of course, he was about to make up for lost time in a hurry. Yes, he wanted to think about it, but when he returned from Bloomington he was sure he’d make a significant seven-figure donation, one that would pole-vault him even more than halfway through the spiri 99

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tual steps. He could hardly wait to experience the freedom and peace of that moment.

But before he could travel the journey of Kabbalah, he had a different trip to make. One that would take him to Bloomington and the life he might’ve lived if things had turned out differently. The trip to Indiana would give him a glimpse of a family he would’ve been a part of, a girl he would’ve loved. But it would all be make-believe, his world and theirs too different to bridge.

That was the exciting thing about Kabbalah. It would take him into a world that was real.

One that would change his life forever.

The Baxter house was quiet, too quiet for eight o’clock. That was one of John’s most difficult adjustments since Elizabeth’s death. The rooms that housed a million memories, the walls that had heard countless conversations and witnessed celebrations and the growing of his family through the years, were now silent.

John padded through the house with a cup of lukewarm coffee. He wasn’t tired, and he’d already had conversations with his youngest daughter, Erin, and his oldest, Brooke. The kids were all good about calling regularly, keeping him posted on how their family lives were going. He enjoyed the conversations, but tonight he was distracted. Tomorrow was Sarah Jo Stryker’s funeral.

He hadn’t known her, of course. But he’d gone to the play with Brooke’s family, so he’d seen her sing, heard the gift God had given her. And now he couldn’t get the loss of her life out of his mind. Her family, the kids and families at CKT—all of them were reeling, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The silence got louder John took a sip of coffee and walked to the entertainment center in the family room. TV would be a distraction, and radio—with its commercials—would only make

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the house seem artificially noisy. Instead he slipped in an instrumental CD, one with soundtracks from old movies that he and Elizabeth had watched again and again. The sound was rich and full, and John breathed it in. This was better.

He picked up the newspaper and sat down at the dining-room table. Last weekend’s accident had held a spot on the front page ever since it happened, and today was no different. The photo halfway down was of a well-built young man in an orange jumpsuit, sitting next to an attorney at what was obviously a hearing. The headline over the accompanying story read “Drunk Driver’s Tragic Past Recounted.”

John sighed. So this was the guy who had drunk far too much and gone out driving last Friday night. The one who was responsible for two deaths. He looked at the picture again. God, this one is Yours, too, no matter what he’s done. Show him the way to forgiveness. Please.

He lifted the silent prayer because it was easier than hating the young man. No answer resounded in his heart, but he felt a sense of purpose, a knowing that along the way he was supposed to pray for the boy. Clearly the kid hadn’t intended to go out and kill two children. John finished what was left in his coffee cup, then held the paper up and began reading the article.

According to the story, the boy—Jeremy Fisher—was an only child whose father, an army reservist, had been called up two years earlier and assigned to a unit serving in Iraq. A few months after he left, his wife began seeing someone else.

“The marriage was already rocky,” a friend was quoted as saying. “She had no intention of waiting two years for her husband to come home.”

Mrs. Fisher had moved to New Mexico with an old boyfriend, leaving Jeremy at home to fend for himself.