“Who am I?”
“A king. An emperor. Unlike Maximus, you lived. And now you must live in who you are.”
“Me. A king? No. Musician, yes, king, no.”
“You are a king, Brandon. Your audience is your kingdom. Your band number among the ones you have been called to lead. You have been called to war for them. You must battle for them in the heavens. Now you know your name. But knowing your name is never enough. You have to learn to live in it.”
Brandon listened to the hum of the phone as Reece’s words seeped into his heart and he considered their implications. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“You don’t have to be. Your training and healing and freedom are far from complete.”
“What’s next?”
“Can you be at my house this coming Sunday evening?”
“Sure. For what?”
“We’re going after Marcus.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve been seeking God on what’s next, and I believe on Sunday night the Spirit wants to take us into the soul of the professor.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
MURDERER.
No.
Because of you they perished.
“Get out!” Reece sat in front of the fire pit on Sunday evening and shook his head, grappling with the words being flung into his mind. He’d come out to pray before Dana and Brandon arrived but had been hammered from the moment he settled onto the bench. He had to be strong. Bold. Had to be ready to fight for Marcus’s freedom.
Their blood will forever be on your hands.
Reece slumped forward onto his knees in front of the fire pit, the hiss of the light rain against the coals filling the air. “The belt of truth. The breastplate of righteousness. They are mine. The shield of faith. I raise it.”
Stay on this path and we will take you down.
Reece massaged his head. It was true. If he hadn’t been reckless, they wouldn’t have died.
Stay on this path and we will take them down.
The buzz of his cell phone split into his thoughts and he yanked it out of his pocket and stared at the screen. Doug.
“Hello.”
“How are you?”
Reece didn’t answer.
“What is the truth, friend?”
Reece puffed out rapid breaths. “I don’t know.”
“What is happening tonight?”
“I killed them, Doug.” He pulled his hat down over his face.
“You told me you’re going into Marcus’s soul tonight, yes? So you can’t be surprised at this attack.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Where does their power come from?”
“We’re not going into your soul this time. It’s different.”
“Where does their power come from?”
Reece got back on the bench, the rain seeping through his jeans. “Deception.”
“Where does their power come from?”
“Accusation.”
“Where does their power come from?”
“Illusion.”
“Do they have any claim over you? Any right?”
“No.”
“Did the Spirit tell you to go after Marcus tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any doubts about that?”
“No.”
“As I said to you two weeks back, you must lead with a confidence you won’t always feel, release the power that has long lain dormant, and live in the faith of the old days. You must be strong, friend. Let me seek the heavens for you right now.”
As Doug prayed the fog clutching Reece’s mind lifted and light flickered, then burst into full radiance. Three minutes later Reece strode back to his house, the words of his friend’s prayer expanding in his heart, the vile thoughts held at bay—at least for the moment.
As Dana stepped through the front door of Reece’s house, her eyes were drawn to a baby grand piano sitting in the far right corner of the great room.
“You’re the first to arrive,” Reece said as he greeted her. “Make yourself at home, Dana, I’ll be right back.”
As Reece disappeared upstairs, Dana wandered over to the piano. Two framed photos sat on it. She picked up the first picture and studied the brunette woman in it. Her smile was bottled lightning. The woman didn’t have the Hollywood-type beauty that was continually foisted on humanity but that deeper kind of beauty that made Dana instantly hope the person would like her.
Reece clomped back down the stairs and stopped at the bottom.
“Who is the picture of?”
He didn’t answer for several seconds. “My wife.”
“She’s stunning.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re no longer together?”
“No.” His eyes went dark.
“Divorced?”
“No longer together.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t. But I appreciate the offer.” Reece turned, walked toward the kitchen, and called out over his shoulder, “I’ll just be three or four more minutes in here.”
Dana set the photo of Reece’s wife back on the piano in the spot clear of dust it had sat in, then looked at the next photo. In it was a little girl who looked to be in her tween years. Dana reached toward the picture but pulled her hand back before she touched it. She’d already pushed too deep into Reece’s no-go zone, and something told her asking about this eleven-or-twelve-year-old girl who was likely Reece’s daughter would be going too—
“My daughter.”
Dana yanked her hand back from the top of the piano and knocked over the photo of his wife. “Sorry, you startled me. I thought you were still in the kitchen—”
“My fault.” Reece rubbed his hands on his jeans. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“You didn’t.” She moved away from the piano. “I shouldn’t be looking at these pictures.”
“It’s okay, Dana.” Reece eased past her and lifted both framed photos off the piano. “My wife was thirty-four when she died.” He wiped the dust off the top of the frame, then held up the picture of his daughter. “She was ten.”
“I’m sorry. How did they—?”
Reece shook his head and Dana stopped. Clearly the question was far beyond the off-limits border.
“Do you play?” Dana motioned toward the piano.
