The Heaven Trilogy

by Ted Dekker

  Maybe one day he would take his whip to old Charlie—now there would be a smart move. His relationship with the man wasn’t as cozy as it once had been. One of these days Charlie might forget their past altogether and send in a hit squad. Which was why Glenn had gone easy. Which was why he had left the preacher alone. Which was why he hadn’t gone out with a Tommy gun and sawed through Jan.

  Glenn slammed through the door to his office. “Beatrice!” She wasn’t here. He swore, crossed to his desk and punched the intercom. “Beatrice, get in here. Bring a towel.”

  He held his hands up, careful not to make too much of a mess. His knuckles glistened red; half of the blood was probably his own.

  Beatrice walked in, took one look at his hands, and tsked. “You really should stop this nonsense, you know. Let her go.” She tossed him the white towel. “You have a luncheon tomorrow; you think people won’t notice skinned knuckles?”

  He wiped his hands without answering her. Beatrice was growing as bold as Charlie. She sat in one of the guest chairs across from his desk and studied him condescendingly, as if she were his mother. He slid into his chair. It was an odd relationship, this depending so completely on someone you detested so much. And in truth, besides Helen, she was his dearest friend. It was a horrible thought.

  “But I take it you aren’t going to let her go her way, are you?” Beatrice said.

  “Her way is my way.”

  “On occasion, obviously, or she wouldn’t keep coming. But she is married to another man now. She’s been married to him for two months, and I don’t see divorce papers floating around anywhere. She’s chosen him.”

  Glenn crashed his fist on the desk. “She has not chosen him! He’s a witch!”

  “He’s a religious man,” she corrected. “And I thought I was the witch.”

  “Same thing. No one could have swept her off her feet like that.”

  “Maybe it would be best if she was faithful to him. Best for you, that is.”

  He stared at her and scowled.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, she swinging one leg over the other with hands folded; he mulling over a mental image of his fists smashing into that long face.

  “You should find yourself another woman, Glenn,” Beatrice said.

  “And you should find yourself some sense, Beatrice. There is no replacement for Helen. You know that.”

  “Why? Because of something that happened twenty years ago? Because you were called Peter then and were possessed by an adolescent obsession for her? You’re no longer fifteen, Glenn. And Helen is no longer the prom queen. I could find you a dozen girls far better than her.”

  “Uhhh!” He grunted and slammed both fists on the desk top once. Then twice. He frowned at her. “Do you know why I make in a single day what you’ll never make in your entire life, Beatrice? I’ll tell you why. Because I know how to get what I want, and you don’t even know what you want! Because I am obsessed! And you are possessed. I own you. You remember that.”

  She blinked at the reprimand.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes, furious with her. In fact he did feel possessed at times, unable to function for the voices in his head. But it had been the same for as long as he could remember. When he first caught sight of Helen across the hall in junior high, for example, wearing her navy skirt and sucking on a lollipop.

  Her image danced over the rope in his mind’s eyes, blue skirt flapping in slow motion. One, two, buckle my shoe; three, four, close the door; five, six, peek-a-boo, guess who I am; that’s right, and you ain’t seen nothing yet.

  “I’m going to help her out,” Glenn said, shifting his eyes toward the glass wall on his left. It had been two months coming and now it was time. Charlie could go suck on a tailpipe. He’d played by the fool’s rules long enough.

  “You’re going to help her out? And how are you going to help Helen out?”

  Glenn did not look at her. “I’m going to give her a little motivation.”

  “The movie deal?”

  “Yes. But . . . more.”

  He could hear her breathing in the stillness now. It was the way he said more, he thought. As in, much more. As in terribly much more. He faced Beatrice now, pleased that she had kept silent.

  “They say that the path to some women’s hearts runs through the skull,” he said quietly.

  “They say that?”

  “I say that.”

  “Charlie won’t sit by if you hurt the preacher.”

  “Who said anything about the preacher?”

  She shifted in her seat, all two hundred pounds of her, squirming. Glenn smiled and spoke softly before she could ask another question. “I’m telling you this so that you’ll quit flapping your jaw, Beatrice. Soon this’ll all be over. I’m going to force the issue. So you can shut your hole, and be a good witch.”

  She stared him down, but not with her usual backbone. His power had softened her some, he thought. She still wasn’t speaking.

  “But yes, the movie deal. I want the movie deal done this week. Can we do that?”

  “Maybe. Yes,” she said.

  “I don’t care what it takes, Beatrice. Anything, you understand?”

  “Yes. This does not sound especially smart, Glenn.”

  His hands trembled on the desk, but he said nothing.

  “Does she know who you really are?”

  Shut up, Beatrice! Shut up, you fat weasel! Glenn bit his tongue to keep the thoughts from blurting out. “No. No, she doesn’t know anything. And in truth, neither do you. Not even close.”

  Beatrice stared at him for a full five seconds and then stood and left the room, waddling like a black duck.

