Praise for
WHAT LIES BEYOND THE STARS
“A uniquely riveting vision of the inferno of our
present world joined to a redeeming promise of the
magic of love calling to us from within. Adam Sheppard
is truly a hero of the modern world.”
— Jacob Needleman, author of I Am Not I and
The Heart of Philosophy
“Michael Goorjian’s new novel—a deep exploration of
love lost and found across time—is a wonder to behold. If you
believe in the possibilities of dreams coming true, you’ll love
this thrilling journey of hope and spiritual connection.”
— Gay Hendricks, Ph.D., co-author (with Kathlyn Hendricks)
of Conscious Loving Ever After
“Haunting, original, riveting, poignant, insightful,
and passionately romantic, What Lies Beyond the Stars is
the visionary and transformational love story of the 21st Century.
Michael Goorjian has created unforgettable characters who
illuminate how our humanity can triumph when we open
our minds and hearts to the magic and mystery of life
itself. I’ll always remember this book and reread it
again and again . . . and so will you.”
— Stephen Simon, film producer of Somewhere in Time
and What Dreams May Come
Copyright © 2016 by Michael Goorjian
Published and distributed in the United States by: Hay House, Inc.: www.hayhouse.com® • Published and distributed in Australia by: Hay House Australia Pty. Ltd.: www.hayhouse.com.au • Published and distributed in the United Kingdom by: Hay House UK, Ltd.: www.hayhouse.co.uk • Published and distributed in the Republic of South Africa by: Hay House SA (Pty), Ltd.: [email protected] • Distributed in Canada by: Raincoast Books: www.raincoast.com • Published in India by: Hay House Publishers India: www.hayhouse.co.in
Cover design: Michael Goorjian and Amy Rose Grigoriou
Interior design: Pamela Homan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use—other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews—without prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or deceased, is strictly coincidental.
Wild World
Words and Music by Cat Stevens
Copyright (c) 1970 Cat Music Ltd. and BMG Rights Management (UK) Ltd., a BMG
Chrysalis company Copyright Renewed
All Rights Reserved Used by Permission
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Goorjian, Michael A., 1971- author.
Title: What lies beyond the stars / Michael Goorjian.
Description: First edition. | Carlsbad, California : Hay House Inc., 2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016028076 | ISBN 9781401942687 (softcover : acid-free paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Self-actualization (Psychology)--Fiction. | Man-woman realtionships--Fiction. | Self-realization--Fiction. | Psychological fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / General.
Classification: LCC PS3607.O59255 W48 2016 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016028076
Tradepaper ISBN: 978-1-4019-4268-7
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
1st edition, October 2016
Printed in the United States of America
And we came forth to
contemplate the stars.
– Dante Alighieri
CONTENTS
PART 1 BENEATH THE FOG
CHAPTER 1 AN ENTANGLED PREDICAMENT
CHAPTER 2 RENE ADIKLEIN
CHAPTER 3 CLUTTER IN THE CAVE
CHAPTER 4 LUCID LARRY, A UKRAINIAN VAMPIRE, AND DR. M.
