The Long Journey to Jake Palmer (16 page)

“In a heartbeat.”

“All right, then it's done. We go back together. Now that I know where it is, we can find it again—doesn't matter what Leonard says.”

“But I can't.”

“What? Why not?”

“That was my dream, Jake, the one I told you about. I dreamed about the corridor. That you went through. I had an overwhelming sense there was danger there, but also incredible hope. I didn't see what happened in the end, but one thing was certain: you were there alone and no one else was supposed to be with you.”

He started to protest, but before he could, the sound of footsteps along the path from the dock stopped him.

“Hey, guys.” Peter and Camille stepped into the clearing. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Sure,” Susie said.

Susie glanced at Jake and told him with her eyes she wouldn't say anything to anyone.

“What about you, Clark?”

Breakfast? Go up and pretend that everything was normal? Nah.

“I think I'm going to take the day to get out of here, spend some time thinking about life. Need it.”

Camille frowned. “How are you going to drive the boat today if you're not here? You have to drive the boat.”

Jake stood and shuffled past Peter and Camille. “Nope. Don't.”

“You okay, Jake?” Peter's voice floated toward him as he strode away. Jake flashed a thumbs-up but didn't turn around.

He spent the rest of the day exploring the roads in the area, finding nothing remotely interesting, but that might have been influenced by the fact that he couldn't get his mind off the corridor for more than two or three minutes at a time.

By the time he arrived back at the house late that night, the only person up was Ari. She sat out on the deck reading a book under the star-blotted sky. In another age he would have joined her. For a short time that morning he had stepped into that other age. And if there was any way to figure out how to make the healing stay, that age would come again.

Sleep that night came in starts and stops, but when his cell phone alarm buzzed at four the next morning, he was ready to roll.

J
ake was about to push off from the dock at four fifteen when a voice floated down on him from somewhere on the stairs and he froze.

“Wait up!”

No. Please no. Heat shot through him. It was Ari. Halfway down the stairs.

His body went numb, as if he'd taken a swim in Novocain. Where was she when he'd left the house? He'd heard nothing as he got ready to go and prepared a snack in the kitchen. Heard nothing on the stairs as he slipped into his kayak. But now she appeared out of the predawn light like a ninja.

She clipped down the rest of the stairs till she reached the boating storage shed and reached for the kayak hanging on the back of it. She pushed up, but only one end of the kayak moved. They weren't heavy, so one of the cords holding the kayak in place must have been caught on something.

“Would you like to give me a little help here?” Ari stayed focused on the kayak.

“Did you see me?”

“See you what?”

Jake's heart throbbed in his ears. He tried to speak casually, but the question came out like he'd just stolen the last brownie at church camp. “See me get into my kayak as you came down.”

She frowned at him as she struggled with the kayak. “What? See you, what do you mean see you? I see you right now. I saw you sitting in your kayak. Of course I saw you.”

“Did you see me get in?”

Ari let her kayak go and it knocked against the boathouse. The boom was loud enough to reach the house sixty steps above them. She scowled at him and shook her head.

“Did I see you get into your kayak? That's the pressing question on your mind right now.”

Jake pulled back and tightened the grip on his paddle. “Yeah.”

Ari rolled her eyes as she untangled the cord, regripped the kayak, and lifted it off the wall.

“Is that illegal in these parts? Watching someone get into a kayak?”

“No, I just . . . I just wondered how far behind me you were.”

She hefted the vessel over her head and clomped down the three stairs next to the shed and then down the ramp that led onto the dock. Ari set her kayak on the dock, squatted, and smiled at him. “You're a strange one, Jake Palmer.”

Jake took a furtive glance to see if there was a chance of her seeing his legs. No. Safe. For now. What was wrong with him? All he needed was to stop caring what she would think. Stop letting every moment of her presence fill him with a stupid spark of
excitement. Sure. Easy. Might as well grab a sponge and mop up the water coming over Niagara Falls.

