Jim Rubart Trilogy

by James L. Rubart

  "Stone knows volumes more than he's saying. I almost got him to talk, but Jason showed up and destroyed the moment."

  "Mr. Creepfest himself, huh?"

  "In all his glory."

  "You're not going to back down from this quest, are you?"

  "I don't have a choice."

  "Not to be cold, but aren't you wasting your time?" She reached into her climbing pouch and pulled out a handful of chalk, the powder spilling out from between the cracks in her fingers and floating away on the slight breeze. "You really think whatever Taylor Stone is hiding can make this book poof into existence?"

  "Probably not, but I know people, and too many things about Stone don't add up."

  "Like what?"

  "His reaction to you at Jason's gathering at the community center. His—"

  "Hold it. What do you mean his reaction to me?"

  "Didn't I tell you about that?"

  "No."

  "It was weird. As soon as you got up onstage, he went white and doubled over like he'd been gut-punched. He and his wife left a few minutes later."

  "You're kidding."

  "I was standing close to him. After one look at you, he did the white-as-a-sheet thing."

  "You have no idea why?"

  "No clue."

  Ann tried to remember if she saw someone leave right after getting onstage. Maybe. She shook her head. "All right. You have my attention. Anything else?"

  "When we met the first time, he exploded after I left and he didn't think I saw him. It was right after we talked about the book. Then he tells me to stay away from Jason. And he writes that note trying to scare me into leaving town. His coming close to telling me things he knows about the book, then shutting down like he has secrets that would make the CIA gasp."

  "That doesn't make the book real, Cam."

  "There's nothing that could make you even start to believe, huh?"

  "It's like something out of a comic book. I think we landed on the moon. I don't think Kennedy was killed by the Mafia. I don't believe little green men buzz the planet and borrow some of us for experiments. I think there's a rational explanation for why ships and planes disappear over the Bermuda Triangle. And sorry, I don't believe in a nine-hundred-pound book that has recorded the past, present, and future of every soul on earth." Sorry, Jessie.

  "Nice speech."

  "Thanks, I've been practicing."

  Ann turned and climbed higher. She had been practicing. If she could rip the idea of searching for the book out of Cameron's head, she would do it. The whole search for the book brought up her own regrets. Jason was right. Jessie had told her about the book in more detail than she'd ever told Cameron.

  How Jessie knew the year and season she would die but nothing specific enough to prevent it.

  How Jessie had seen Cameron after she died, standing in silhouette holding another woman and laughing.

  How she knew for certain Ann would find her Wesley someday and her Princess Bride poster would come to life.

  All through their teens and early twenties, Ann teased Jessie about believing in a magical book that revealed all these things when she was ten. Ann had done it so frequently Jessie stopped talking about it, even when Ann asked for forgiveness and to hear more of what Jessie had seen.

  "The last part is too precious to tell you when I know you don't believe me," Jessie had said.

  "I do believe!" Ann protested.

  Jessie smiled. "No you don't, but I'll still love you when the sun buries itself in the sea forever."

  Jessie was right. Ann didn't believe.

  She still didn't.

  The Book of Days couldn't be real.

  She stretched her leg to its limit to reach a knob that jutted out from the wall a quarter inch and pushed herself another two feet up the sheer cliff.

  "So, what if it turns out this book exists on Earth? Will you believe in God then?"

  Cameron burst out laughing. "Welcome to the climb, Ms. Conundrum! You crack me up. Twenty seconds ago you're telling me to pull my head out of my proverbial sandbox, and now you're saying the book could be real."

  "I'm not saying it's real or even could be real; I'm just asking if it would change what you believe." Ann reached into her climbing bag for more chalk. "And I'm finding this intellectual banter helps me climb better." She swung her right leg up to a ninety-degree angle and shoved her foot into a crack just wide enough for her big toe to slide into.

  "Nice move," Cameron said.

  "I'm serious. If the book is real, is God real? Or is life still arbitrary?"

  "No, if the book is real, then God has to be real."

  "So you're like Thomas, wanting to see the nail marks in Jesus' hand before he believed."

  "You're right. I do."

  "His love is an ocean, Cameron. It's so vast you can't take it all in."

  He didn't respond. From the frown on his face it was apparent her question needled him.

  Cameron scowled, more at himself than Ann; although he didn't care if she saw it. Talk about going for the soft underbelly. Deep down he'd always envied Jessie's and his dad's faith. It gave them meaning. It gave them purpose. It was probably why Jessie had that inexplicable look of peace on her face when she died.

  Part of him had always wanted to believe. Ever since he could remember, his dad had loved him fiercely. The idea that the supreme being of the universe felt the same way about him was almost overpowering. The being that made all the stars in the universe loved him?

  But there was no proof. Take it on faith, take it on faith, God is real. Sorry, faith wasn't enough.

  If the book was real, he'd get back his memories of Jessie. He might be healed of the rampage taking place in his brain. And it would mean God and heaven exist, and Cameron would see her and his dad again.