CHAPTER 5 NAVIGATIONS OF THE HIDDEN DOMAIN
CHAPTER 6 WHAT’S BEHIND THE SCHOOLHOUSE
CHAPTER 7 THE MIDDLE OF THE EARTH
CHAPTER 8 EXODUS
CHAPTER 9 ESCAPING WILD THINGS
CHAPTER 10 BEYOND THE STARS
PART 2 BEATRICE
CHAPTER 11 WHAT THE CHICKEN BOY SAW
CHAPTER 12 ABALONE SHELLS, SEA GLASS, AND CAT STEVENS
CHAPTER 13 BEYOND THE GRAVE
CHAPTER 14 ELEPHANT GARLIC, HUNGRY VAMPIRES
CHAPTER 15 THE PRINCESS, THE THIEF, AND A BOAT NAMED PARADISO
CHAPTER 16 ADAM’S IMPENETRABLE SUIT OF ARMOR
CHAPTER 17 THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT
CHAPTER 18 THIS IS NOT AN ORANGE
CHAPTER 19 CHICKEN BOY RETURNS
CHAPTER 20 BLEEDING THROUGH GLASS
CHAPTER 21 MAN IN THE WOODS
CHAPTER 22 THE CONVERSATION
CHAPTER 23 BURIED IN YOUR HEART
CHAPTER 24 CAUGHT IN A SUBSTATION
CHAPTER 25 NOYO HARBOR
PART 3 WHERE SKIES GROW THIN
CHAPTER 26 206 EINSTEINS, 374 LIGHTSABERS, AND THE ONE UNFORESEEABLE TRIGGER
CHAPTER 27 SOME CRACKS DON’T MEND
CHAPTER 28 THE DOORWAY REVEALED
CHAPTER 29 FORGETTING ADAM
CHAPTER 30 CONTROLLING THE NARRATIVE
CHAPTER 31 REFLECTIONS OF AN OLD FRIEND
CHAPTER 32 WHERE DOWN BECOMES UP
CHAPTER 33 TIME TO START FLYING
CHAPTER 34 THE FIRST ORANGE PEEL
CHAPTER 35 LEAVING THE SPHERE OF ATTENTION
EPILOGUE FOR ALL CHICKEN BOYS AND GIRLS
CHAPTER 1
AN ENTANGLED PREDICAMENT
SAN FRANCISCO, September 2011
Adam sat in a straight-backed chair by the window, watching the fog bleed through the distant row of cypress trees. His room was small but charming, like something van Gogh might paint. There was a single bed, a side table, Adam’s chair, and not much else. Miss Ferguson stood directly behind Adam. At five foot one, she was a few inches taller than he was seated, but it was enough for her to assess his view out the window.
“Mmm. A wee bit off.” With a good heave-ho, the stout Scotswoman pulled Adam and his chair a few inches back and to the left.
There were two factors Miss Ferguson considered critical whenever performing this morning task. The first was making sure Adam faced the coastline, which was about a half mile beyond the barricade of windswept, old cypresses that lined the back of the hospital property. Both Adam’s room and the solarium had partial ocean views, but if some less attentive member of the staff set Adam’s chair at the wrong angle, Miss Ferguson inevitably would find poor Adam later in the day with his body twisted and his neck craned toward the coast.
It was Miss Ferguson who had first picked up on this peculiarity. Adam’s primary doctor, Dr. Agopian, was very appreciative of her “meaningful discovery,” as he had called it, and had even made a note in Adam’s file. It was an interesting clue. Despite the eternal blanket of San Francisco fog, Adam Sheppard had spent every day since arriving at the hospital, close to nine months ago now, seated by the window like a diligent sentry, searching the ocean as if for some invisible presence beyond.
The second crucial factor in positioning Adam’s chair was to place him at just the right angle so that in the afternoon, if the sun did, in fact, break through, it would not blind him, or worse, hit the glass in such a way as to create a reflection. Miss Ferguson didn�
��t think unintentional mirror-work was appropriate therapy for a case like Adam Sheppard.
With the chair now properly set, Miss Ferguson crouched next to Adam and gently touched his wrist. “Okay, handsome. Everything is just as you like it.”
Miss Ferguson had never married, but she imagined she might have addressed a husband with the same gentle whisper she liked to use with Adam Sheppard.
“Adam dearest, I need to tell you something important. This new nurse, Eve, will be filling in for me the rest of the week, so you won’t be seeing my lovely face until next Monday.” She paused for a moment as if listening, and then continued. “I know, I know. You’re going to be missing me, dear, but we’re all fond of Miss Eve, aren’t we? You remember that perky blonde, don’t you now?”
Miss Ferguson brushed a stray hair from her eyes and leaned in a little closer, searching her patient’s face for a response she knew she would not get. Since Adam Sheppard had been admitted to the Presidio House, he had not spoken a single word—not to Miss Ferguson, nor to any staff, nurses, or psychiatrists. Not even to kindly Dr. Agopian. As Adam’s chart stated, he was semi-functional and nonresponsive. He avoided eye contact as well as any other attempt to engage him. There was a bumpy patch when he had first arrived—a series of nightly manic outbursts violent enough to require restraints and heavy sedatives—but once Adam had settled in at the Presidio House, he’d quickly disappeared into himself.