“No.” Reece tossed the dish towel over his shoulder. “My wife did. But that’s not the real question you wanted to ask, is it?”
“I wanted to know more about your wife and daughter. I’m sorry to pry.”
“Someday I’ll tell you that story. But not yet.”
Reece stared at her as if daring her to ask to hear the story now. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a sharp knock on the door filled the living room.
“That will be Brandon.”
When Brandon and she had settled onto either end of Reece’s couch, their mentor began.
“Thanks for coming. Tonight could be intense.”
Intense? Should that be a surprise? Every night the four of them spent together was intense. It was still hard processing everything that had happened over the past two weeks and reconciling it with the uneventful type of Christianity she’d lived for the past ten years.
And now, showing up at the radio station, trying to go through the motions of a regular day—wondering when another demon might show up in her office and follow through on its threats—then at night delving into a spiritual world that had always been around her, but she’d never seen.
It was a kind of bizarre double life. But she didn’t want to stop. The healing and freedom she saw exploding in her life and the others’ lives made the battle worth it. And tonight they would fight to free Marcus from the regrets he lugged around like a steel drum full of concrete.
Reece struck a match and lit a dark blue candle, set it on the coffee table in front of him, and sat back in his oak chair. “Tonight we go into the
professor’s soul.”
“And Marcus is okay with this?” Dana asked. “You know, the whole permission thing?”
“Without question. He and I spent a good chunk of the day together yesterday and he asked us to do this.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
“He said he’d rather not be.” Reece steepled his fingers. “I didn’t ask why.”
“What if we need to ask him something?”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to.” Reece stood and turned off the lights in the kitchen and living room.
“Is there anything else we need to know?”
“Yes.” He pointed at Brandon and her. “I’m going to let you two lead us. You’ll make the decisions. I’ll be there if you need counsel, but I want you two running point.”
He and Brandon closed their eyes and Dana did the same. “Here we go. Take us in by your Spirit, your power, your grace, your fire.”
The almost familiar rush of air surrounded Dana and when she opened her eyes, the three of them stood in an unnaturally long hallway—at least one hundred yards long in each direction with doors spaced every ten or twelve feet along the corridor.
“I feel like I’m breaking and entering.” Brandon spun a 360 on his heel. “It’s one thing to be in the soul of a stranger. It’s way different to be in the soul of an ally.”
“Be on your guard. Watch your back. Watch each other’s backs.”
“I thought Marcus’s soul would be vaster than just a hallway.” Dana reached out and placed her palm on the wall. It was cool to her touch.
“We’re only in one small part of it.”
“Which way? Right or left?” she asked. A faint hospital smell was in the air.
“We should go left,” Brandon said.
“How do you know? Did the Spirit tell you that?” Dana asked.
“No, but I have a fifty-fifty chance of being right.”
“Left is fine,” Reece said as they eased down the hall.
Every door looked exactly the same. The walls were off-white, the hallway floor off-white, and so were the doors.
“Marcus needs to get a decorator in here, bad.” Brandon stopped and ran a finger along the wall to his right and held it up to his eyes. “At least he’s keeping it clean.”
“It makes sense.” Dana stopped as well and glanced from ceiling to floor to the doors.
“Why?” Reece said.
“You already know why, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“It reflects his personality. He’s precise. A scientist. He’s ordered and it’s reflected in his soul.”
“Well said, Dana.”
Brandon laughed. “I wonder what my soul looks like. I expect a full report once you guys go inside.”
She knew exactly what it would look like. “I’m guessing it would be much more Gaudi-like or Salvador Dalí.”
Brandon laughed again. “Probably true.”
Reece motioned them with his fingers. “I don’t mind you talking, but let’s move at the same time.”
“How do we know when we get to the right door?” Dana said.
“I’m guessing it will be pretty simple.” Reece pointed at a door to his left. “Just look for the door that’s open a crack. And look for light coming from underneath it.”
They walked for thirty or forty yards without seeing an open door. And none had light spilling onto the floor in front of them.
“There.” Dana pointed to a spot sixty feet ahead. “I see light.”
“Where?” Brandon glanced back and forth between Dana and where she was pointing.
“Up ahead. Thirty yards or so. You can’t see that?”
“No.”
“You’re blind then.”
“He can’t see it, Dana,” Reece interjected. “Neither can I. You can. Extend grace. And if you don’t understand the implication of his not seeing, then you’re the one who’s blind.”
“The body of Christ. Needing each other,” Dana responded.
“Exactly.” Reece strode ahead of them and stopped when he reached the open door.
“Should we keep looking?”
“No, this is the door. Well done, Dana.”
They pushed it open and walked in. The walls and ceiling were painted a muted blue. Thick gray carpet covered the floor except for the center of the room where a raised stage sat. It was made of a dark wood and round.