  Glenn exhaled slowly and rested his head back on the chair, thoughts of Beatrice already dismissed. It was Helen who filled his mind again. Helen, who had evaded him for so long. Helen, who was about to learn who her lover really was. Helen, that two-timing sick worm. Helen, sweet, sweet Helen.

  HELEN SET the breakfast table carefully, humming absently. Outside, the morning birds chirped and skittered about the large willow’s branches. It had rained in the night, leaving the air cool and the shrubs glistening, washed of the summer dust. A scattering of leaves drifted on the pool’s glassy surface. I’m home, Helen thought. This is my home.

  It struck her that the tune she’d been humming was the old hymn Ivena often sang: “Jesus, Lover of My Soul.” Antique lyrics but a rather catchy tune once you let it set in. To think that two months ago she’d never even heard the tune. And now here she was, bouncing around Jan’s kitchen—her kitchen—wearing a pink house robe, arranging place settings and orange juice for two.

  She had heard of whirlwind romances before but hers and Jan’s had been a tornado. A storybook affair, scripted perfectly with everything except the glass slippers. Even the wedding had been fanciful, under a bright sun in that very garden—Joey’s Garden of Eden—with a minister and thirty or so witnesses, exactly four weeks to the day after Jan had asked for her hand. And these first seven weeks had drifted by in a hazy bliss. Nearly perfect.

  Nearly.

  “Good morning, dear.” Helen started and spun to his voice. Jan stood less than a step from her, smiling warmly, dressed to kill in a crisp white shirt and a red tie. A dusting of gray swept along the sides of his wavy dark blond hair, disheveled above those bright hazel eyes. Her handsome Serb.

  He stepped forward and kissed her forehead. “How’s my peach tree?”

  She chuckled and kissed his chest without answering. He was like this always—loving and warm and saturated with passion for her. His love leaked from every pore of his body. And she was not worthy of it. Not she.

  “Good morning. Sleep well?”

  “Like a baby. You know I still haven’t had the dream—not once in three months. Twenty years like clockwork, and then you walk into my life and the dreams end. Now tell me you’re not a gift from God himself.”

  “What can I say? Some of us have it and some of us don’t. I made us so
me breakfast,” she said, grinning. He slid onto his chair at the table’s head and lifted his glass of orange juice with a wink. “And you most definitely have it.” He took a long drink and set the glass down with obvious ceremony and a long sigh.

  “Perfect,” he said. “It’s the perfect drink for the occasion.”

  “Occasion? What occasion?”

  “It’s been seven weeks. Seven. The number of perfection, you know. They say that if your first seven weeks go without a hitch, you’re in for another seven years without a single conflict.”

  She smiled. “I’ve never heard any such thing,” she said.

  “Hmm. Maybe because I made it up. But it’s a good saying, don’t you think?”

  She joined him, laughing now despite herself. “You see things too simplistically, honey.” Honey. She was calling this man such an endearing term and it suddenly struck her as odd, in light of what he did not know. But he was that and more. Far more. A perfect man. He was looking at her now, across the table as he often did, obviously pleased at the sight of her. She tried not to notice, but failed with a blush.

  She directed the conversation to more rote matters. “So what do you have on your plate today?”

  “Today. Today it’s business as usual, but I have to fly to New York on Friday.”

  Helen blinked. “Again? You were just there three days ago.” Her heart quickened at the revelation.

  “Yes, I was. And I’m sorry to leave you alone in the house again so soon. But Delmont Pictures called last night and insisted we make this meeting. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know these movie people; everything’s always urgent.” He grinned as if she should find some amusement in that. But her mind was already nibbling at the notion of having another weekend alone.

  “Perhaps Ivena could come and stay the weekend with you,” Jan suggested, biting into his cereal.

  “No. No, I’ll be okay.” Helen returned his smile. “I might as well get used to it. It comes with marrying a star, I suppose,” she teased.

  He tossed his head back and laughed. “Nonsense. And if you married a star, then I married a queen.”

  She giggled with him and picked at her breakfast. Oh, dear Jan, please do not leave me alone!

  “Besides,” she said, “I’m not sure Ivena would cotton to being torn away from her garden for a whole weekend. Is it just me or is she obsessive?”

  Jan chuckled. “She is taken with it, isn’t she? You know, since our marriage I don’t think I’ve even been in her greenhouse. In fact I’ve only been in her house once or twice. We really should visit her more often.”

  “She visits us all the time. I think she likes it that way. But still, she seems to have changed.”

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know. She always seems to be in a hurry to get home. Preoccupied.”

  “I haven’t noticed. But then my mind’s been on another woman these past few months.”

  “Well, at least you’ve got that right.” They laughed and picked at their breakfast.

  “You’re all right when I leave you, aren’t you, Helen?” Jan asked.

  “Yes, of course. Sure, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He grinned. “A beautiful woman like you? If another man even glances in your direction while passing on the street, you tell me. I will discipline him, I promise. With my belt or a paddle.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ll do no such thing.” He was such a lovely man. In moments like this he could take her breath away with those crazy comments.

  “Still, you are a beautiful woman. Please be careful.”