Miss Ferguson gave a snort. “Ha! Your name is Adam, and her name is Eve. Now don’t you be getting any funny ideas while I’m gone.”
As Miss Ferguson continued her one-sided conversation, Adam’s gaze remained fixed on the window over her shoulder. It wasn’t that Adam Sheppard had fully checked out; Miss Ferguson was sure of that. She had handled comatose patients back at San Francisco General and was familiar with that unmistakably vacant look. Adam Sheppard was still inside there somewhere; he was simply in another room, down the hallway, or up in the attic, or perhaps down in the basement with a flashlight, searching for some foundation of reality he had lost touch with.
“All right then, handsome, we’re all done for now.” Miss Ferguson started to get up, but stopped. She decided to try something, a little test of sorts. She slowly leaned toward Adam until her face was directly in his line of vision. After a moment, just as he had done every time before, Adam leaned away from her until his eyes found the window again. Miss Ferguson sighed. She liked to imagine the day when Adam’s eyes would suddenly focus on her, and he might say something like, “Why hello, Miss Ferguson. Don’t you look bonny today?”
Miss Ferguson didn’t know exactly what it was about Adam Sheppard, but more than any of the other patients at the Presidio House, he was special to her. He was 39, only 10 years younger than she was; however, his face was so boyish that he could easily pass as her son. He is handsome, she thought, in a puppy-dog sort of way. His messy, brown hair with its stubborn cowlick gave him that perpetual sleepy kid look. But there was also something sensual about him, about his lanky body without an ounce of fat. His most singular feature, the one that really tugged at Miss Ferguson’s heartstrings, was his eyes. Those sad, sad eyes, forever searching for whatever he had lost out there on the horizon.
She had a sweet spot for Adam, no doubt about it, but Miss Ferguson knew she would never do anything inappropriate with a patient. As a nurse’s assistant, she had a stellar reputation at both S.F. General’s Mental Health Crisis Unit as well as here at the Presidio House, the hospital’s long-term inpatient rehab facility. For 25 years she dealt responsibly with patients afflicted with every imaginable mental condition, from severe paranoid schizophrenia to bipolar disorder, not to mention extreme brain trauma cases—including one woman so convinced she was a parking meter that she almost died from eating loose change.
There was just something different about Adam, something strange and serious, as if the air around him was a little thicker. “Like that feeling you get when you’re inside a windy, old church,” she had once confided to Dr. Agopian. “And all the jibber-jabber in your head slips away a wee bit, and you feel yourself getting quiet and respectful.”
A noise from the hallway reminded Miss Ferguson that it was time to move on.
“You have yourself a delightful week, dear.” Miss Ferguson picked up Adam’s charts off the bed, took his electric razor from the nightstand to the bathroom, and walked to the door. Like other nonviolent inpatients, Adam’s door was left unlocked during the day. He was free to leave his room, walk around the common areas, and even go outside on the grounds. The Presidio House had an “open-environment policy,” as Miss Ferguson often reminded Adam.
“Toodle-oo, handsome.”
Despite the open-environment policy, Adam Sheppard knew he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. What no one, including the extremely attentive Miss Ferguson, could see was that in reality (in the fullest sense of the word) Adam was chained to this room. Chained not only by the chemical restraints of lithium, Depakote, and Zyprexa but also by a complex web of smaller, less obvious attachments firmly binding him to his straight-backed chair by the window. Thousands of steel-gray fishing lines were fastened to his body with sharp, barbed hooks, some secured to flesh, while many, over time, had burrowed deep inside him, into the core of his being. There were those chains administered to him at an early age, laid on by parents, schoolteachers, textbooks, and classmates. Chains introduced through the glow of a television screen, and coated in corn syrup, greased with real-butter flavoring. There were chains attached during puberty—messy, embarrassing chains held in place with self-doubt and fears of rejection. On and on they had piled through life, an endless array of restraints bequeathed by friends, neighbors, co-workers, and bosses, slipped down his throat with the aid of a therapist’s prescription notepad. And, of course, there were all those new virtual chains, downloaded on demand, accessible instantly with free-roaming Wi-Fi.