“You mind having a guest this morning?” She smiled at him as she put on a dark red life jacket.

“Um, well . . .”

“Great.” She grinned as she studied him. “I wouldn't want to intrude if you didn't want me here.”

Her eyes told Jake she'd be coming no matter what he said. Didn't mean he couldn't try.

“You sure you want to come? My life is extremely boring these days. I kid you not. I'd feel really bad if my droning on and on about nothing made you fall asleep and you ended up in the water. It's cold.”

“I see.” Ari eased her kayak off the dock and into the water. She slid into it like she'd grown up around kayaks, despite her comments when they'd first met about being new to the sport, and smiled at him again. She shifted her life jacket, tightened it, and plucked her paddle from the edge of the dock. “Where are we going?”

Jake stared at her, dumbfounded. “Uh, I was trying to hint that I was thinking about being alone.”

Ari stretched out her arm, snagged Jake's kayak, and pulled herself parallel. “You know what I think, Jacob Palmer? I think you like being around me. I think you have a civil war going on inside right now. One side wants to be alone, the other is almost excited I showed up here unannounced this morning. And I think one side has already won the battle—that is, if you're man enough to admit it.”

Ari tilted her head and bathed him in one of her nova-bright
smiles and Jake's heart stuttered. Not fair. Bad enough that she nailed him, worse that he couldn't bring himself to shove her away.

“But hey, if I'm wrong, let me know and whatever direction you head, I'll go the other way. No hard feelings whatsoever. Just give me the word. My ears are wide open.”

Jake gripped his paddle tighter. Through gritted teeth he muttered, “A few minutes might be okay.”

“Thanks, Jake.” Ari flipped her dark hair back over her shoulders, pushed off from him, and took five quick strokes that propelled her across the dark water.

“I promise I won't ask any penetrating questions about why you've built a glass wall around yourself that you think no one can see into.”

Oh yeah. Loving this. As if things couldn't get any worse, she zings me with that frameable one-liner.
Why didn't she come right out and say she knew his secret? That she'd seen his legs as he clambered into his kayak?

Jake sighed, shoved himself forward, and dug into the water hard. Twelve strokes later he passed her. For the next three or four minutes there was no sound but the dip of his paddle into the water, no sensation other than the drops of water that ran down his black paddle with each stroke, then freed themselves and splashed onto the nylon skirt covering his legs.

Another ten hard strokes and he rested his paddle on his kayak and let himself coast into the unmarred surface of the lake. The sound of Ari's paddle carving the water drifted toward him, but he didn't look back, didn't look to his right when she came alongside him.

“I could be wrong.”

“About what?”

“Both. The wanting me to be with you and the glass wall. So say the word, and I'll peel off and head for the other end of the lake.”

Jake formed the words in his mind, but his heart hijacked them and he let out a deep sigh through tight lips.

“I'll take that as an invitation to stay.”

All over the lake, the surface of the water popped as fish fed on flies darting too close to the surface.

The sun rose over the top of the mountain and their shadows—millions of miles long—shot out in front of them, their arms in unison as their paddles tore into the glass. Jake dug harder into the water and pulled ahead, but only for an instant as Ari matched his pace and they fell into synchronized strokes. The rotation of their paddles and the ripple of the water as they cut two paths through it would have been a rush if he hadn't been distracted with the task of cursing his stupid heart.

He dug deeper. So did she. His body started heating up from the exertion, but he didn't care. Jake increased his pace and his breath came in bursts. He glanced at her and spotted a bead of sweat on her brow. So she wasn't Superwoman after all.

He braced himself for her to kick into conversation, to ask him all kinds of penetrating questions he'd ignore or stumble through answering, but their first five minutes passed in silence. Then ten. Then twenty. By this time they were within sight of the end of the lake and the thick cluster of weeping willows that guarded the corridor.

What had he been thinking? This was the last place he wanted to be with someone else. And if he had to bring someone, Ari would be the last on the list. And what if she spotted Leonard? There was a good chance he'd be here, hidden, waiting and watching.