  “Don’t worry, my ever-protective lover. I will behave.” Helen said it and then diverted the discourse again. “Roald will be there?”

  “In New York? Roald and Karen both.”

  “Karen?”

  “Yes, Karen.”

  “So you’ll see her again.”

  “In a matter of speaking. At a meeting. She is still the agent of record on this picture, and she stands to gain or lose a tremendous amount of money, depending on how well it does. Not that money was ever Karen’s primary motivation.”

  “No, you were,” Helen said with a smile. “Or maybe your status was.”

  “Perhaps. Betty tells me that she’s seeing someone in New York. A producer. It was just as well she moved back.”

  “Well, you don’t need her in the office anyway. You have Betty and the others.”

  “It’s still a bit quiet. Roald’s been to the office only twice since . . .”

  “Since you married the tramp,” Helen filled in.

  “Nonsense!”

  “You know that’s how he feels. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

  “And you shouldn’t be used to it.” His face was suddenly red. “Ever!”

  “Okay, Jan.” She couldn’t help her smile.

  He exhaled and continued. “Anyway, you’re right: the others have been very supportive. It’s nearly like the old days, only without Roald and Karen. And actually, you’d never know anything had changed by the flow of money. I’ll tell you, Helen, I’ve never seen so much money. When you deal in millions, the world changes. Speaking of which, your Mustang is due in at the dealership today. Should I have it picked up?”

  “Serious?”

  “It is what you asked for, isn’t it? A red convertible?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s in. I’ll have Steve pick it up.”

  She looked at him with a sense of wonder. It was hard to believe that she actually owned half of what he did, which was a lot now. And it wasn’t bothering him one bit. The Mustang was the least of it. They had spent the first week in Jamaica and there Jan had begun with the gifts, each given as if it were but a small token of his love. A diamond necklace over a candlelight lobster dinner, a pair of sparkling emerald earrings on a moonlit beach, impossibly expensive perfume under her pillow. A dozen others. But it was the new home he had conceived for her—the castle, he liked to call it—that often lit his eyes. A home twice the size of this meager cottage. One fit for his bride, nothing less would do. He’d already purchased the forty acres on which construction was slated to begin in one week. Two months ago the expense would have been unthinkable. But to hear Jan speak of it, now anything less would be beneath them. It consumed most of his energies these days. The book, the movie, the money; they were the fruits of love. And there seemed to be no reasonable limits to his desire to express his love. She was his obsession.

  And not his alone.

  Jan looked out the window. “You know, if it wasn’t for all this money, I wonder if Roald would have carried out his threats. I think he and his boys are still fuming under their collars, but the money has silenced them. Not that I’m complaining; they’ve done well to keep the matter private. Karen too. But I wonder where they would be without the money.”

  “You question their belief in you?”

  “I never would have thought so, but I don’t know now. Not everyone is as understanding or noble as you, my dear.”

  Noble? No, Jan. I may have captured your heart, but I am not noble.

  “Money is the glue that holds us all together now,” he said. “The ministry, the movie, the book—it all seems to have boiled down to a few million dollars.”

  “Wars have been fought for less,” she said.

  “True enough. But I think that when this movie is over, both Roald and Karen will be out of our lives. Of course, we won’t need them, will we? We have enough now to live our lives out in comfort in our new home. I will be free to travel at leisure, speaking as I like. Not even their rumors will affect us.”

  “Sounds good to me.” She stopped. “What rumors?”

  He blinked. “Rumors. They’re nothing.”

  “They’re about me?”

  He hesitated.

  “They’re about me. Tell me.”

  He sighed. “An article was written in a leading evangelical periodical, casting suspicion on any religious leader that would marry a
woman with . . . how did they say it . . . questionable morals. You see, that is what they say. But they don’t know you. And they certainly don’t know me. And besides, like I said, as soon as the movie is made, it won’t matter.”

  Heat washed over Helen’s face. They were asinine! Hypocrites! When had one of them ever reached out to her with Christ’s love? Even after she’d publicly prayed for forgiveness in Jan’s church. And she had done it with complete sincerity, yet now these leaders were turning on her, openly questioning her morals? Men were such pigs. Churched or unchurched, they were evidently all the same. Except Jan, of course. Guilt nipped at her.

  And if he were to discover the truth she might have to slit her wrists!

  “You’re right,” Jan said to her silence. “It’s absurd. It means nothing. Helen, look at me.”

  She did, feeling small and dumb at his table, but she did look at him. His eyes were sad and his mouth held a slight smile. “You must know one thing, my dear Helen. You are more precious to me than anything I could possibly imagine. Do you understand? You are everything to me.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I know that. But the world obviously doesn’t share your feelings. It’s a bit awkward being the hated half of a celebrity known for his love.”

  “No, no, no. Don’t say that. Some love my book; some hate my book. It’s not me they love or hate. And just because a few religious men take exception to you doesn’t mean the whole world hates you.” He grinned mischievously. “In fact, sometimes I think my own staff prefers you to me.”

  “Yeah, well that’s Betty and John and Steve. But I swear, the church people . . .” She shook her head.