  But what if his path ended with a much more realistic outcome? The book being just an idea, a spiritual state of consciousness like all the other religions of the world? What would he do then? Comfort himself with the fact that neither Jessie nor his dad was anything more than dust, just a few years ahead of him?

  Deep in his gut he knew the book couldn't be genuine. When would he admit it enough to go home and slowly watch his mind fade into nothingness?

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ann's weight shift, and he focused on the small outcropping her left foot now rested on.

  Oh no.

  "Cameron!"

  The crack that started the moment Ann put her full weight on the tiny nub, snapped a second later and she fell. As she careened past him, her weight wrenched him backward and his anchor slipped from its crack in the rock.

  He reacted without thought and lunged up to where he could grab a handhold. If he didn't make the jump, Ann's weight would yank him off the tiny ledge his toes were on and they would fall at least thirty feet—if his other anchors held. Thirty feet was enough to badly injure them.

  If the anchors failed, the fall could be enough to kill them.

  Come on! If he couldn't get a hold before the rope snapped taut . . .

  Got it! Yes.

  The rope went stiff an instant later and the pressure ripped Cameron's right hand off the ledge. "Arrrgh!" Pain sliced through the fingers of his left hand like a knife but he held on, then lunged with his hand and caught hold again. "Ann!"

  No answer. Not good. She could have slammed into the wall and been knocked unconscious. He couldn't keep this hold much longer.

  "Ann!"

  Time slowed to a crawl, the strain on his fingers faded into the background as an epiphany washed over him in a moment brilliant of clarity. In seconds the weight of Ann's body would force his fingers from their cling to life, and slipping off the clothes of mortality would become a distinct possibility.

 
He would join Jessie at last. It would finally be over, and his question of whether she was waiting for him would be answered.

  But in that moment a revelation coursed through him—he didn't want to die. It wasn't time. It wasn't right. Not yet. No matter what was happening inside his brain, he would fight for life.

  Time stopped as a feeling appeared as if a massive red theater curtain had been drawn back. An emotion he buried at the moment of Jessie's death. Hope.

  Hope for life, hope he could feel joy again.

  That he could love someone and be loved by someone.

  That he could live a life that would make Jessie and his dad proud.

  "Ann!"

  "Uhhh." A moan floated up to him.

  "Stay with me! Can you hear me?"

  "Cameron?" It was just above a whisper, but yes! she was conscious.

  He risked a look down, but the ridge jutting out blocked his view. "Can you move?"

  No answer.

  He had to hold on!

  A gust of wind whipped against his face.

  "Perfect. All we need now is some rain. Is this in Your book, God? Then stop writing!"

  "Cameron." It was more a moan than his name, but it was a streak of hope.

  "Ann, you have to secure. Now!"

  Silence.

  God, if You exist . . .

  He focused on his knuckles, shifting his gaze rapidly back and forth between his two hands. His left hand started shaking first. A moment later his right hand joined in. It wouldn't be long.

  His left fingers slipped down a quarter-inch.

  No!

  Drilling in on the second hand on his watch, Cameron promised himself he would hold on another forty-five seconds.

  Fifteen seconds later he heard the faint scrape of metal on rock, and he knew Ann was securing a nut into the wall below him. Silence. Then the sound of another nut being wedged into place.

  He didn't blame her for securing two; he would have done the same thing. He heard the click of the carabineer as she clipped in, then suddenly the weight on the rope eased and Cameron sucked in a quick breath of air. "Ann!"

  "I'm secure. Are you all right?"

  He nodded and then realized she couldn't see him. "Stay there. I'm coming down."

  After securing an anchor into the rock and clipping his rope into it, he belayed down the thirty feet to where Ann hung, her face white except for where a large bruise had started to form on her right temple.

  He reached out and touched Ann's temple with the tips of two fingers. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, really," she said in between breaths. "I'm sure it looks worse than it feels." She stared at him. "You saved my life."

  "And you returned the favor by waking up. I figured I had about five seconds left when you secured that first nut."

  Cameron stared into her eyes, both of them still breathing heavily.

  He'd heard you could know a person more intimately after looking into their eyes for thirty seconds without speaking than you could in an hour of conversation. After the half minute was up, he agreed.

  "Let's get off this rock."

  They sat at the base of the cliff in silence, the only sound was Ann's deep breaths in concert with his own.

  The adrenaline had stopped pumping fifteen minutes ago, but perspiration still seeped through his shirt. His legs twitched and his arms felt like they'd been shot up with a triple dose of Novocain.

  "Do you want to talk?"

  Ann shook her head, her eyes moist.

  Without thinking Cameron scooted next to her, put his arms around her shoulders, and drew her in. Ann pressed in hard against his chest without hesitation and sobbed.

  "It's okay . . . it's okay." Cameron stroked her hair and repeated the phrase over and over. He didn't know what else to say. After a few minutes her tears stopped but she didn't move. He pulled her in closer and kissed the top of her head.

  The chattering of a squirrel filled the late morning air.