The space felt heavy, as if an unseen melancholy cloud permeated the room. And with every breath she took, the feeling intensified. The walls were lined with old-looking movie posters from floor to ceiling. As she looked more closely, Dana realized the people on the posters were Marcus, a woman, and two girls who looked like the photo Marcus had shown Dana at Well Spring. It had to be his wife, Kat, and his daughters, Abbie and Jayla.
It was macabre. Each poster had the feel of a 1960s horror film, but instead of promoting a movie, the images and headlines advertised the greatest regrets of the professor’s life.
As Dana stared at a poster of Marcus hunched over a laptop while a birthday party went on in the background, the scene somehow came to life and the professor, his daughters, and Kat emerged from the poster and appeared on the stage in the center of the room acting out the scene.
Dana gasped and stepped back. It was so real. Kat’s pleas for him to shut down the computer, the sadness on Abbie’s face as she blew out seven yellow candles, him taking a quick photo, then going back to the computer.
“Marcus?” Dana reached her hand toward the stage even though she knew he wasn’t really there.
She turned and looked at another poster of Marcus turning down a scuba-diving trip with some buddies. Ones of softball and soccer games where he sat in the stands with his face buried in books. One of him wanting to try out for a community play but backing out at the last second. Another of anniversaries where he called Kat from his office at school to say he wouldn’t be home.
As Dana concentrated on the posters, each of them came alive and played out on the stage as if she were there when it happened.
Dana glanced at Brandon and Reece. “Are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?”
They nodded and she turned back—but not to look at the walls any longer. She was done looking at the posters. She’d seen enough. Dana gazed at the now-empty stage and tried to imagine the weight of Marcus’s regrets. She started to ask Brandon what he wanted to do next when the stage, the room, the posters all vanished and Marcus appeared in front of them hunched over his laptop in an office, pounding on the keyboard, a cell phone scrunched between his cheek and his shoulder. A stack of thick, musty-looking books sat to his left, three more perched on his right.
“I’ll be there. My arrival won’t be as early as I desire, but I am coming.”
Kat stood in the entryway of a home next to Abbie and Jayla.
“You’re going to be late? She has the lead role,” Kat said.
“She’s in first grade, not on Broadway.”
“She won’t be six forever, Marcus.”
The shorter of the two girls peered up at Kat.
“I realize this; however, if I’m to attain tenure I am compelled to finish this paper. And the sooner I get tenure, the sooner I’ll be able to relax and spend more time with you and the girls. Who do you presume I’m doing this for?”
“Maybe part of this is about the girls and me, but I think more of it is about you.”
He pulled the cell phone off his shoulder and squeezed it tight. “And maybe if you were raised with one meal a day and one set of clothes all the way up through junior high, you’d want to make sure when you achieved a family of your own, they were taken care of.”
“There’s a difference between wanting to provide for your family and wanting to gain the prestige and recognition you never had as—”
“Can we drop it? The longer we converse about this, the longer it will take me to get there.” Marcus yanked one of the books to his right and pawed through it. “Your brother is taping the play,
correct?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll arrive in time to see the second half and watch the first half with Jayla, you, and Abbie when we all get home. It’ll be like I was there the whole time.”
“It’s first grade. I don’t think they’ll have an intermission.”
As the argument continued the scene faded, replaced by the site of a tiny gymnasium with a stage at one end crowded with grade-school children who lined the front of the stage and bowed as the small audience stood and clapped and hooted their praise. Kat, a man who resembled her, and Abbie scuffed toward the stage. The man—who had to be Kat’s brother—clapped as they approached Jayla.
“You were so good, Jayla!” Kat grinned, bent down, hugged her daughter, and kissed her head. “Absolutely wonderful.”
Jayla grinned and nodded.
“I agree.” Kat’s brother lifted the girl off the floor and gave her a quick spin through the air. “It was a stupendously stupendous performance!”
“What does that mean, Uncle Thomas?” Jayla tilted her head, her pink halo bobbing back and forth.
“It means your dad is going to be so incredibly proud of you when he sees the video because you were incredibly incredible.” Kat’s brother smiled and patted the video camera in his hand.
“Are you proud of me?”
“Of course I am!”
The scene shifted to Marcus as he half walked, half jogged through the school parking lot, through the doors to the gym. He pushed past parents and kids who flowed in the opposite direction. His gaze darted around the gym, then he strode toward the four of them. Jayla’s back was to him, and Kat, her brother, and Abbie didn’t see him approach.
Jayla’s next statement stopped Marcus cold. He staggered to his left into the shadows of the bleachers.
“I’m glad you’re proud of me ’cause you’re like a daddy.”
“Really? Am I like your daddy?” Kat’s brother laughed.
“Uh-uh, you’re not like him.” She stared at him. “You come to my things.” Jayla looked down and spun in a circle with her hands out. “He never does ’cause he’s busy working a lot, he has stuffs to do, so he can’t come, and that’s why, you know?”
“Jayla—”
“I love you.” She reached out and hugged Thomas.
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