This predicament, a deadly twist on Gulliver’s Lilliputian dilemma, was no laughing matter. Struggling against his bonds had become unbearable, and despite all Dr. Agopian’s efforts, Adam knew he could not survive his situation much longer. Freedom meant destroying himself in the process, and time was running out.
Since an outward struggle was futile, Adam’s only hope was to become still, to give in to the tension of his bonds and inconspicuously turn inward. It was inside himself where he had discovered a way out, a temporary doorway through which he could slip unnoticed. Free from the imprisonment of his body, Adam could drift out into that coastal fog beyond his window and make his way back to the place “where skies grow thin”—the cliffs of Mendocino. Standing there at the edge of the world, he could look out to where hushed stars met restless waters, where two opposing forces pulled apart a seam in the fabric of time and space, opening the gateway to a hidden domain. It was from that infinite direction that she had come, and into which she had returned.
For Adam it was this unknown realm beyond the horizon, just visible from a high cliff’s edge, which offered his only hope of freedom from his barbed entanglement. All that was required now was to take that first impossible step forward.
CHAPTER 2
RENE ADIKLEIN
Three years earlier . . .
“Adam. Wake up. Adam!” A hand smacked his shoulder.
Adam bolted upright in his chair. He had fallen into one of those mind loops again, an “Adam moment,” as Jane, his wife, had dubbed them. Adam moments had been happening a lot lately, and in increasingly random places.
Like here, wherever the heck “here” was. Adam tried to orient himself. He remembered staring at the man seated in front of him, at the back of that bald head—that impossibly shiny head reflecting a yellow light from somewhere onstage. There was something hypnotic about that light, which must have been the trigger, he thought. It had reminded him of some long-forgotten place. A place with sunlight, Adam again recalled, sunlight flickering on something metal. The memory came with a “Did I remember to turn off the s
tove?” sense of urgency, but it was still too elusive to bring to mind.
Staring at the disco-ball head in front of him, Adam once again dug into his own head, into that mental filing cabinet of childhood memories, overstuffed drawers he had been meaning to organize. Again he tried to zero in on that nagging lost memory, but his efforts were interrupted by an annoying string of computer code: – case CM_FILTERHIGHPASS: hrgn[2] = CreateEllipticRgn(x11, y11, x12, y12): break; something he’d been working on earlier. Adam gave his head an Etch A Sketch shake, attempting to wipe away the lingering bit of code. He had to get back to the source of that flashy yellow light before it slipped off again. Something happened to me there, Adam thought. Something I need to get back to before I forget again.
“Dude!” This time the hand gripped Adam’s shoulder and shook it. Adam looked over. It was Conner, or Cogan or maybe Ken—one of the new 3-D landscape animators Blake had just recruited. “Adiklein! Adiklein’s going on,” Adam’s slaphappy neighbor shouted over the applause.
Adam got to his feet with everyone else and looked around. He was fifth row center in the Moscone Center’s main auditorium. Surrounding him were several thousand of San Francisco’s top tech-industry professionals, entrepreneurs, innovators, hackers, bloggers, and wannabe billionaires. Everyone who was anyone in tech was there, and they were all going apeshit for the person about to speak.
Adam glanced down at the laminated pass hanging around his neck.
TED TALKS 2008 VIP ADMISSION
Adam Sheppard – Lead Programmer
Pixilate Gamehouse,
Virtual Skies Social Gaming Division
Right. Blake arranged the tickets. Adam’s present reality continued to render itself around him. Down the aisle, past all the other Pixilate programmers and designers, Adam spotted his partner/boss/best friend/savior, Blake Dorsey. Less than 15 years ago, Blake and Adam had started Pixilate Gamehouse together, and now with over 40 employees and one of the top-selling games on the market, they were, as Blake liked to say, “killing it.” Just four months earlier, Pixilate had been acquired by Virtual Skies Media Group to head up its new social gaming division. Blake had been approached directly by Rene Adiklein, Virtual Skies’ legendary leader, the same man who was about to speak.
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