  Something about the sound brought peace, and Cameron took his first breath that didn't feel like a gasp for air. After a few more minutes he glanced at his watch. They'd been off the mountain for over an hour. Why did it feel like minutes?

  "Ann, talk to me."

  She stirred and mumbled something.

  "What?"

  "Don't leave me."

  "I'm right here." He squeezed her tight as her tears came again. "Right here."

  Twenty minutes went by without any movement from Ann. She could have been asleep. Cameron wouldn't have cared if twenty years went by. Something about sitting here, holding Ann was very right. Very good. Very true.

  Did she think the same?

  After another five minutes she stirred, stood, and walked a short distance away. Her auburn hair rose and fell on the breeze slaloming through the trees, and her climbing clothes accentuated her figure. If her hair were darker and she were a little shorter, it could be Jessie standing there.

  When Ann finally turned back, her tears were dry and she gave a slight smile. "Thank you."

  Her simple thanks filled him. Anytime. I'm here.

  Cameron fired up his MINI Cooper and turned to Ann. "Was that written in God's book? Before it happened, was it written down?"

  "Yes."

  "So God gives us no choice. What is, is."

  "Choice is God's greatest gift to us, Cameron."

  "If it's already carved in stone, how is that possible?"

  "It's not in stone, and I'm guessing God's book operates a little differently than ours." Ann gathered up her hair and put a scrunchie around it. "We chose to climb that cliff today. Our choice. No one else's. It wasn't some preordained plan that we had no part in."

  "Do you mind if we have a soundtrack for our conversation?" Cameron pulled onto the road and slid a Jack Johnson CD into his player.

  "Good call, H."

  Cameron glanced at her. "H?"

  "Did you ever see that movie K2? It was about these two climbing buddies. One of the guys was named Harold. So his partner called him 'H,' and was always saying, 'Good call, H!'"

  "Good movie?"

  "It was all right."

  Ann leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. It seemed so natural for her to sit next to him. Maybe God should keep writing this chapter.

  "Listen," he said, "if we say for a moment this Book of Days is real—was that whole thing we just went through together on the cliff written down ahead of time? Before it ever happened?"

  Ann didn't answer and he glanced at her again. She opened her eyes and frowned at him. "What are you doing?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You just asked me that."

  "What?"

  "You just asked me virtually the same question two minutes ago."

  He bit both sides of his tongue with his back teeth. He couldn't lose it now. His mind had been doing better the past few days. "Sorry, I'm a little stressed still. A lot stressed."

  "Is your memory loss getting worse?"

  Cameron clenched the steering wheel and ignored the vise grip around his stomach. "It's getting better."

  When they reached Three Peaks, Cameron said, "I hope the emergency room isn't crowded."

  "What?"

  "You're getting that head looked at. You were out cold."

  "I told you I'm fine. I meant it."

  Cameron shook his head.

  "Really, I've been knocked out before. If I had a concussion, it would have shown up by now."

  "Even if I let you talk me out of going to the hospital, there's no way I'm letting you stay by yourself tonight."

  Ann touched the bruise on her head and sighed. "So what do you suggest? Have me sleep next to the night man
ager in the lobby of my hotel?"

  "You can do that?"

  "Funny."

  It was a good question. Neither of them knew anyone in town well enough—Cameron grabbed his iPhone.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, it's Cameron. Would you be willing to have a mildly injured houseguest overnight tonight? She's very well mannered."

  "What happened? Is it Ann?"

  "We had a bit of an adventure during our climb today, and Ann got a head injury—"

  "It's a bump, not an 'injury.'" Ann whacked Cameron on the arm.

  "Is she okay?"

  "I think she's fine. But I don't want her by herself tonight."

  "I'd love to have her; I've wanted to meet her for a long, long time."

  "Thanks, Susan." Cameron hung up. "Done."

  "What'd she say?"

  "She's wanted to meet you for a long time."

  Ann frowned. "What does she mean by that? I just got here a few days ago."

  "You should ask her."

  "Will she tell me?"

  "I doubt it." Cameron smiled. "She's good with secrets. But if she opens up, ask her about your mom's photo."

  "That would go over well." Ann laughed. "I'll find out what I can. And we'll meet up tomorrow?"

  "I'll call you as soon as I'm done seeing Arnold."

  "Find me something good, okay?" She winked at him and Cameron winked back.

  He dropped her off at Susan's, then gazed at the front door long after it shut behind Ann. Find her something good? If Cameron's suspicions were right, he would find her something very good in Peasley's mountainous piles of newspaper.

  CHAPTER 27

  Tricia Stone strained to draw back her bowstring till the pulleys kicked in and made the final few inches easy. Just like life. Always a tipping point where the perseverance paid off.

  She concentrated on her target, a root beer can hanging by a string from a pine tree forty yards away. The air was still as it often was in the middle of the day, and the only noise was the occasional call of a Wilson's Warbler that had settled behind her. No one to bother her. No one to interrupt her scattered thoughts. It was strange that she'd developed this passion for shooting arrows into pop cans or pinecones or plastic milk cartons in the middle of the woods.