Jake stopped paddling and his kayak slowed, then drifted away from Ari. She lifted her paddle and slowed as well.

“What's at the end of the lake?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I can see it on your face. I think it's where you're going after we part company.”

Her always bright eyes turned dark and seemed to pierce into the deepest parts of his soul. Jake clenched his jaw, hating himself for feeling so vulnerable. So weak. So exposed.

“What do you want, Ari?” Jake growled.

“The same thing you want.”

“You want to tell me what that is?”

“All who call themselves humans want the same thing. We want to be known. Fully. Fully known and, despite being known to our core, fully loved. We want to be in a place where all our fear, our shame, our worries have no hold on us.”

Jake didn't respond. Ari looked at him as if he were a kid about to figure out the secret to a card trick.

“I don't even know you, Jake. But I see something more than what's on your label. I see something so powerful rattling around inside your bottle, yet I don't think you have any idea what it is. But I do pray you find it.”

With that, Ari paddled hard to the left, and within minutes she was gone.

T
his time finding the corridor was almost impossible. Jake knew where it was, but there was no light this time, no flashing to show the way. The reeds seemed thicker than when he'd been here yesterday, almost as if the corridor was playing tricks on him. It took Jake more than an hour to slice through the cattails and find the path. And the tunnel of trees had closed in enough that he had to walk sideways.

But Jake finally pushed the willow curtain aside and stepped into the meadow. His expectations scattered like seeds as he took in the glory of the field for the third time. Fear. Hope. Frustration. Exhilaration. Belief. Doubt. All fighting to be embraced. Would he be healed again? Maybe. Would it last? No, he couldn't let himself believe that even for a moment. Was he willing to be healed for just a moment, to feel the power course through his body again, even if it crashed and burned the moment he left? Without question.

He stood on the edge of the field staring at the meadow, trees, waterfall, their colors even more vibrant than last time. It seemed the grasses and trees had grown slightly taller in the past day.
He wandered farther into the field and made his way toward the pond. The sun appeared to be brighter here. If this place was a slice of heaven, maybe it contained more light than what the sun threw off. God is light. Maybe this place reflected the light of his presence. But the field wasn't heaven for Jake any longer; it was a place of aching for what he couldn't have.

But then a surge of adrenaline rushed through him, and even before he looked at his legs he knew they were restored again. Jake ran his fingers over his perfect skin, not sure whether to laugh or scream. He allowed himself a sprint forward, legs pumping like pistons, lungs burning, and the air of this Eden filling him with unquenchable life. But it was a cruel joke, and there was no point in putting off the agony he would have to face as his legs returned to their true state.

He shouted at God, the field, the trees, the waterfall, but there was no response. No voices, no impressions inside his head, no answers, no direction. But maybe, just maybe, it would be different this time. He'd fought hard and well to find his way back. Wasn't that what Leonard had said? Wasn't that the key to having the healing remain? Time to find out.

Jake strode toward the screen of willow branches, jaw tight, fists clenched. This time, even before he reached the curtain, he felt his legs go weak. Jake fought the compulsion to look down but gave in after only seconds. He stopped and screamed as he confronted the blotchy reds and whites of his contorted legs.

He sank to his knees, ignoring the pain of his skin stretching far more than it comfortably could. That pain was nothing compared to the pain once again searing his heart. He hadn't realized
how much he'd believed this time would be different. How could he not? Hope knows no boundaries.

Jake sucked in air through his teeth and reached for the willow vines, already thinking of the questions he would ask Leonard, because he had no doubt the old man knew far more than he was revealing. But before he could step through, a voice from far away stopped him cold.

“You've chosen to leave so soon?”

Jake whipped around and scanned the field for the source of the voice. It came from the other side, but he saw no one. But a second later the figure of a man emerged from between the apple trees to the right and strolled toward him.

Jake's heart rate should have spiked, but something extremely familiar about the man, or maybe it was this place, made his appearance seem almost expected. He was about six feet tall, with a lean, muscular build. Blond hair reached his shoulders. Early thirties? Late twenties? Hard to tell.

“Hello, Jacob Palmer,” the man said as he approached. “It is indeed a high pleasure to encounter you here.”

The man's clothes would have fit in at a medieval fair, and yet they weren't tacky. They were strong, bold, if that was the right word. His shirt and pants were cut to flow as he walked. The dark green fabric seemed perfect against the lush surroundings.

The clothes, combined with the way the man moved, gave him the air of a regal warrior. Ten feet from Jake, the man stopped, hands on his hips.

“Do I know you?” Jake stared at the man.

“Of course you do.” He gave Jake an inquisitive smile and
looked to the side as if to present his profile, then pounded his chest twice with a fist. “Don't you feel it right here?”

That was exactly where Jake felt it.

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“Does my friend have a name?”

“Let us choose the name Ryan, that should work quite adequately. If you are in accord, of course.”

“Who are you?”

“A guide.”

Ryan strolled around Jake, not getting any closer, but Jake had the sensation the man was closing in. Jake eased to his right, matching his pace. They circled in their slow dance, their eyes never leaving each other. Jake felt no fear, no sense of foreboding. If anything, he felt a strange kind of comfort and confidence. He repeated his earlier question.

“Who are you?”

“You have inquired twice now as to my identity, and twice I have answered. That is enough for the moment.”

“A friend. A guide. That isn't an answer.”

Jake had met this man. No doubt of that. Spent time with him. A great deal of time. But not in the waking world. In a dream then, yes? But it wasn't a dream. Jake's dreams had always been filled with an ever-shifting cast of players, and none of them returned for a visit more than two or three times. Ryan, or whatever his name really was, had been a recurring player in Jake's subconscious for decades. From somewhere deep in his past, he was certain. But from where?

“You say I know you. I don't. But you do remind me of someone.”

“Yes. Quite.” Ryan stopped circling, placed his hands behind his back, and tilted his chin up. “As we just discussed, we know each other, so it follows that you would remember me.”

“No, I don't know you.” Jake stepped back two paces. “Or remember you.”

The man's amused, cryptic smile was his only response.

“If I do know you, then from where?”

“This place”—Ryan moved his upturned palm slowly back and forth—“is beyond the realm of earth. I'm sure you've figured that out by now, given the condition of your body, so why couldn't more than one miracle occur here?”

An instant later a story and an image from a story flashed into Jake's mind.

“You can't be him. He doesn't exist.”

The man shook his head, a kind but sympathetic look on his face, as if he were dealing with a toddler. “Instead of allowing your mind to convince your heart that what is happening here isn't real, why don't you let go and continue to believe. It will serve you better.”

“When I was a child, I read The Chronicles of Narnia. My favorite story out of all of them was
The Silver Chair.
The fourth in the series, where Prince Rilian didn't know who he was any longer. Enchanted. Deceived.”

“Yes.” Ryan's face grew serious. “Believe, Jacob.”

“You look just like I pictured he would when I read that book as a child. Your clothes. Your hair, your height, weight. Even your tone of voice. Everything.”

“That would certainly follow.” Ryan moved to his left till he reached the apple trees he'd appeared from. He plucked an apple off a tree. He took a bite. After a few moments of chewing, he said, “Delectable. Have you sampled one of these Galas? Perchance you won't want to. I would certainly suggest you carefully consider the ramifications of tasting this fruit. For I fear it would spoil you for any other apple the rest of your days.”

Jake stared at Ryan with a fascination. His mind warred with that young-boy part of him that still believed in fairy tales. Who was this guy? An actor? An angel in disguise? His mind finally, fully cracking?

“What do you mean, ‘that would follow'?” Jake narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying you're Rilian from
The Silver Chair
?”

“No. I am not.” Ryan tossed the apple to the base of the tree and winked at Jake. “Not in the least.”

“But you're saying you're real.”

Ryan bounded forward so quickly Jake didn't have time to respond. The man stood two feet from Jake and extended his arm. “Take my forearm and I shall take yours.”

Jake grabbed Ryan's sinewy arm hard, and his was squeezed the same in return.

“Is that the arm of imagination?” He released Jake's arm and grinned. “I think not.”

“But you're saying you came from my imaginings of a fictional character created on a page?”

“You're not able to embrace that conviction?” Ryan tilted his head. “You cannot take hold of the idea that a fictional character can come to life?”

“Good. Now you're hearing me.” Jake took two steps back. “No, I'm not tracking with the idea that a character in a book can come to life.”

“Why not? It happens quite often in the movies and TV shows that the men and women of your world have created.”

“That's my point. They might come to life within the boundaries of a story. Movies. TV. Books. That's made-up. Pretend. It doesn't happen—”

“Here? Ah, yes, therein lies the crux of your lack of faith.” Ryan spread his arms wide and his gaze swept over the field. “Here you have reached a realm where there are no boundaries. But you fail to believe this.”

Jake shook his head and pushed out a breath as if the action could blow his confusion away. “I have faith. I know there's a spiritual realm, and I know there are things I can't explain, but this is not even close to reality.”

Ryan glanced from one side of the field to the other, a puzzled look on his face. “Your statement retains no hold on my mind. This”—he again swept his hands over the field—“is extremely close to reality. The first time you came to be on this side, were the meadow, the trees, the pond the same as they are now?”

“No.”

“Your eyes are now open, able to see much more closely the way things truly are.”

“Including having a man talking to me who claims to be a character out of a childhood story?”

“You misunderstand. I am certainly not claiming to be that. I am not that character at all.”

“Characters who exist in novels do not jump off the page and become real. Even here.”

“Even if I did claim to be Rilian, again you would be in error. The character Rilian does not exist between the pages of a book. At all. The words of a book are only ink stains shaped in a way that you understand them. A person who cannot read English would only see unfamiliar markings and have no idea those markings described a character, a place, an emotion, or anything else.”

He pointed at Jake's head. “No, the only place any character in any book truly exists is in the imagination and, if you come to love that character, in your heart. You cannot tell me your imagination isn't real. We both know it is.”

“Of course my imagination is real. But the things in my imagination don't jump out of my brain into a field at the end of a lake.”

“On the contrary, the event you mention has just occurred.” Ryan gave a sweeping bow. “I am the evidence that the image you saw in your mind's eye has indeed manifested itself in this realm.”

“Impossible.”

“But I am not the only evidence. Nay. The rest exists inside you, because you cannot deny I am the exact replica of what you created inside your mind and heart.”

“Then where do we go from here?”

“I'm here to help you.” Ryan again thumped his chest with a fist. “Help you attain what your soul craves the most.”

“I don't understand.” Jake narrowed his eyes. “I made it through. I've been given what I want the most in the world. But when I leave, it vanishes.”

“I am your friend, Jake Palmer. And I will move as much of
heaven as I can to help bring about what you want, but I cannot do it alone. You are the key.”

“What are you saying?”

“Have faith.” Ryan began to back away in long, quick steps. “Do not give up, Jacob. You can do this.”

“Do what?” Jake jogged after him, but Ryan raised his hand and Jake staggered to a halt.

“No. Our time together has come to an end. But I do bid you come again tomorrow morning. It is then that our adventures together shall begin.”

Ryan turned and strode behind a tree.

“Wait!”

When Jake reached it, the man, or whatever he was, had vanished. A ten-minute search throughout the field ended in futility. There was no Ryan, no evidence he'd ever been in the meadow. Was Ryan more right than Jake knew? Was Ryan a figment of his imagination and nothing more? Or better said, a psychotic hallucination?

Jake didn't care. He'd wanted answers. Didn't get them. But he did get an invitation he would accept in the morning. One way or another, he would get the resolution that Leonard refused to give.